#〉 series vii ₎ that was page one. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ginnsbaker · 3 months

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (16/17)

Part Summary: You and Leigh cling to each other, counting down the days until she leaves next year for Matt's book tour.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.300+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strap-on usage (r receiving), oral (r receiving), sex in public | Author's note: Just R and Leigh being all over each other before we wrap up this series :)

Your internal clock kicks in at five in the morning, even though it feels like you and Leigh only just fell asleep, exhausted after hours of chasing each other to the brink and back. You’ve long since stopped counting the times you’ve brought each other over the edge, a relentless pursuit of pleasure that left both of you gasping, spent, yet craving more.

Was it possible to share an orgasm that stretched into what felt like hours? If so, how were you not just a tangle of bliss-wrecked limbs, dead to the world?

You vaguely remember a drowsy conversation as you were both drifting off, your sweaty bodies tangled in the sheets. You’d managed a murmured question about the future, about what happens when Leigh hits the road for the comic tour. But she’d just pressed a lazy, silencing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “What if tomorrow an asteroid hits Los Angeles?” she’d teased, nosing the length of your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there.

You tried to frown, your mind foggy with sleep. “Be serious,” you muttered.

“I am,” she whispered back, her lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m dead serious about sucking every drop of now, not wasting a second on what-ifs.”

You’re not entirely sure what happened next, only that when Leigh said the word suck, you felt a tingling sensation that surged down to your core. Before you knew it, you were on your back again, with Leigh skillfully coaxing out the final, shattering orgasm of the night from you.

Stretching your back, you hear a few satisfying pop, reminding you how sex with Leigh was nothing short of a workout, your muscles pleasantly sore from it. The first pale light finds Leigh beside you, her back turned, skin bare, and just a whisper of the sheets covering her. You realize you’ve monopolized the covers throughout the night.

You carefully pull the sheet over her, tucking it around her exposed shoulder. She’s still out, peaceful, her breathing even and deep. You can’t help but slide closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, her skin so soft and warm. You kiss the back of her neck lightly, her scent—a mix of sweet sweat and the faint floral of her shampoo—fills you up.

Soon enough, the gentle rhythm of Leigh's breathing lulls you back into sleep.

When you wake up again, hours later, the bed beside you is empty. The covers are tucked around you, forming a comforting cocoon, undoubtedly Leigh’s thoughtful doing.

There’s no rush to throw on clothes; you relish the comfort of the sheets against your bare skin as you slide out of bed. It's not your first time being in Leigh’s room, but the last time you were here, you barely made it a foot inside before being overtaken by the fight you were having. Last night was different. In the darkness, nothing mattered except Leigh’s cries of pleasure, the slick heat between her thighs, and the taste of her lips, completely consumed by the wonders of her body. With the slow start to your morning, you realize you now have all the time in the world to explore Leigh’s room.

Though, quite literally, there’s not much to unpack here.

In one corner near the windows, stacks of cardboard boxes are still wrapped in tape. They are remnants, you guess, of her life with Matt. Drifting over to Leigh’s desk, you notice a notebook sitting there, its pages shut tight. The temptation to peek is there, but you respect her privacy, leaving it untouched. Above the desk, a small shelf is lined with books—classics you recognize and, surprisingly, a few romance novels by Emily Henry. You're not usually into romance, but you make a mental note to check out this author on your next visit to a bookstore.

Exploring Leigh’s room reveals a charming minefield. Clothes are draped over chairs, pooled on the floor, or spilling from drawers. The dresser is a jumble of lotion bottles, perfume, earrings, and hair ties. It's all quintessentially Leigh—somewhat untamed. Your self-guided tour brings you inevitably back to the doorway. Just as you’re turning to give one last look over the room, the door bursts open. It's Jules, and the moment she sees you, her eyes widen in horror.

“Jesus, Y/N!” Jules shrieks, throwing her hands up to shield her eyes. “What the hell?”

Scrambling, you grab a throw pillow off Leigh’s bed and hold it in front of you. “Jules! I, uh, didn't think anyone would be coming in,” you stammer, cheeks heating up.

“Why are you naked in my sister's room?” Jules demands, her voice muffled by her hands, still covering her face. The question sounds ridiculous even to her ears—everyone knew you and Leigh had a date last night.

Of course, you're naked in her sister's bedroom the next morning. Where else?

“I—We were just—” Every explanation sounds more absurd as you try to find the words.

“Just—don't. Please, just get dressed,” Jules interrupts, still not looking at you.

Nodding, you quickly grab the first clothes you can find, not bothering to check if they’re yours or if they’re clean. Within seconds, you're awkwardly pulling on a white shirt featuring a pickle wearing aviators, captioned Dill With It, and squeezing into lime shorts that are definitely a bit too snug and short for your taste.

“I'm decent,” you announce, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how flustered you feel.

Right then, Leigh emerges from downstairs, looking bewildered by the commotion. “What’s going on?” she asks, eyes darting between her flustered sister and you in your bizarre outfit.

Jules lowers her hands slowly, peeking out with one eye before fully facing you. Her irritation is palpable as she glares at Leigh.

“You said I could borrow your charger from your bedroom!” Jules exclaims, her finger quivering slightly as she points it at her sister.

Leigh blinks, her lips twitching as she fights the urge to laugh. She sneaks a glance at you, your face now resembling a ripe tomato from embarrassment, and mutters almost absentmindedly, “I assumed she'd still be asleep.”

Jules huffs, “Whatever.” She strides over to Leigh's desk, grabbing the charger with a dramatic flourish. You stand frozen, barely breathing. As Jules heads for the door, she pauses, crinkling her nose as if a new thought has just occurred to her. She turns, eyes narrowed slightly in disgust.

“And open a window, would you? It smells like a brothel in here. Gross.” With that parting shot, she's gone.

Leigh lets out a breath and shakes her head. She steps closer and wraps her arms around you, her laughter bubbling up. “Well, that was something,” she says, coming over to wrap you in a hug. She gives your shirt a playful tug. “You kind of rock the pickle look, though.”

“It's a new trend,” you joke, pulling her a little closer. As you do, you lean in to kiss her cheek softly, whispering, “Good morning.”

Leigh smiles and leans in to kiss you on the lips, but you instinctively bring up your fingers to your mouth, mumbling, “I haven’t brushed yet.”

Unfazed, Leigh simply pries your fingers away and presses her lips firmly against yours. It's a quick but solid peck, leaving you both smiling.

“Morning breath doesn't scare me,” she murmurs, tracing a finger down your throat to your clavicle. “Besides, after last night, I think a little morning breath is nothing we can't handle.”

Grinning, you dive back in for another kiss, deeper this time, as Leigh starts steering you backward towards the bed. Just as the back of your knees hit the mattress, a rumble from your stomach interrupts the moment—loud, untimely, and embarrassingly intolerant.

Leigh chuckles, her forehead resting against yours as she catches her breath. “Guess that's my cue to feed you something other than kisses,” she says with a smirk, pulling back and offering her hand to help you up. “Come on, Jules made breakfast.”

Gratefully, you take her hand, letting her lead you out of the bedroom.

“Forget that research gig, I'm heading straight to America's Got Talent,” Suzie jokes, staggering back to the table after a spirited, if slightly wobbly, rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart. She's already half-drunk but radiates happiness, her performance having drawn cheers and hearty sing-alongs from the crowd at the karaoke bar.

She flops down in her chair, cheeks flushed and grinning, as your group erupts in cheers and claps. Tomorrow is Suzie's last day, and you had her pick the venue for her farewell party. Knowing how much she loves to sing during downtime at the clinic, a karaoke bar was an obvious choice.

“Here's to Suzie!” you shout, trying to be heard over the sound of a couple belting out a ballad on stage. “For the longest time, you've been the clinic's backbone and heartbeat. We never would've made it without you. You'll be terribly missed, but remember, our door is always open for you.”

The table erupts in cheers before everyone empties the glasses they're holding up. You drop back into your seat, feeling a little dizzy after that round. It's a small group—just you, Suzie, Foreman, Sara, and your maintenance guys, Joey and Mike.

Suzie suddenly leaps to her feet, glass raised high. “And a huge shout-out to the hottest boss I've ever had the pleasure of working ‘under’!” she yells, punctuating her words with a devious wink. Your team bursts into laughter, their uproar drawing whistles and applause from some folks at nearby tables. Sara chimes in with a spirited “Hear, hear!”, while Foreman simply rolls his eyes, a hint of envy in his expression—he's already made a pass at Sara and was swiftly rejected.

You wave your hands dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not give everyone the wrong idea,” you say, your cheeks reddening a bit from both the attention and the alcohol. Just as you're about to retake your seat, feeling the room sway slightly with your tipsiness, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fumble it out to see Leigh's name lighting up the screen. You’d texted her this morning inviting her to join the farewell, but her busy schedule had made her confirmation uncertain.

You excuse yourself and stumble slightly as you rise, steadying your hand on the back of your chair. Weaving through the tables, you find a quieter spot near the entrance of the bar to answer the call.

“Hey,” you say, pressing the phone to your ear, your voice dropping as you move away from all the ruckus. “Everything okay?”

“Hey,” Leigh's voice cuts in, a bit choppy and barely audible over the blaring speakers. “I'm outside of the... Brass Gibbon? Am I at the right place?”

You miss the last part of her sentence. “Sorry? Can you say that again?”

Strangely, you catch Leigh's deep sigh perfectly. “I said I'm outside,” she repeats.

“Oh! Hang on, I'm coming out.”

You dash out of the restaurant and spot Leigh leaning against the wall. You can’t help but rush over and wrap her in a tight bear hug. It’s only been two days since you woke up in her bed, but you’ve already missed seeing her, smelling her, feeling her in your arms.

She laughs and returns the hug. As she tries to pull away, you tighten your grip, holding her for a few more precious seconds. She relents with a soft chuckle, patting you lightly on the back. When you finally let go, her eyes roam fondly over your face, taking in your slightly flushed cheeks and dreamy stare. Seeing this, her smile only widens.

“Someone's had a few too many,” she teases.

You hiccup and try to defend yourself, “I’ve just had three—no, four!”

Leigh smirks and shakes her head. “Four, huh? Must've been some party,” she says, taking your hand. As Leigh leads you back toward the bar, you find yourself gazing down at your intertwined hands, a goofy grin spreading across your face. You giggle softly to yourself, slightly buzzed and thoroughly enchanted by the simple act of holding her hand.

Upon reaching your table, Suzie waves enthusiastically to get Leigh's attention. Leigh responds with a bright, “Hello, everyone!” as you both approach the group. There’s a moment where everyone looks expectantly at you, waiting for an introduction. Momentarily distracted by Leigh's presence, you get a nudge and a whisper from Suzie sitting next to you, “Introduce her, you goof!”

Quickly regaining your composure, you turn slightly, still holding Leigh’s hand. “Everyone, this is Leigh,” you announce, proud and slightly nervous. Everyone takes turns shaking her hand and introducing themselves. You watch anxiously as Sara stands up to greet Leigh, but Leigh's smile never fades, and a wave of calm washes over you as you observe your team warmly interacting with your—

“Is she your girlfriend?” Foreman asks overtly. The room goes quiet. Everyone's eyes swing between you and Leigh, waiting.

You're stuck, words lodged somewhere in your chest, not sure what to say or how to say it.

And then Leigh beats you to it.

“Yes.”

You blink, staring at Leigh, flooded with relief and suddenly feeling very, very horny. When Leigh notices your dazed look, her face switches to concern. “You okay?” she asks. Before you can answer, she’s already grabbing your hand, turning to everyone, “Excuse us, Y/N's not feeling great.”

You're still reeling from her bold affirmation and too captivated by Leigh to piece together a coherent thought. The next thing you know, you're being guided—rather roughly—into one of the bathroom stalls, your back pressed against the door as Leigh locks it behind you.

Leigh leans in close, her breath hot against your ear. “You shouldn't be wearing your white doctor's coat out like this,” she murmurs.

You open your mouth to explain—it was chilly, and beneath the coat, all you had on was a skimpy black strappy dress. But as Leigh slides the coat from your shoulders, her lips find your earlobe, gently nibbling. The words die in your throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. Leigh pushes you harder against the door, her body pinning yours with surprising force. That's when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness of a strap beneath her pants. A deep, needy moan spills from you as she starts grinding against you.

How did you miss the pronounced bulge in the tight jeans she wore to meet everyone? Was this part of her plan? The nerve of it—meeting everyone, introducing herself so confidently and casually, all while planning to take you here, in a public bathroom. It's almost as if she was silently bragging to your team, “Yeah, I’m about to fuck your boss in a public bathroom. Nice to meet you.”

The thought alone makes you soak your panties. Despite the thrill, the risk of getting caught in public makes you hesitate. “Leigh, they’re waiting for us,” you protest weakly.

Leigh just grins against your skin. “But I'm not done making you feel better,” she whispers slowly, making you clench your thighs together from how hoarse her voice has gotten. Her hands are deft as she bunches your dress around your waist and begins to unzip her pants. All the while, she deposits open-mouthed kisses along your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in their wake.

“Leigh…” you whine, unsure if you're trying to make her stop or urging her on out of impatience. She just smirks, that knowing look in her eyes telling you she’s got you right where she wants you. Before you can protest again, she pulls you into a deep, toe-curling kiss that melts your doubts away.

Then, you see it. Leigh pulls out a seven-inch strap-on, its girth substantial. Her hand barely fits around it as she spits into her palm and coats the silicone with deliberate strokes, preparing it.

You're teetering on the edge, mind spinning, when Leigh switches things up on you. Suddenly, she’s on her knees, and before you know what’s happening, she’s tugged your panties down. You’re about to react when her tongue hits you, slick and warm, tracing up your pussy.

“Oh my god!” you cry out.

Leigh’s tongue works magic, and she hums against you. “You taste sweeter every time,” she murmurs, just before her tongue dives back in for more. You can only moan in response, words failing you completely as pleasure builds. Just when you’re about to peak, Leigh pulls away, leaving you hanging on the brink. She stands quickly, grabs the strap-on, and steps closer. Her grin is wicked as she rubs the toy against your slick folds, coating it with your arousal. When the thick head nudges your clit, you can’t help but curse out loud.

“Leigh! Fuck!”

Leigh clamps a hand over your mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she hears someone enter the bathroom. She gives you a quick, commanding look, silently instructing you to wrap your legs around her. As you comply, the toy squeezes tighter in your folds, making you shudder.

“Put your arms around my shoulders, hold tight,” she murmurs, breathless from the effort she’s exerting to hold you up. She guides the tip of the cock to your entrance. “Ready?” she asks softly. You nod, pressing your face into the crook of her neck to drown out any sounds. Without another word, Leigh thrusts into you in one swift motion. The size is a shock, and you bite down on her neck to stifle a cry, the slight pain mingling with deep pleasure. Sensing your need to adjust, Leigh holds back, her body taut yet patient, giving you a moment. Once you give a slight nod against her neck, Leigh starts moving again, slowly at first.

She continues thrusting into you, speeding up just a little, her lips just inches from your ear. “I've been thinking about this, fucking you like this,” she whispers.

Dumb with pleasure, you gasp out, “H-Here?”

“Not here, silly,” she breathes out, her rhythm faltering slightly as a particular thrust grazes her clit just right. The strap-on drags tantalizingly against your walls as she pulls out, then sinks back in deep, hitting spots that light you up from the inside. Leigh’s fucking you like the strap is a true extension of hers. For a second there, you wish it were.

“Ideally, I'd have you in your bed, where you can scream your l-lungs out,” Leigh whimpers as her movements grow more and more out of control. She drives into you relentlessly, each stroke making you slicker, drawing moans from deep within you. “S-Seeing you tonight... I couldn’t w-wait.”

You've never been so wet, so ready, and every time she pulls back, you feel the absence of her deeply, desperately not wanting this to end.

Leigh changes her approach, drawing back slowly until only the head of her cock remains inside you, before surging forward, slamming into you. Each powerful thrust pins you harder against the door, the sound of your bodies smacking together rocking you into a lust-filled haze. The sheer strength of her movements turns you on even more, making you more slippery, and soon you can practically hear the sound of her fucking you—wet, squelching noises that you're sure anyone nearby can hear.

True enough, you catch the sound of hurried footsteps and the door slamming shut as someone rushes out, likely realizing what's happening.

With the coast clear, she carefully lowers your legs from her waist, sensing that you’re close but knowing you need more. Just when you think you might lose it, she suddenly pulls out. You barely have time to gasp, ready to curse her for stopping, when she swiftly turns you around and positions you over the toilet, making you brace yourself on the seat.

Without warning, she enters you from behind, the angle allowing her to go deeper. Leigh drags your dress further up your body, her hands roaming over your smooth back before digging into your hips. Your breathing becomes shallower as she continues her unforgiving pace, but you crave more.

Sensing your need, Leigh sneaks a hand in front of you, her fingers finding your swollen clit. She circles it tightly with three fingers, massaging the engorged nub. “Look how big it's grown,” she whispers huskily in your ear. “You're so ready. Practically dripping everywhere.”

You whimper helplessly, tears forming behind your eyelids from the amount of pleasure you’re receiving.

“I wish I could come in you, fill you up.”

That does it. Your body tenses, and a powerful orgasm crashes over you, making you cry out. Leigh tries to hold you up, supporting your weight as you lose all sensation in your legs.

“Fuck, Leigh!" you moan, trembling. “That was... oh god…”

Leigh doesn't stop, her own need for release driving her forward. Despite your pleas about how sensitive you are, she continues relentlessly, her fingers expertly working your clit again. “Leigh, please,” you whimper, your body overstimulated and trembling. “I can’t—”

“Just one more, baby,” she groans. “I-I’m close.”

At Leigh’s plea, your body, still reeling from the first orgasm, starts building up again. “Oh god, Leigh,” you gasp, feeling the pressure mount once more, your body trembling uncontrollably. Within seconds, you're hurtling toward another peak, your legs shaking as she drives you over the edge. A second, even more intense orgasm rips through you, your cries echoing in the small stall. Leigh finally lets out a low, guttural moan, her own release hitting as she keeps you bent over, her fingers never stopping their assault on your clit until every last wave of pleasure has wracked your body.

Shortly thereafter, Leigh finally slows, her thrusts easing until she stops completely, still buried deep inside you. She pinches your ass appreciatively, then tests how sensitive you are with a small thrust that has you hissing. She chuckles at your reaction, taking pity on you. Bending over, she kisses your cheek and whispers, “I'm gonna pull out now, okay?”

You nod weakly, still catching your breath. Leigh begins to withdraw slowly, her eyes fixed on the junction of your bodies. She watches, fascinated, as she draws back, the wet tendrils stretching and finally snapping from your pussy to her cock.

“Look at you,” she murmurs in awe, half to herself, as she finally frees herself completely and tucks the strap back inside her pants.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing you’ve been in the same position longer than usual.

“Yeah, just give me a minute... or five,” you reply with a breathless laugh.

She laughs softly too, then helps you pull your panties up from your ankles. Once you're somewhat decent, she sits on the toilet lid and pulls you into her lap, resting her forehead on your chest, eyes closed, her breath steady on your sternum. You weave your fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Leigh sighs contentedly, but then her voice turns apologetic.

“I'm sorry for… I literally lost control. It's just... I keep seeing you and thinking of February, when I have to go and I—”

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt softly, tilting her head towards you with fingers under her chin. “I don't want to waste a single moment.”

Leigh nods, then quickly buries her face in your chest to hide her watery eyes, her head nestled comfortably against your breast.

For a while, you just hold each other without saying anything, content even in the cramped space of the stall. After a while, you gently suggest, “We should get back. Don’t want to give the staff any ideas.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Leigh says, lifting her head to meet your eyes.

She helps you to your feet, both of you adjusting your clothes, sharing a quiet, knowing smile. With one last kiss, you step out of the stall together.

When you and Leigh return to the group, it's clear they're more inebriated than when you left. Except Suzie. The smirk that spreads across her face as soon as she sees you gives away that she's pieced together what happened between you and Leigh. Your cheeks flush immediately, providing Suzie all the confirmation she needs. Without missing a beat, she guides you both back to the booth and strategically sits between you and Leigh, still smirking.

“Thanks for coming, Leigh,” Suzie says, offering Leigh a beer.

Leigh accepts the drink, taking a large gulp before saying, “Sorry for crashing your party.”

“No, you’re not,” Suzie says with an impish grin. “I told Y/N to invite you. I wanted to meet you properly before I go.”

“Oh?” Leigh looks up from her drink. “Why’s that?”

“Suzie—” you try to interject.

Suzie holds up a finger to shush you. Leigh's eyebrow arches at the gesture, clearly feeling provoked by your former receptionist's antics. You tense up for a moment, worried Suzie might say something offensive to Leigh.

Instead, she grins and says, “I wanted to meet the reason my boss stares into space half the time.”

You shoot Suzie a deathly glare, but she just laughs.

“Really?” Leigh asks, amused. “That bad, huh?”

Suzie nods, enjoying every second. “Oh, yeah. It’s been fun watching her daydream.”

The rest of the group laughs and then Foreman accidentally spills his drink down his shirt, drawing everyone’s attention. Taking advantage of the distraction, Suzie leans in closer to Leigh, her expression becoming earnest.

“I might not be Y/N’s best friend,” she tells her, “but consider this a friendly warning from someone who cares about her just as much. Don’t break her heart, okay?”

Leigh meets her gaze head on and says, “I don’t plan on it.”

“Good,” Suzie says, rising from her seat. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to kick off the second set of my concert tonight.”

Leigh doesn’t mention Suzie’s little warning to you, choosing to keep it to herself. Yet, as she spends more time with you, those words linger in the back of her mind, subtly coloring her perceptions and the way she observes your interactions. It’s not something she dwells on openly, but it’s there, quietly guiding her along the way.

You don’t tell Leigh how she’s been everything you could ever ask for these past few weeks, but you've noticed. You see her thoughtfulness in the small things—like how she always brings you your favorite coffee just the way you like it, or the way she listens, really listens, giving you her undivided attention when you talk about your day, no matter how trivial the details. And it's clear she's not holding back; she's refreshingly candid. Leigh shares everything that's on her mind, effortlessly expressing how your words or actions impact her, for better or worse—a true companionship.

The sex gradually tapered off, but your longing for Leigh has only grown—not just in a sexual sense. You miss her in the mornings when she's makeup-free, leaving a small mark of drool on your pillow. During the day, you wish you could grab lunch with her or talk about the new book you spotted in a shop window, especially after deep discussions about its author. You long to share every detail of your day with her, to hear her take on the little things, to see her in your dreams.

Simply put, you find yourself wanting her around all the time.

It's risky to find yourself wanting her even more than you already do, but you've long since surrendered control over your own heart. It feels like being a prisoner on death row, helplessly waiting for the inevitable moment she leaves LA for her tour.

One evening, Leigh surprises you with a picnic dinner at the park. She finds the perfect spot under a massive oak tree and lays down a cozy blanket. From her basket, she pulls out a homemade lasagna that’s still warm and a grazing box loaded with your favorite cheeses and cold cuts.

As you settle down, Leigh pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She winks, assuring you she definitely got permission to take it from her mom’s cellar.

You smile, watching her pour the wine. “So.. what’s the occasion?”

Leigh shrugs as she hands you a glass of wine, her smile easy. “I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she says simply.

You take a sip, enjoying the flavor, but there’s a nagging feeling you just can’t seem to shake off.

“You've been going all out for me lately,” you quip, keeping your tone light. “What's this really about?”

Leigh’s smile fades just a touch, though her eyes remain hopeful. She takes a deep breath.

“I spoke with Matt's publisher,” she starts cautiously. “I’ve officially agreed to go on the tour. They've sorted out all the details—the itinerary, the places, everything.”

The news doesn't surprise you. You've been expecting this; neither you nor Leigh can keep avoiding the inevitable, hiding behind the rush of desire you have for each other, the comfortable days that are, you both know, numbered.

You fall silent for a while, simply lying down with your head in Leigh's lap. She seems taken aback at first, but quickly adjusts to make you more comfortable. You look up at her, smiling, finding her face and the night sky an unbelievably stunning match.

Leigh gives you a funny look, her brow furrowing slightly. “Did you hear what I said?” she asks.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you mumble, still distracted by her face. Then, as an afterthought, you whisper, “You were always going to go.”

She nods, looking upward, her eyes glistening as she tries to blink back tears.

“Are you going alone?” you ask.

Leigh takes a moment, then shakes her head slightly. “Danny might come too,” she admits. “But with his new job in Vegas, I doubt he’ll be able to.”

As you absorb her words, you realize why you asked. Maybe part of you had sensed it, maybe you needed the confirmation. Regardless, you know you have no say in the matter. If Danny is there, at least someone can look out for Leigh.

You hadn't noticed you'd voiced your thoughts about Danny possibly joining her until Leigh says, “I can handle myself just fine, you know.”

“Of course, you can,” you reply quickly, “but that won’t stop me from worrying.”

She gives you a soft smile and starts toying with your hair, gently pulling strands and braiding them. The slight tugs as she twists your hair into braids lull you into an almost sleepy state. You're drifting on the edge of dozing off when her voice, soft and tender, pulls you back.

“I love you.”

Your eyes snap open. Leigh’s refrained from saying it during sex, and not that you’ve been counting, but it’s the third time. It takes you a few seconds to process, your heart catching up with your mind, and then you notice Leigh's amused smile.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. You can sense that your statement simultaneously makes her both happy and sad. You wish you could make it all joy, all the time.

But that’s not how life works.

Leigh bends down, her lips brushing softly against yours before she pulls away, her breath warm on your face. “Do you think this would be easier if we hadn't said those three words to each other?” she whispers, her eyes searching yours for an answer.

You sigh, mulling over her question. “I honestly don't know,” you say, voice soft but certain. “But I couldn’t have kept it to myself, not with how I feel about you. All I know is I love you, whether you’re leaving or staying.”

Leigh's eyes well up again, but this time she lets the tears fall. She leans in, her forehead resting against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?” you ask curiously, sitting up.

Leigh wipes her tear with a dainty finger, then traces the line of your jaw before pecking you on the lips.

“For being you,” she whispers. “And for showing me that life can go on in any number of ways.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

412 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Text

TOWER OF BABEL (VII)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VIII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, intense stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death/injury, toxic modeling standards/expectations, dark implications, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scar descriptions, etc. (Series 18+)

A/N: This is where some of the more serious/dark aspects come into the story involving Seraph's job and the pressures that are put on her. It's only implied in this chapter, but in the next, it'll be talked about more. Just to let you all know.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The day after your meeting, your gifted clothes came to the lobby of the penthouse.

You’d gone down with Nikto and picked up what you could, bags and bags of designer goods including purses, makeup, and jewelry. It was excessive—like Fedorov was trying to buy your silence; buy your affection so you’d cozy up into bed with him.

This job tried you every day, but that was a line you would never cross. Never.

Still, the items needed to be taken and packed for the trip regardless. Eyes would be on you from the moment this adventure from hell started until it ended in what hopefully was a peaceful fashion.

But you severely doubted it would be anything close to peaceful.

You take another gray dress and slip it into the garment cover, legs folded on the floor of your living room as you hum under your breath. Music wafts out from your record player, and you’re desperately trying to focus on the task at hand. Nikto reads from the couch.

“Have they called you yet?” You ask, not looking up as you slide the cover’s zipper, missing it once as your hand shakes unexpectedly.

The Russian responds with a slow and even, “Нет. No calls.”

You sigh, licking your lips.

No one had been telling you what was in that last gift at AMA—not even your mother. Aly had said it was probably nothing when she’d been briefly over to assist with the clothes, on a tight break in her schedule, but you weren’t too sure of that.

Pale eyes blink slowly, and a page turns. “No use thinking. Pack.”

“You make it sound like it’s that easy,” you huff, body leaning back and spine resting against your various rugs. The penthouse was warmer today, and you wear comfortable loungewear; shorts, and a dark baggy t-shirt. Your head shifts, arms out beside you. “How are you so calm about everything? My heart feels like it’s constantly going to break out of my chest.”

Your phone goes off on the coffee table, a short buzz that has to be either your mom or Alyona. Rubbing a palm into your right eye, you hear the bear grunt and close whatever he was reading, finding it pointless to try and focus if you continue to speak to him.

He stares for a moment, hidden face a mystery you long to solve. With a tap of his finger on his thigh, he explains.

“Training,” you blink, intrigued. Nikto seems to notice, tilting his head and looking down at you. “You are scared, Woman, yes?”

“Of course.” You had no trouble admitting it. “Anyone would be.”

“In military,” the air of the penthouse moves with the weight of his broken words, the rough bleed of vocals. You really did like his accent—it just added so much to his already intimidating form. Just a stack of bricks being constantly grated against one another. “We were taught how to become used to it—the adrenaline. Fear. In the end, it held little over many; failure was the only fear that never left.”

Your brows furrow, lips frowning. “You fear failure, Nikto?”

You expected a blunt refusal, quick words. But the man had been softening to you over the time you’d known him—if that was your own doing, or something more, you can’t quite tell anymore. Any talk on soulmates has feld you like a rabbit in a dark wood to shy away from the looming presence of something bigger; parties and scorned maniacs.

You still wonder if ignoring the gifts was the right thing to do. Would that make it worse? You think you’d read about that somewhere.

A trigger. But the stalker had already pushed one of those, hadn't he? What could he do that was worse than killing three men? Mutilating animals?

Nikto surprises you.

The man blinks, not looking away from your pleasing eyes—even now, your pupils were small with anxiety; he’d noticed how you adamantly avoided social media and the news, plastered with your pictures and the case. The window had never been opened fully since he’d been here, only a creak of natural light slipping from the crack of the half-risen blinds.

For a gruff beast of action, his eyes missed nothing.

“Yes,” he grumbles, blinking away for a moment before his attention returns. “But it is…lesser than what you feel. Незначительный. Minor.”

A small smile flickers your lips, skull to the ground even as it aches slightly.

“I like it when you speak to me—it helps,” you mumble honestly. It wasn’t flirting, not really.

The Russian looks slightly confused at your sentence, but that doesn’t stop his shoulders from minutely tightening. You chuckle, shifting your head to the ceiling where your little bits of painted glass hang.

“Nikto,” you point upwards. “That one—the bird. What color is it?”

This was a game you’d taken a fast liking to. You’d point and ask the color; Nikto would answer.

“Red,” is his monotone reply after a glance. Eyes from behind his mask shrouded in dark paint. You doubted the face grease could come off anymore, the chemicals already bone deep.

“I thought it was orange,” you sigh. “I still can’t tell the difference.”

“Obviously,” is the dryly amused response, with you glaring without venom and putting your hands to the ground to help push you back up.

“Hey,” you try to hide your teasing smirk. “I’m getting better at it—”

Your voice is strangled off as a sharp inhale, eyes blinking rapidly, and your vision blurs in a moment of ricocheting pain flaring in the base of your skull. Snapping one hand to the back of your head, you strangle down a small scream, reducing it to a whimper of utter agony.

Neck bending forward, your mouth fills with saliva as your spine pulls in, yet you can’t even focus on that. You feel like if you even have a single thought, your brain will explode out of the back of your head.

Nikto startles, eyes widening, but he doesn’t waste time on shock. Feet already rush over at the slighted change in the air, a hand grasping the base of your neck tightly, attention snapping into place. Your breath puffs as your frantically moving face tenses and eyelids twitch. Your nerves were on fire.

The Russian watches, confusion and a certain unease striking him through his pounding heart. What had happened? One second you were speaking and the next your body was so steel-like it shook harder than he’d ever seen it.

“Seraph,” he barks, face close to your head, looking at the spot you grasp at with your visible knuckles, the sound of your gasping pants leaving his throat echoing with reverberations of unease.

Nikto pulls at the skin of your wrist, peeling your hand back before you draw blood, trying to assess what to do. He only sees it then.

It’s a rabid-looking thing, the scar. With your hair as such, your fingers stuck in the knots, they’re pulled back just perfectly to see it. Pale blue eyes stare unabashedly, struck dumb for a moment in their concerned sheen.

It spans from the base of your skull upward, a jagged bulge of healed tissue and fissures—the shade of skin is different there, hyperpigmentation just as Nikto had. Halfway up the back, the rough line breaks into two places, creating a ‘Y’ with the one nearest to the right stopping sooner than the other.

But it was deep. Deadly-like. An indent lives at the middle point.

For someone so in tune with the ways of the body, Nikto was horrified and fascinated at the very implication; how had you…survived this? Your entire skull might have been broken open from the force of whatever had happened, judging by the strength needed to achieve such brutality. Was this the injury that you’d been speaking about?

An overwhelming emotion takes him by the lungs.

Your body had scars just like his did.

Form curling even farther forward, your legs pull into you, and Nikto finds that at the moment, none of that even matters.

“Seraph,” he orders again, equally as urgent but noticed less sharp. His thumb curls your wrist to trap itself at your pounding pulse; running as if being chased by whatever nightmares he hears you whine from in your sleep.

You swallow down your bile with a clicking of your throat and a small cough, eyes stinging.

“Burns,” your lips whisper, lids closing firmly. “God, my head burns.”

It’s a brief thought—a small moment of slip-second thinking that had saved his life many times.

A chilled palm spreads itself over the back of your head, directly over the broken fracture of flesh, without an utterance of a word. The effects aren’t immediate; you don’t just calm down and stop panicking. But it helps. Like a light in the dark, it helps.

After a minute, the chill seeps into your bones. It goes deeper and deeper, the large grip of Nikto’s fingers stuck into your hair perhaps a little harder than they needed to be, but you weren’t about to complain at the pressure. After two minutes, your panting slows to a small ragged wheeze—feeling like a sick duck as your beady eyes finally open. You see the unblinking pale orbs directly to your right almost immediately after the abyssal dots go back to wherever it was they came from.

He doesn’t speak; you didn’t expect him to. Nikto was arrogant, prideful, but he never spoke unless he knew he had something he needed to say. A blunt hound who never hesitated to bark, but only when he could see something was up in the tree.

When you’ve seemed to calm down, the hand on your wrist leaves with a brush of rough gloves to the skin, making you shiver. You notice the hastily tossed material of the matching product, belonging to the other limb, near your knee.

Cold fingers. Cold hands. A corpse would be jealous, but you’d never felt so thankful.

Nikto studies your face rapidly, and your raspy voice levels out a meek, “Sorry.”

Barely visible brows furrow tightly, almost disgusted. You perhaps misinterpreted that expression the wrong way, because just as you’re about to rush into a wild explanation as to why, how, and every excuse you can give, you’re once more taken off guard today.

Bulky arms circle your waist and under your vibrating knees.

With a sluggish reaction, you blink rapidly as you’re settled against the hard Kevlar of his chest—kept firm in his grip. Your legs hang, hand stabilizing yourself on Nikto’s pec.

“What did I say?” He asks heavily, looking down at you as your shock bleeds away to focus on how to calm your heart. “Seraph?” Nikto prompts, his fingers digging into your clothes.

You try to think, stuttering, “You don’t like it when I apologize.”

“So do not,” the Russian grunts, clenching his jaw out of sight. His words are low, and he rolls his shoulders. “That is the end of it.”

He sets you down on the couch, sinking into the multiple plush pillows. You feel weak—limp. Not looking into the man’s eyes, you curl your hands around your waist, leaning back and being careful to not hit your head on the back.

Nikto watches with hidden concern.

“Explain,” he utters, not moving an inch from in front of you. It’s a minute or so before you can find the words. All the Russian does in that time is shift his arms over his chest—fix the stance of his feet. You can feel his eyes like a knife, but you can’t feel how his brain is on high alert; vigilant to any pain that may be hidden from him.

“Happens sometimes,” you whisper, one vibrating hand coming up to lightly run over the back of your skull. You trace the scar softly, feeling the pulse underneath. “It’s just… sensitive.”

Nikto’s eyes narrow.

After a pause, where it’s obvious you feel some sort of embarrassment judging by your avoiding gaze, the great beast sighs long. A slow blink makes his dark lashes up and down.

He hated how he despised that look on your face.

Moving, Nikto sits beside you, leaning back with a grunt and extending an arm behind you on the hardwood of the couch’s frame.

“Tell me. I want to know.” You side-eye him, knees pulled up to your chest. It has a distance to it, your focus. Everything feels like it’s underwater.

“It’s not a good story,” you force a broken huff, smiling wobbly. Numb eyes don’t waver over the lines of your face.

“No,” Nikto bluntly says. “I did not expect it to be. Nonetheless…” he trails. “I am asking if you are willing to answer.”

It wasn’t like you were against saying what had transpired, but there was a lot of history there—so much. The event had happened when you were young, so many years had passed to a point where the mental pain of it had dimmed to all except the consequences. The aftermath.

This was a give and a take; you consider yourself a fair person.

“How did you lose part of your finger?” You turn it around, licking your lips and staring at his neck. The man’s body stills at the question.

Nikto slowly loosens a grumbled scoff. But it isn’t a feral thing. Perhaps he was even impressed that you had the forethought to gain something of his story when you’d already told so much of yours.

He reminds himself once more, not dumb.

“Very well,” Nikto’s head tilts like a wolf, his knee hitting the place where your feet hang over the edge of the cushion. He looks you up and down as his finger taps the wood behind your head. “Second year with PMC. Operation in far-off country—we do not care to remember which anymore.” You listen, heart calming with every scrape of vocal cords. Nikto explains slowly, thinking over every word carefully as his vision trails to rest at your nose. “Hostile hiding under floorboards.” The Russian rolls his shoulders. “I was reaching down to grab at the hatch; it confused me because it was partially open.”

Your body lightly turns his way, the side of your skull meeting the hard build off the inside of his forearm. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, getting everything under control again one second at a time. As if a book, you turn the pages of Nikto, painting a picture of his tale, oblivious to the way his eyes are stuck on your face. His arm stays completely still for you.

He longs to look at that scar again, and he can’t understand why.

“...Large knife came up through the wood. Cut it off and damaged the others near it. It is numb most days. Barely can tell I still have finger. Very inopportune, but all was not lost.”

“What wasn’t lost?” You hum, sighing, and open your eyes again. The Russian’s gaze darts away.

“I killed him,” he says numb-like, a vicious smirk in his voice. “In the end, it was only us who could tell the story, yes?”

“Does it hurt?” You change the subject back to his scars, liking how his forearm acted as your pillow. You could feel his tendons as they pulled.

“Sometimes,” Nikto shrugs at your quiet question, thighs over the couch cushions. “Like all the others. Natural.”

He doesn’t need to ask if yours do.

You dwell on what he insinuates about his body—the scars you already thought he’d have; why he wears that mask.

“I fell,” you share, not letting a long silence linger. Nikto’s feet shuffle on the floor, but otherwise, like a waiting cat, he was completely beholden to your soft voice. “Far. Cracked my head open on a rock.”

There’s so much more to it—but this is the version you always tell everyone. It’s less…complicated. Gets you less looks of pity, even if you’re not sure Nikto is the type to do that.

The large man hums, nodding. He wants to know more; he’d have to look into it further on his own. “You are lucky to be alive after an injury like that.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, lips twisting. “Lucky.”

Your skull pulses.

“But, anyways,” you wave a hand, locking gazes. “Thank you.”

Nikto’s knees crack as he stands, moving away; his heat leaves. Hands situating themselves at the collar of his vest, the Russian’s throat rolls with a noise of acceptance.

“It is my job. Do you require anything?”

“I think I’m okay,” you admit, feet delicately moving to the rug on the floor. It’s back to packing, pushing this to the back of your mind just as you do the remembrance of his fingers tight in your hair; tight at your wrist. Nikto’s hard voice in your ear, saying your angelic title.

Your throat clears itself, blinking, as you stand.

The man takes it as lightheadedness, one foot moving closer. Your hand raises, and he stops. A small chuckle moves out of your mouth, side-eyeing him with a crinkle to your lids.

“I’m okay, Nikto. Trust me, please.”

He sighs, fingers twitching. But he doesn’t grumble any blunt vitriol, he just watches. Always watching.

Your spirits are lightened by his presence.

Brushing down your t-shirt, you close your eyes and shove away the memories, tiny tingles of pain still present as they go up and down your spine.

“Now, we have to get to work,” you brush past the episode, used to them. “It would be helpful if you lent a hand, Big Guy.”

Your joke leads to a huff, fingers taking back their book from the table—all in Russian script, so you didn’t know what it was—and a roll of eyes.

“That is not my problem. Your clothes, your parties.”

“The parties you’re going to have to go with me too,” you smirk, eyes glimmering as you grasp your phone, flipping it over to turn it on and look at the text you’d received. “I hope you like suits.”

Pale eyes widen before a growled Russian sentence wafts over the music from the recorder. You laugh, already knowing the contents of curses and refusals. He was so much like a child sometimes it takes you aback. A brute, utterly refusing what was in front of him and owning a short fuse.

“Oh, calm down,” you blink, signing into your phone. “I’m good at finding clothes as long as you tell me colors and shades. You’re in the best hands in the business, Nikto.”

“Do not say it like that,” he barks, eyes narrowed and his body moving forward to pass you, most likely to go back to your bookshelf and return the book, seeing as he’d get nowhere with it now. “I do not want your hands, Whelp.”

“You’re saying that now,” you tease, pointing with your free finger. “Everyone says that before they have a taste of—”

“Quiet.”

You laugh, spine lightly bending forward, and Nikto’s back turned to you to where you can’t see his face soften at the sound. His body unconsciously loosens, orbs gaining a distance that has nothing to do with his condition. Your existence is a curse to him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s only after you’re able to calm down, the Russian putting his book away with a large hand, when you finally look down at the text you’d gotten.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘I sent you a gift and you didn’t even open it?’

Your face freezes mid-smile.

‘I’m giving you everything you wanted—you didn’t open the letter I gave you in the grocery store, either, did you? I waited for hours for you to show up! Hours for you! I’ve waited YEARS to be near you! I love you more than anything in my life and you’re ignoring me? How can you do that when I’ve risked so much? Please, Seraph, I love you but you’re breaking my heart—I’m trying so hard to be kind to you. Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Это любовь с первого взгляда! Я не могу жить без тебя!

I’m trying to forgive you, my Сладкая, I promise. I’ll always forgive you, but let me show you how much you mean to me.’

Images pop through, scent quickly as your glee stiffly drops like glass to the floor. You’d never felt yourself go so still as when you’re halfway through the block of text and you see yourself at the grocery store, alone, and Nikto’s shadow disappearing around the aisle. More—so much more. You in AMA...in…in the photoshoot wearing nothing but the lingerie, skin on full display.

Your eyes flood with tears, jaw open.

He had been in that fucking room. He’d been there when your manager had brought in the dead birds—he, he had…

He’d been right there.

You can’t speak, you’re only looking down at the continuing barrage of photos.

Outside of the Consulate building, walking down the street, talking with Aly on a girls outing from months ago. Your phone vibrates with every one, quivering hands already moving but now more so. Like a rabbit being hunted down. It shows an escalation—the more you see the closer this freak was getting in each, slowly slinking with vile intentions until the last.

An image of the direct back of your head, a hand reaching, and almost touching, exactly where your scar lives.

You’re going to vomit.

The entire device is snatched by gloved fingers.

Nikto glares in confusion, ears twitching at every buzz of your phone. “What is wrong with—”

The man is suddenly more wound up than a dog under a noose.

Rushing past, you only reach the kitchen trash can two seconds before your bile rocketed from your mouth, heaving what little you’d managed to eat of Nikto’s cooking into the bottom with a tight sob.

Nikto’s hand holds the thing—reading, looking, with dead eyes. Dead eyes that gradually become enraged with a certain type of anger that breeds in silence. The skim, a ruthless finger tapping the screen and dragging the conversation back to the top before he stares. He stares and stares and stares at the pictures. At you.

The way you live your life, oblivious to the threat right behind you. Stalking closer.

Nikto can’t remember a time he’s felt so angry at an enemy before. Not just an enemy, no, an animal. This wasn’t like the rules of war, this was for pleasure; for a selfish need. He knew how to keep himself separate—had to for his sanity—but this was something no one could not get wrathful at. Even him.

He hears you wretch, vomiting into the trash just below the island where he’d made the both of you lunch, the choke of your sobbing breaths. The sounds make his hands tighten over the phone, to smash it to pieces like a toddler with a block castle.

And then the device buzzes one more time as Nikto silently finishes reading the first text you’d been sent.

‘Don’t worry about the bodyguard, Seraph, I can take care of him, too. We can finally be together, just like it’s supposed to be.’

Nikto is hitting the call button before his brain catches up to his finger.

Slotting it to his covered ear, he breathes like an afflicted hound, eye buggy and chest rattling with air. Panting echoed from behind his mask, the hot breath moving back to warm his slashed and burned flesh.

It picks up on the second ring, but nothing is said. No words from the other end.

In the corner of his eye, Nikto sees you hyperventilating. The former soldier speaks entirely in Russian, slipping back into his native tongue as easily as he slips into violence—it is nothing more than a slide of sandpaper.

“I am going to watch the life bleed from your eyes,” he grinds out. “And then I’m going to make your corpse wish it had been set on fire instead.”

Nikto hangs up, tossing the phone to the coffee table and making a mental note to get Yaromir and Galina to trace the number. Stomping over to you, your body was away from the trash now, hand to your mouth.

“I’m okay,” you say hurriedly, tears tracking your cheeks. “I’m okay.”

“You are not,” Nikto wishes he could go to the shooting range—wishes he could spar and slam someone down to a wrestling mat. He needs flesh under his fingertips.

The Russian’s chest is wide and rising with the pulse of untamed lungs. The bulge of his pecs stuttered over their course and the old scars he carries itch under the barrier of his gear.

Growling, the man clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head to the side firmly.

But there was something about the implication of you being threatened that made Nikto need to feel the weight of his service weapon in his grip. To feel the recoil of a bullet being sent into someone. A nameless figure; a silent phone call.

Nikto scoffs, rolling his neck and shoulders.

Thinking like this was making him reckless.

“I guess I should have told you about the letters, then,” you taste bile on your tongue, images swirling in your head—paranoia was firm. Suddenly, every memory was tainted. You gag on your saliva, coughing.

Nikto doesn’t respond to the self-deprecating comment.

Once more today, hands move to touch you, pulling at the space under your arms and lifting. Blinking, you’re moving around when your feet are flat on the ground—hands going to rest on the edge of the counter behind you.

Nikto’s hands stay stuck at the meat of your limbs, great head tilted. Eyes lock on the tear tracks spreading down your skin, and he pauses.

A thumb slowly pushes at them, spreading the liquid along your flesh as your blurry vision stays at his neck. With a shuddering inhale at the unneeded attention, your head lightly sags forward—connecting with Nikto’s chest.

He tenses, looking down at you from the corner of his eye.

After a minute, his nose releases an unheard sigh, and his arms lower to his sides.

Nikto lets you rest there as long as you need.

—

You’re in the bath tonight, and Nikto listens to the water sloshing as he pushes the envelopes around from inside the lockbox.

It was safe to say you hadn’t gone back to packing.

That woman, Alyona, was here—she’d made a big fuss about the texts before she’d taken you with her and led you into the bathroom to clean yourself up. You were both in there now—talking. Nikto wasn’t going to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping; he didn’t care if your friend or you knew it. It was mostly about the parties, the talk, and the Russian could understand that Alyona was trying to occupy your mind.

His mission was more important.

You’d passed him the box and watched as Nikto had retrieved the letter from your coat pocket. The former soldier had already called the investigators and promptly told them to arrest Sergi, or they would have him to deal with—there hadn’t been time to respond before he’d hung up and smashed his phone to the nightstand of your rented room. The resounding echo had made both parties in the bathroom go silent for a minute before hesitantly starting back up.

And now, there was the scratchy English script of a stalker in his hands. He felt disgusting even touching them; he was glad he’d put his gloves back on. A permanent sneer was stuck to his hidden face like a curse, eyes narrowed.

Standing, the man trades weight from his thighs as he reads the letter that had been stuck in your jacket.

‘My Сладкая,

This is the one-hundredth letter I’ve written to you, though you haven’t been sent all of them yet. I’m still waiting for you to notice me, and I’ve grown disquieted by your response to the way I disposed of your three guards. Was that not what you wanted every time you looked at me?’

Nikto’s hand comes up to rub at the fabric over his neck, digging until he feels the bulge of his scar against his fingertips.

‘I thought you would be thankful, but now you have that man following you everywhere. He took your doves from you—the doves that were supposed to make up for the misunderstanding about the dead men. You looked beautiful with the red fire moving over your face that day, you know? It caught every curve and the softness of your skin perfectly. Here—I even took a picture for you to enjoy as I thoroughly have. I hope it brings you the pleasure it brought me to run my lips over your holy image.”

Fingers crumble the side of the letter, creasing it. Not once do they delve into the envelope to look for that picture. If he had the choice, Nikto would rip this entire thing into little bits.

‘I think it’s time that we meet—alone, Сладкая. I’ll be waiting tonight at the café for you, so we can run away together. And start this life together. I think it’s time. Yes. I will ravage you with all of the beautiful things in life; jewelry, dresses, makeup, my body. It is mine, isn’t it? You? You’ve told me with your eyes, so why are you still ignoring me? You look at me every day. I look back—you love me! I know you do! Why are you still being such a—’

It falls off into nothing but rabid script; illegible even to Nikto’s best abilities. The letter is saturated with something—spots of the paper pulling in on itself with droplets off…

Nikto stills, disgust and insult moving in his gut. There wasn’t any DNA on the box, but they certainly had some here.

Dropping the letter into the lockbox on the nightstand, the man takes the top and rams it shut with a rattle of the nesting dolls on the upper shelf. Nikto removes his gloves and tosses them into the garbage bin.

Stalking to the bathroom door, he moves on instinct. Ever the animal.

Knuckles rasp to the wood. Conversations halt once more.

“Seraph,” he eases, accent tight. “You are well?”

A bead of silence, the moving of water.

“Yes, Nikto,” your voice is still shaky, but it comes out from under the door.

Nikto stares at his feet, blinking. With a grunt, his feet shift and he forces out, “Good. You will call if you need us.”

It wasn’t a question.

Moving back, he nods to himself firmly, shaking out his right hand—he can’t seem to stop being on edge. Every creak, every shadow of your decorations moving, made his eyes dart to them, honing in as if behind the scope of a rifle.

Nikto brought his hands to the side of his skull, pushing in. You were messing with his head, he tells himself again. The moments of dissociation were becoming more frequent as of late, and he could feel it in the back of his mind even now. A glaze over his brain that made everything feel like it was worlds away from him—it was sharp and sure of itself. Words jumbled, ‘I’s came out as ‘We’s, things were lapsed from his brain; important things. Moments of confusion—aggression. Leaving you behind in a grocery store at the flip of a coin. Snapping at you in real anger when you were just curious.

He can’t do that. He can’t lose his grip.

From inside the bathroom, your eyes stay locked on the door, your head resting on the wall behind you as your skin soaks in the claw-footed tub.

“I don’t know if this is good for me, Aly,” you confess lowly, eyes shifting back to the wall ahead of you, a little black and white ceramic fish on a shelf. Candles let off the scent of linen and pine.

Alyona sits on the stool a few feet away, watching your face worriedly.

“Солнышко,” she starts slowly, “we both know it isn’t. It’s going to pass—I can’t hope for more than that.”

It’s like a repeating record—It’ll be okay, just keep strong, push through.

It wasn’t Aly’s fault; she’s involved in this too.

“Is Nikifor worried about you?” The woman’s head perks, her lips twitching as the orbs inside of her head soften.

“Seraph, you don’t have to change the subject—”

“Truly,” you move a hand up from the water and rub at your face. “Really, Aly, I need a distraction. Please, just…talk. You know I love to hear about the two of you.”

She sighs, looking to the wall. After a moment, she chuckles, head tilting down. “Yes, he’s worried. He worries about you as well. You have a home with us, little Солнышко—I want you to know that, yes?” Alyona brings a hand to your cheek, pinching in good nature.

You shuffle away in mock annoyance, lips twitching.

“...I know, Aly.”

“Good,” she huffs. “I would not be a good friend if you didn’t. At least that brute is taking care of you, it seems.”

“He’s a good cook,” you ease out. “You should try it sometime.”

Gray eyes blink at you, shocked. “He got you to eat a meal?”

“You’re saying it like I never do,” you chuckle, eyebrows pulling in as the dimmed overhead light shines down on your avoidance of the problem at hand.

“No, it’s not that,” Aly’s eyes rove with unseen emotion, her concerned heart gaining a smidge of affection for the man outside of the door, whose shadowed feet can still be seen pacing. “I am…glad, Seraph. Food is always the way to someone’s senses, eh?”

Your lips twitch, but the weight on your chest remains. A tense pause grabs the both of you.

“I wish you were coming with,” you have to admit on a stiff tongue. “Ever since I first got here, you’ve been with me for all of it—the parties especially.” Your open mouth stutters. “Aly, I don’t think I can do it again by myself. All of those people; what some of them expect from me, it…it’s just…” Getting choked up, you move a hand to your mouth, covering it. From behind the flesh, you mutter, “I can’t do it again, it’s just the same as staying here, as a matter of fact, I think staying would be better.”

“You need to think rationally,” Aly shakes her head, getting closer to take your hand in both of hers. She squeezes, her top shiny in the light as it moves. “Nothing is worse than staying in this city. The man outside the door agrees. It is the safest option for you, even if,” Alyona closes her eyes, looking away as she opens them. She never finishes her sentence.

“I don’t want to,” you fight a whimper. “Aly, we tried so hard to get out of them sending us like meat.”

But there’s nothing that the woman can do to you when you say it like that, and even her expression gets far away. Alyona’s eyes blink fast, getting glossy before they avoid your eyes for the rest of the night.

“I’m sorry, My Seraph. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And that’s all that can be said.

When night comes, you don’t think you sleep at all, and by Nikto’s pacing of his room, the occasional pause to peek his head through your doorway, neither does he.

—

The time to leave came far quicker than you could anticipate as the days blended. Chelyabinsk was nearly a three-hour drive if you went the fastest route, and in the time before it, you and Nikto hadn’t spoken much about the letters. They’d been taken by the investigators the next day, along with your phone, for testing and tracking. While you’d been given a new device, it was a tiny thing that died more times than not; you had three contacts—Alyona, Nikto, and your mom.

You’d been assigned a driver by AMA for the trip, and thus, the all-black vehicle had arrived in the small hours of the morning as you had finished a hurried call to your matriarch.

“I’ll be back soon, Mom,” you’d explained. “Business. I’ll keep me busy.”

She had said it was a good idea like everyone else. Aly and you were the only ones to know the truth. Dread was a fishhook in your throat, but the fear of staying here was just as prominent. Those pictures haunted your mind.

“Nikto,” you ask, grabbing one of your suitcases on the street with a grunt. “Can you…?” The item is taken and easily lifted into the trunk. “Thank you,” your voice breathes out a sigh into the early morning air.

You hadn’t been to Chelyabinsk in a long time. Your brain knew that it would be most of the same—you needed to be careful of who you spoke to and how you did it. While regular crime was only moderate, corruption and bribery was your main problem when entering the place. You were on Allurement’s payroll, would your CEO’s influence be enough to stop anyone from trying anything with you?

If you stuck to where you were told to go, you should be fine.

Along with yourself and Nikto, photographers and media know-hows would be tagging along; makeup artists and stylists. A team of people who mostly refuse to look at you at all, only a few familiar faces among them.

But, thankfully, only you and your guard would be in this car.

“You can get in,” Nikto comments, blinking at you in the dark street, the lights of the car and the penthouse behind you all you have to differentiate between shades of black and gray. Your eyes had been constantly narrowed so you could try and see better. “I will load the rest.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” you smile sheepishly, “I’d like to stay out until we leave. I get fidgety when I’m in the car for too long.”

His shoulders shrug, taking another of your bags from the ground. “Very well. You will eat on the way there, then.”

Your eyes blink, attention pulled back from the shadow of a man walking across the street, raising hair on your arms.

“What was that?” You tilt your head.

Nikto huffs. “Eat. On the way there.” He raises a brow. “You need breakfast.”

“Oh,” you at your neck slightly. “Sure, yeah. But what about you? Do you want me to turn around or something so I won’t see your face?”

“No need. We ate as you dressed. Packed the remaining for you.” You’re brushed past, the purse around your shoulder connecting with Nikto’s thigh as his boots clop over the concrete.

Your lips twitch, expression still worried but the tease sneaking out instinctually. “I need to start calling you Mother Bear, Nikto.”

“It will be the last thing you do, Whelp,” he grumbles, eyes looking over his shoulder as he packs the last suitcase away. Amusement is like liquid stone inside of them.

So the trip ensued.

You entertained yourself by staring out of the window as the cityscape rolled back, already missing the sanctity of your penthouse as you fiddled with a small stuffed bird in your grip.

“I spy…” you mumble twenty minutes in, trying to be normal again. “Something tall and gray—”

“Tree,” Nikto grunts, trying to read one of the books he packed.

“No,” you say, defensively. “It was,” your mouth opens and closes, scouring the passing scene but finding nothing. “Fine, yes, it was a tree.”

“I spy something blue.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“I believe it was funny. Perhaps you do not have a good sense of humor, Woman.”

You glare, throwing your stuffed bird directly at his forehead and watching it bounce off. Nikto doesn’t even look away from the words on his page, flipping to the next with a deep chuckle in his neck.

Rolling your eyes, you groan and slouch into your seat.

You had to say, though, that as the city disappeared, so did your anxieties. It felt good to be near dense croppings of trees again—only an open and uncrowded highway and Nikto beside you. His pale eyes would watch you every so often, and you would do the same, studying each other as time passed and a gradual silence fell.

“Can I use you as a pillow?” You ask with only an hour left on the trip.

Nikto’s halfway through his book, and up until now, you’d kept to yourself, lost in thought.

“I am not comfortable,” he utters, leg shifting. He glances, but his numb eyes don’t do much until they move back to where they were prior. “And my Kevlar is hard. It will aggravate your head.”

You had to wonder how fast he caught onto that fact about you. A smile grows on your face, and you shift to grab your jacket, folding it and tossing the item onto Nikto’s thigh. His head darts down right as you move to rest there, body sideways and legs folded against the door.

“I like it when you worry—it’s cute,” you stifle a yawn, ignoring his digging eyes. “Wake me before we get there?”

Your ears don’t wait for an answer, your fatigue from missing an entire night of sleep catching up where Nikto’s never would. He watched you rest for the remainder of the ride, hand hovering over your shoulder until it slowly slipped down to rest on it with a grumble of exasperated Russian under his breath. But the man had noticed the bags under your eyes—unable to be hidden by makeup. He found it in himself to let you sleep, even if the infection of your warmth made his head go loose; how your slackened face looked peaceful.

The knowledge of what you’d just experienced was still with him, even as he linked his feelings together as pointless. This was a waiting game, and everyone else seemed to have time except for you.

He didn’t like it. There was a nagging in the back of his gut—instinctual understanding as a hired gun who’d gone through many deployments. This was bigger; something was going to happen soon. A tipping point.

Nikto had a feeling you felt it too, as your head nuzzled his thigh in your sleep, shoving yourself into your jacket as tiny grunts moved from your lips; eyebrows furrowing.

Bad dream, the Russian clocked immediately, his book long placed at his side and his one elbow against the window frame.

Pale blue eyes watched for a moment, looking at your deep red blouse and the long back skirt that lightly cascaded over the side of the seats. His hand at your shoulder—hard and immobile, twitches as it tries to keep you steady, feeling the muscle under your flesh writhe.

Only when you can’t seem to calm down does he do anything at all.

Nikto can easily stamp an expression of annoyance on his face, of bored numbness, but instead, a sliver of something that could be considered softness bleeds from behind his eyes; something that even if he were to look into a mirror, he couldn’t name himself.

A finger brushes up your neck, scarred and broken, most of a finger missing and the nearest ones fuzzy with nerve damage. It hovers, steady, before his hand moves to massage along the base of your scar. It’s an awkward angle, no mistake. After all, he was practically grabbing the side of your neck to reach, but it was all he could offer short of waking you.

When he couldn’t sleep, he’d do the same to himself; it helped, he thought, feeling skin on skin—a caress that eases aches. Call it pathetic, but the sensations he was feeling doing the same to you were nothing short of trance-inducing. To understand the pulse of your heart—your breath returns to a slow puff; brows settling back down at only his circling thumb.

A bit of that infectious pride trickles into his eyes; smug.

Nikto grunts, and leans back into his chair, continuing his work to settle you, and smirks softly under his mask.

Only roughly half an hour to go, and then it was back to guard duty. But perhaps he could close his eyes and rest as well.

You made for quite the distraction.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @kra-rino4ka, @caramlizedtomatoes, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

500 notes · View notes

bl00dlight · 5 months

Text

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Author's note • After my recent rant, Ive decided to feed the girlies who want fics that align with canon Aemond. Sooooo Im coming home for my girls with an fire & blood timeline retelling & not just more boring ass Mary Sue × Aemond smut. So we are starting from the beginning. The vibe is, "I could make him significant worse".

Word Count ~ 1.4k

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ●viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ii ~ 'Age of Hero's'

123 AC

It was not until later that night the young princess saw her uncle again. It took little effort to convince the Kings guard that she was not here to continue to jeer at the prince, but rather to give a sincere apology. At least, that is what she had told herself. It had not occurred to her, why or how men oft bended to her will. In truth, Visenya had little thoughts on such things, for all she knew, she asked and received accordingly – and if she did not receive, she would promptly sway until her desires were met.

It was this very naivety, this innate trust that the world would simply open its loving arms for her whenever she pleased, that worried her mother and father so dearly. Both knowing the ways of men, the violence and sickness that dwelled in her heads, most especially about a Princess of Valyrian blood. Seen less so for her heart and more for her blood born proximity to the God’s themselves. To power of fire made flesh, and of course. The beauty which came with Valyrian blood.

Visenya entered Aemond’s room quietly, and when she came before him, came before his body splayed out upon his bed she swiftly averted her gaze. The princess cleared her throat, a small noise of a disturbance left his mouth as he jumped, swiftly propping himself upwards.

“What are you doing in here? You ought-” His voice laced with outraged as The Princess interrupted.

“Temper yourself. I’ve not come to goad you. I just, I came to apologise.” A small laugh left her, she put her hand up.

“I do not give a shit.” Aemond snapped.

Visenya tilted her head, scanning him, “Fine. But I shall do so anyway.”

“Why?” Asked Aemond, the air teaming with uncertainty as he watched his sly niece walk slowly, stalking through his room like a cat.

“Because it is right, it is what is owed, and I’ve no intention being in your debt.” Visenya sighed, her voice almost aloof, smug. Her eyes look in the space, the perfectly kept books and scrolls upon his desk. The princess reached the dark mahogany desk that was seemly gleamed in the firelight. It seemed the prince had little taste nor need for decor, he seemed to only own objects for utilitarian purposes, he was so… conservative, Visenya thought. In fact, the only unkept thing was an open book, her pale fingers grazed the pages. Clearly, he had taken it from her Grandsire’s personal Library. She looked at the top, small writing detailing the topic ‘Age of Heros: Symeon Star-Eyes’. She had never heard of such a thing, her thoughts interrupted as another pale hand snatched the book away.

The prince’s eyes met hers with a venomous glare as placed the small book back upon his desk, “I find it difficult to believe you care about what is right.”

Visenya scoffed in response as she paced to the other side of the desk, her fingers as cunning as she as they found his book once more, “True. Perhaps I don’t, however it hardly matters. For even if I am saying it to benefit myself, my meaning is sincere.”

Frustration and rage tore through Prince Aemond as he then turned and stepped forward, who was she to dare apologise? After all this time, all these years of enduring her fucking bastard brothers torment? No, no Aemond would not tolerate it, he was not one to embrace pity. “I’ve no reason to accept your pathetic apology and I have no use for the rag of pity you continue to throw at me!” He snapped.

Visenya found herself taken aback by the fire in his eyes, she felt her own frustration boil as she bit back with equal fervour, “Yes, well perhaps you ought to! Since it seems I am the only one who is willing to throw it to you, and actually, unlike what you may think. I have little interest in hating you.”

“Do not lie.” Aemond stepped forward, his voice low.

“It is no lie. I do not hate you, we most certainly do not get along. But, I have little reason to hate you.” She shrugged, Visenya relaxed once more.

Though Prince Aemond could not tolerate it any longer, he would not take another drop of her insolence… her teasing, her lies! He snapped again, “You… you and your brothers torment me for your own amusement.”

“As does Aegon.” The Princess sneered, once again he had gotten himself into a state, she thought.

“I do not give a shit about Aegon! He is a fool and already a drunkard, and… and, well he is also my brother.” The prince wanted to push her, slap that smarmy sneer from her face. He stumbled upon his words, feeling more flustered, more overcome with the memories of all of his sister’s bastard’s torment. Their stupid, arrogant faces.

Visenya, ever cool, raised her brow, “So?”

“So, it is different.” He bit back.

Visenya stepped forward, folding her arms as she analysed him, by the Gods was he bothered. Still, she retorted back, “I dare say Aegon torments you for his own amusement far more than I. In fact, I do not torment you at all. They are mere jests!”

“Mocking me for not claiming a dragon is not a simple jest!” He had had it, the prince suddenly found himself unable to control it anymore, his hands came out before him, connecting with his niece’s chest as he pushed her back.

Visenya stumbled only slightly, she looked down and then swiped a stray hair from her face. Silence fell between them before a moment, a piercing silence. The soft breaths of Aemond to be heard as he tried to temper himself. A slight guilt filled him, but not for what he had done to the Princess, rather what may happen to him if his father found out. Or worst of all… if her father found out. The silence dragged, before shattered with the soft cackles of Visenya. Her face beaming.

“Gods…” She laughed, tilting her head back. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did tease him for her own amusement. Tis his fault really, Aemond ought to learn how not to be so easily pestered, he ought to enjoy her attention on him. Only the Gods knows how many other boys try and fail to garner her interest. Yet it was him, who truly captured Visenya. A cruel smile rose to her face.

“Just get out!” Aemond snapped again, feeling a slight measure of weakness under her gaze. He reached forward, grabbing her wrist harshly as he forced her to the door,

As he did so, Visenya cackled, enjoying this far too much, she laughed as she spoke, “Very well, I apologize for my lapses, and I will not speak on your lack of a dragon again, Uncle.” The door swung open and Visenya nearly gasped as she felt the firm grip of the Kings Guard outside his chambers grip her shoulder.

“Come, princess. The hour grows late, the both of you ought be in your bedchambers for the night.” The King’s Guard voice rang firm as he began to escort Visenya away, her eyes lingered upon Aemond once more, as she giggled.

The cheeky cackling of his niece could be heard through the prince’s heavy doors, Aemond wore a bitter expression. He was utterly infuriated, utterly exhausted… and utterly ashamed in his own inability to not give in to her teasing. He scanned his room, the firelight casting a soft orange glow, the air was warm, and it’s smell a comforting indication of embers. Aemond sat upon his bed once more, eyes sharp and pained, a part of him wished to crawl into the arms of his mother but he did not send for her. No, he would face this alone, he would not behave as the weak little bellyacher they all thought him to be. He would be strong, infallible; he would be a man.

Upon this thought, Prince Aemond rose up from his bed, approaching his desk once more as he longed to find comfort in the tales of great knights and ruthless warriors; to read of Symeon Star Eyes. Yet, as the young prince’s eyes met the mahogany surface, he felt his gut coil with rage once more.

His book had been swiped.

○iii○

#hotd #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #targaryen #got #rhaneyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #daenerys targaryen #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd aemond #the greens hotd #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x niece

136 notes · View notes

tinietaehyun · 10 months

Text

Forsaken : ̗̀・❥・ ੈ✩‧₊˚

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader] [Series] [Masterlist]

Pairing(s): Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader [Ft. other txt members]

Genres: Romance, fantasy, supernatural, royal!au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers.

Contains: Will be stated each chapter.

Summary: With your throne ripped away from your hands and on the run from your brother, you have no choice but to enter the Woods of Mors to escape the royal guards.

On the brink of exhaustion and hopelessness of having lost everything, you meet an arrogant sorcerer who seems to not respect your status whatsoever. Learning about his past, you realise, he’s exactly what you need to perhaps have a chance at winning back your throne and protecting your people from your tyrannical brother.

It’s all smooth sailing until you realise, you’ve caught feelings for the prideful sorcerer who despises royalty. Oh, it’ll be fine, right?

Note: Chapters will be varying length 4-5K words depending on chapter content. This will attempt to be an immersive experience! Rated PG-13.

————••————

Story Masterlist:

1. Chapter I: An Ode to Betrayal

2. Chapter II: A Plea to the Sorcerer

3. Chapter III: One’s Own Misgivings

4. Chapter IV: Bounties & Temptation

5. Chapter V: A Cry of Two Broken Hearts

6. Chapter VI: Keep Your Enemies Close

7. Chapter VII: Fluttering Feelings

8. Chapter VIII: A Door to the Past

9. Chapter IX: Trust Me, Sweetheart

10. Chapter X: Forlorn Reunion

11. Chapter XI: Home, Sweet Home

12. Chapter XII: An Ode to Romance

13. Chapter XIII: A Ballad of Two Lovers

14. Chapter XIV: Confessions & Treachery

15. Chapter XV: To Die is to Lose

16. Chapter XVI: [Finale] The End is a New Beginning

> I will be opening a taglist for this series! If you wish to be added to the taglist, please comment below. First come first serve basis!

Taglist: [closed]

@royallyjjk @wolfytae-exe @rencarnationofangel @sirenla @matcha-binz @beomies-world @michinri @parkweylyn @kvshzj @hanniehaeeeeeee1004 @elara828 @wonioml @onima-chan @moonekth @glossykai @jjunielvrs @beargyuuzz @cathyun @hanstarrs @m3chigo @vanicogh @baekberrie @nap-of-a-starr @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @sunpov

Coloured/pattern dividers are from @cafekitsune (amazing work!)

356 notes · View notes

anundyingfidelity · 6 months

Text

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part V)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.4k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some misogyny and shit (you know who), psychiatry stuff, canon gore, blood, heads exploding, and violence?.

Notes: so I'm sorry for any mistakes during the psychyatric process, I go to therapy and take medication myself so that's all I know plus google research. And be aware of the gore descriptions, I tried to do my best I guess lol. Thanks for reading as always!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part V: Blow Your Mind

With a deep breath, you reviewed the symptoms Soldier Boy barely 'gave' during your session. The list was kind of long on the pages and it read:

Always being on guard for any danger, self-destructive behavior, irritability, angry outbursts, panic attacks, feeling emotionally numb, not trusting anyone, not feeling safe, hypervigilance, intrusive thoughts, fatigue, muscle tension, headaches, back pain...

There was a weird silence surrounding both of you, mostly because of his mood and his change in demeanor from a somewhat friendly asshole to an irritated, unbearable jerk. Once you had started with the uncomfortably stupid questions, he felt threatened. Soldier Boy wasn't actually open to talk about his past and the traumatic experiences he had, and that meant it was difficult to get to know how his body and mind were reacting to all the stress and madness he went through in decades, adding those weeks after Billy Butcher had released him from his nightmare.

He was opposed to speaking directly about how he was feeling, but you knew better that Ben speaking out on his symptoms was not going to happen. So you had to ask each one of them and review some his most harsh experiences directly, in order to receive monotonous responses, limited to: 'yes', 'no', 'I don't know,' and finally 'what the fuck is that?' You took them all as an absolute yes.

He was being defensive and you knew better than to miss anything after he almost burned the whole damn building. And with the small but confident experience you had with psychiatry, you concluded that he needed medication and therapy. As soon as fucking possible.

"Yeah, you have PTSD," you said after a moment and your eyes found his unreadable gaze.

He raised his eyebrows with false surprise. He already heard that shit from Hughie before. "And where's the fucking drugs?"

"For that to happen, you have to stop the weed first."

"I've survived bricks of coke mixed with shit you probably don't know about and you want to take the only thing that's keeping me sane? Fan-fucking-tastic!" he fumed, but you didn't flinch. Not a bit.

"Look, my goal is keeping you safe and making you sane because you definitely are not. Not right now. And since I took you out, you'll follow my process, so stop whining."

He chuckled softly with a bitter grimace on his lips as he shook his head softly. "No, that's not gonna happen."

"I don't care if you agree with that, it's settled," you continued, a triumphant smile plastered on your face.

It was true, you didn't give a single shit. He had to be clean and quit any type of drugs to start the medication but most importantly, to use his blood. Eventually. You were more than aware that he wouldn't die easily, that was proved. And it was just a matter of time to get him to your lab to take samples of his blood and run the necessary research on them while you and your team still continued the studies with the Anti-V prototype. You were only hoping that day would arrive soon enough. Two months sober, that was all you needed from him. And the best part? Soldier Boy didn't have to really know the whole details.

Ben, on the other hand, clenched his jaw so tight and closed his eyes for a moment after hearing your statement. You really were a fucking bitch, letting him fall into the abyss of misery and torture that was his own wrecked mind. He considered your intentions internally, once again for the millionth time. You showed up there all dressed up, playing a rich doctor when in reality you were just a fucking slutty brat, just to tell him he had to stop his usual pot, which you also brought happily when he asked you to. And now, you were taking away the only thing that stopped him from ripping your head off. What a great move.

"That's not smart," he insisted.

"Why not? I have you under my own terms."

Ben tilted his head, studying you carefully. "You can't stop me, doll. None of you can. I'm only here because I find it suitable instead of storming out and catching unnecessary attention."

Ben saw you swallow down, he immediately knew it was because you were angry, not scared. You never really seemed scared of him. And you tried to restrain yourself from slapping him right away. "Are you blackmailing me again, Soldier Boy?"

"Is just a warning," he said, nonchalantly. "Wouldn't want to harm such a pretty thing like you, now wouldn't we."

"Oh well, just a reminder I can also turn on the damn gas if needed," you snapped. The arrogant smirk on his lips fell off and it was your turn to smile back. "We all have hidden cards, right?"

Such an arrogant bitch, he thought.

"So, what's your plan?" you switched the subject to avoid going further into what was troubling him.

"What do you mean?"

"Homelander. You want him dead, don't you? You must be getting ready to fight again..."

His body seemed tense once you pushed him to talk, looking away from you to calm a bit. "Isn't that what all of you want?"

"Any sane person would love that, trust me."

Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes. "Well, I can do it. If I wasn't here... You've seen what he's capable of. Jesus, I've seen it," he bitterly chuckled. "And the kid? He's a fucking menace."

"You've been watching the news, I take that—"

"The fuck I do! Wasn't gonna wait for you to keep me up to date of what the fuck is going on!" Ben shouted, his loud voice roaring in your ears despite the distance.

"I don't want you to stress out more than you do," you said, vacillating. "A lot of things take time, such as you adapting to the twenty-first century."

"I'd love to know when that'll happen," Ben insisted. "Or else, I might just break out."

With a tentative smile, you started to write down the report. "I'm so glad you're talking more during our sessions."

You barely said goodbye to Soldier Boy once you finished your daily session. Your head was aching as you walked down the aisle, barely leaving the empty wing of the building behind. Certainly he was hard to handle and was behaving defensively. Before you left he began asking, or better said, bossing you to get him whatever the kid Hughie told him he needed to learn how to use. Shit like the internet and GPS, he said. You told him he was not ready for it yet.

But you'd give him a golden star for trying and insisting so badly, even if he was against eighty percent of your methods. He was up to something, there was no question for that. He was a soldier, more or less like his given supe name. People like him always had a plan, and underneath his facade, there were more plans backed up with words of honor that you had to track sooner or later.

As you made your way to your office, greeting your lab employees and guards, a disturbing sensation grew up inside. Before crossing the doorframe you subtly looked around, focusing for some reason in the security camera, more time than you'd like to admit. You turned again to finally get inside, facing the entry of your office when hurried steps and a voice stopped you from doing so.

"Doctor!"

Once again you turned on your heels to see your assistant, tablet in hand. Those had to be the results.

"Hey," you began. "You have everything?"

Bianca nodded with a straight face and handed you the tablet. You noticed her tight grip and her somehow trembling fingers when you took the device from her hands. You eyed her a little, she remained with her hands intertwined in front of her, her attention seemed lost. With caution, you continued to check the file.

"Is the patient alright?" you asked, reading the profile of the supe who had the not so good luck of being tested previously.

Solaris was his supe name. And he had the ability to manipulate light and matter with his mind. He had taken part in the program for a month now and this was his first test. As always, each supe you had into the program was low-profile. You were thankful of your team keeping these supes under their gaze to offer them some sort of solution, even after all the deaths you tracked from time to time when a test of the Anti-V was run. More than a solution for them, it was a partial contribution to find it.

You quickly scanned the updated file that Bianca completed for you. He was doing better than projected, his powers were still gone with a forecast of probably coming back within a couple of hours. A deep breath left your lips. Now that was an improvement. It was the first time anything like that happened on any tests. The supe survived, he was weak but the powers were off for a bit. It was a small step closer to your goal. Just a little bit more maybe and it could be done, finally...

"He's resting right now," Bianca interrupted your thoughts. Your eyes were back on her face.

"This is great news, thank you. I trust he's doing okay."

She nodded. "He is."

"Great, I guess I'll see him in a couple of hours," you said about entering your office.

"Wait!" Bianca suddenly closed the little space between both of you. She breathed heavily before stuttering words out. "I, I have- I'm sorry..."

"Are you okay?" you inquired, knowing her behavior was unusual. She swallowed down, turning her gaze away, her hands shaking. Was she sick? "Bianca, what's wrong?"

You tried to reach her cheek with your hand, but she stepped back abruptly, looking at you like if you were a ghost with her eyes red and wet, and a fine layer of sweat adorning her skin.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed.

You walked towards her, worried about what was going on but every step you took, she also gave it back.

"Bianca, what's happening?"

Her back bumped the wall of your office, and finally, she started to cry. "I'm sorry. You have to go, please..."

Your heart started pounding heavily on your chest. "What—"

"Go now! Please... Please don't hurt me..."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bianca," you whispered, trying to comfort her.

But she continued crying and mumbled incoherent words with eyes shut, while hot tears streamed down her face. She choked on her sobs as she pleaded for her life. But you didn't understand why. You tried to soothe her, reaching her shoulder with your free hand.

And when you placed your palm on her, everything became red. It all happened in seconds. Ropes of warm blood covered your face in an instant. A loud gasp fell from your throat. You felt every drop mixed with brains on the skin of your face, on your neck, and sliding down the skin under your blouse. It was shocking and equally disgusting. And your eyes remained shut, not brave enough to move or see the horrid picture in front of you.

Your palm was still on her shoulder when the remains of her body fell to the ground with a thud. Your trembling hand wiped some blood from your face to open your eyes anew. The wall was painted with her, as much as you were, and it left a trail of blood from where her corpse slid to the floor. Her head long fucking gone.

"Shit."

Shit. Fucking shit. Was it him? It had to be him. There was no reason to doubt it. It was him. And he complied with his promise. Had Homelander been controlling Bianca? Was she the only one? No. There had to be something more. Homelander wasn't easy and he wasn't merciful with anyone. You had to stop him and get Soldier Boy out of the building. Now.

You tried to control yourself as best as you could, walking away to reach anyone, crossing a corner on the hallway, where a guard was casually passing by.

He stopped on his tracks at your sight, covered in blood and meat. "Doctor?"

"I need your help," you whispered.

He nodded quickly and you began explaining with a low, shaky voice.

"I don't know what happened, my assistant was right there with me when— Fuck!"

You walked some inches away when his head exploded, just like Bianca's did. Luckily, or not, this time was inside his helmet. All the red brains and blood were catched by it. Still, you wanted to throw up right fucking there. The remains of his body fell to the floor with a loud sound.

With a deep breath you continued your way, finding guards, lab assistants and agents. If they were alive, their heads popped into your sight. And if it was your somehow lucky moment of the day, you just found their headless corpses lying on the ground, creating a pool of blood you tried to avoid.

The only thing on your mind was taking Ben out of the building. The alarm had been turned on and the annoying sound of it was driving you crazy. Your head ached more than ever as you made your way to Soldier Boy for the second fucking time during the day.

Since there was no time to open the heavy door properly, you used a force field around the metal, moving the door until it slipped enough to let you in. You found him standing in the middle of the room. Eyes dark and alert, with fists and frame ready to fight. He wrinkled his nose once you entered the place.

"What the fuck's going on?" Ben growled, observing your blood covered face.

"We need to go, now. Take your clothes off."

He blinked, taken aback. Before he answered you continued with an explanation.

"I'll turn you invisible, but can't turn your clothes," you ordered, looking in the closet for a sports bag you knew was inside and picking a couple of shirts, pants and boxers as quickly as time allowed you to. Once finished, you turned to Ben again.

"Mind to fucking clarify?" he insisted. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Look, I'll tell you everything once we're out," you turned one of your hands invisible for him to see.

Ben snorted with laughter. How ironic, he thought.

"No fucking way."

"Strip. We're leaving."

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon fanfiction #the boys series #the boys tv #the boys amazon prime #jensen ackles fanfiction #soldier boy/ben

142 notes · View notes

pxgeturner · 6 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

123 notes · View notes

crezz-star · 1 year

Text

CREZZ⭐STAR

( do not reblog. this is just a pinned post.... )

Greetings! I'm Crezz! I DRAW WHAT I WANT and what I love and give me inspiration. I found myself drawn to Isekai fantasy genres lately! I also love sparkles, color gold/yellow, cats and DMC's NERO, very very much! ✨✨✨✨

I like games / manga / anime / comic though I do have my favorites that will be stated below:

✨ Devil May Cry series ✨

✨ Final Fantasy XIV ✨

✨ ONE PIECE✨

✨ Detective Conan ✨

Hazbin Hotel

Final Fantasy VII Crisiscore

Kingdom Hearts series

Final Fantasy XV

Tate No Yuusha no nariagari

MARVEL

I like to draw on my own pace as i do not like pressure nor being hired with a deadline. I work best when i'm taking my time because I find inspirations to fuel me to make the piece exquisite.

>> Also NOTE: I like a chill environment and time so I am very much the fiction is and only remains fiction type of person, meaning i'm PROFICTION / PROSHIP, and thus can tell the difference, and DOES separate IRL from fiction. Meaning I can handle seeing most dark themes as well. Although If there's things I do not like, I tend to ignore / mute or block it to avoid it. So i'd recommend you do the same if there's things you don't like that i draw / like / make or plainly of me being proship. Because I am not anyone's online babysitter. This is my blog and YOU came here. Don't act like you own me or control what I make. You don't, so don't go acting entitled.

>> Also 2nd NOTE: Pairings / shipping wise I have top / bottom positionals preference for very few particular characters. That being firstly DMC Nero (top only) and Roronoa Zoro (top only). While there may be times I like art that depicts them as the opposite, its more of appreciation to the art and skills of the artist itself. Nothing more.

>> Also 3rd NOTE: anywhere I go, which ever social media account. I block people. It can be the stuff they make (fanart of pairings i don't like) /say makes me uncomfortable or I see them agreeing or even doing cyberbullying and doxxing of others themselves. It's nothing personal. I just want to vibe and have a good time and avoid terrible people so I use block ( or mute ) . Especially on X where I go on blocking spree sometimes, block chain, to keep my timeline peaceful and thus peace of mind.

>> Also 4th NOTE: any anons planning to send hate in my ask box. don't even think about it. You will only make yourself look like really terrible laughable ( in a bad way ) clown because I will just delete your ask and block you. ( yes even when you are anonymous, there's an option to block, which if i recall correctly, it's your ip that tumblr blocks instead. ) save your energy. Because AGAIN in case you missed it. I DO NOT HOLD BACK IN BLOCKING. Use your energy on things that makes you happy rather than hating on people.

I hope you enjoy your stay! May the stars shine your path to a sparkling future!

----------------------------------------------------

LINKS

Gank ( with monthly art rewards )

X ( twitter )

Twitch

BLUESKY 🔞🪦🕊🔞

facebook page

pixiv🔞 🪦🕊🔞

107 notes · View notes

justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months

Text

Trudy Ring at The Advocate:

If you’re looking for yet another reason that Donald Trump shouldn’t be elected president again, we have two words for you: Project 2025. You’ve probably been hearing these words, but you may be sketchy on what they mean. We’re here to fill you in on the details thanks to a report by Accountable.US.

What is Project 2025?

Basically, Project 2025 is a blueprint of what far-right activists want from the next conservative president — and Trump is the conservative who’s running. It includes plans to fire as many as 50,000 career federal employees and replace them with people who have unquestionable loyalty to the president; restrict access to contraception; possibly implement a national abortion ban; cut federal health care programs; and much more, designed to make the U.S. an authoritarian nation. And LGBTQ+ people are directly in its crosshairs. “Project 2025 couldn’t make its anti-LGBTQ+ agenda any more clear. With far-right extremists at the helm, the project is a power grab by conservatives attempting to turn back the clock on hard-fought progress and fundamental rights,” Accountable.US President Caroline Ciccone said in a statement to The Advocate. “Project 2025 doesn’t just pose an existential threat to our democracy but seriously threatens the rights and freedoms of LGBTQ+ communities across the country.”

[...]

How will it affect LGBTQ+ Americans?

Project 2025’s “Mandate for Leadership” is a document taking up 900 pages, but Accountable.US has put together a succinct summary of what Project 2025 would mean to LGBTQ+ Americans, and The Advocate has a first look. Here are the key points. The project urges the next conservative president to basically ignore the 2020 Supreme Court decision in Bostock v. Clayton County, in which the court found that Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, in banning sex discrimination in the workplace, also bans discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. President Joe Biden, in contrast, had directed all federal agencies to implement the provisions of Bostock not just in the workplace but in health care, education, and other aspects of life. It calls for barring transgender people from the military and to stop what it considers the “toxic normalization of transgenderism” across the government and American society. It seeks to abolish the president’s Gender Policy Council, “which it views as promoting abortion and the ‘new woke gender ideology,’” Accountable.US notes.

The next Health and Human Services secretary, Project 2025 recommends, should reverse what it calls a focus on “‘LGBTQ+ equity,’ subsidizing single-motherhood, disincentivizing work, and penalizing marriage, replacing such policies with those encouraging marriage, work, motherhood, fatherhood, and nuclear families.” “The Project 2025 playbook laments the fact that family policies and programs under President Biden’s HHS are ‘fraught with agenda items focusing on “LGBTQ+ equity,”’ making it clear that they intend to roll those agenda items back,” Accountable.US explains. It further calls for the Department of Justice “to defend the First Amendment right of those who would discriminate against LGBTQ+ people. It also objects to the DOJ notifying states that their bans on abortion and medical services to transgender persons may violate federal law,” Accountable.US reports. On foreign policy, Project 2025 says a new conservative president should dismantle and U.S. Agency for International Development programs that promote diversity, equity, and inclusion, such as what it dubs “the bullying LGBTQ+ agenda.”

Project 2025’s harmful anti-LGBTQ+ agenda is just one piece of the radical right-wing Heritage Foundation document. Project 2025’s goals are to make life harder for LGBTQ+ Americans.

#Project 2025 #LGBTQ+#Donald Trump #Paul Dans #Roger Severino #Kiron Skinner #Stephen Miller #The Heritage Foundation #Anti LGBTQ+ Extremism #Anti Trans Extremism #Bostock v. Clayton County Georgia

38 notes · View notes

kaibacorpintern · 10 months

Note

You can ignore this since this is a dumb nonsense question but I feel like you'd maybe have fun answers to this: what do the members of the cast of YGO make of "the curtains were blue"?

i love your questions!!

why are the curtains blue?

anzu: the curtains are blue because blue is the color of sadness, and the curtains are blue in the bedroom where the main character's father dies, and the author made the curtains blue to reflect the character's grief about it.

yuugi: well i think the curtains are blue because blue is the author's favorite color. it doesn't have to mean anything. it's not symbolizing any hidden repressed feelings of grief or anger or anything in the main character. the author just likes the color blue. everything is totally fine with the author and the character :)

atem, confidently: the curtains are blue because they represent the character's grief over his sister's death by car accident. [atem the character doesn't have a sister. his father is dying of cancer. did you even read the book?] of course i did. i read all 242 pages of it and i prepared diligently for this discussion, and i agree with aibou.

jounouchi, who also didn't read the book: the curtains are blue because the author picked a color at random. it doesn't mean shit dude. reading books for fun is for nerds anyway

honda, who wrote jounouchi's paper for him using anzu's notes: i dunno why the curtains are blue. the main character seems like a decent guy though. taking care of his dying father day in and day out, opening the curtains every morning and closing them every night. i think the curtains represent like, how ordinary and small compassion can be, it doesn't have to be grandiose or anything. i think the color blue is just a detail.

ryou: i forgot to read the book. i was reading the new release in my favorite fantasy series, The Prince of Fury and Ashes, Vol VII: Teriana'athuan G'aatar Returns. this one is especially important because the author is finally starting to explain how the magic system works, although there are still some glaring inconsistencies in why elves can perform fire magic but not lightning, and dwarves can perform stone magic but not sand? and i think Goriandr's redemption arc is a little shoddy towards the end but i think we'll really see the repercussions of his actions in Vol. VIII, although the author said on their blog that the TV series adaptation is taking up a lot of their time so i might just write some fanfiction for his redemption arc :) [ryou you can't submit your fanfiction for a grade] okay but have you read it?

kaiba: the curtains are blue because blue is the perfect color. beyond that, within the context of the narrative, the color blue represents nothing so much as the character's hopes, dreams, aspirations, in the same way that blue is the color of the sky, a common symbol for freedom liberation. the sky is an abstract space, untainted by the act of definition. the lack of definition is the glory of the sky. the fact that the author put the blue curtains in the bedroom where the character's father died inextricably links the character's aspirations to the death of their father [but kaiba, the curtains are navy blue, not sky blue] navy blue, the color of the ocean, which frequently represents the subconscious, the dreaming space, the unspoken impulses of the id -- those that, in the words of althusser, have yet to be called into being via language. the character has subconscious feelings about the death of his father that he is unable to articula --

mokuba: i also read the book, and i agree with niisama.

#intern memo #pegasus: the author; chose blue because he knew it would drive them to madness

45 notes · View notes

bakanokiwami · 2 years

Text

VIDEO GAMES WITH THE MOST FANWORKS ON AO3 (2009-2022)

All fandoms in the Video Game Category:

undefined

tumblr

Games that have Video Games as their only category on Ao3 (Note: If you're viewing this post from the Tumblr app, it'll just show you the exact same video as the one above. You'll have to open this post on desktop or a mobile browser, sorry.🙏) :

undefined

tumblr

To make these bar chart race, all series titles in the VIdeo Games Category on December 21 (or the closest date to it) of every year were copy-pasted from Wayback Machine to Google Sheets, rearranged according to number of fanworks, and then inputted to Flourish to turn into a bar chart race. November 2022 is based on November 14, 2022 data.

The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms was actually in the top 10 in 2015-2018, but has been removed from the Video Game category in 2022. It is now tagged only with the TV Show category, but does not appear in its list of fandoms. Works tagged with it show up in The Walking Dead (TV) tag.

In 2011, Dragon Age: Origins disappeared from the Video Games category and its page redirected to "Dragon Age", which was not in the list of fandoms before that year. It was added back to the list the next year, however.

Ivalice Alliance was actually in top 10 from 2010-2012, but was removed from the VIdeo Game category list in 2015 onwards. Its page now redirects to Final Fantasy XII.

Final Fantasy VII (Comp.) is short for Compilation of Final Fantasy VII.

Thanks for understanding and hopefully I didn’t mess up anywhere! 🙏

199 notes · View notes

azurewildflight · 3 months

Text

My Tumblr

Post last updated: 08/26/2024

Welcome to my Tumblr page!

My former account of @azure-za-raid-deactivated202408 is officially gone forever

That included all its affiliates

The memories remain and so do I on my new tumblr island

I am primarily focused on creating my webcomic series “Hybrid Complex: The Crazy World of Us” or just “Hybrid Complex” for short.

It’s a four part, dark fantasy mystery adventure comic series staring the Woress Brothers: Ant and Alex Woress and focuses on their strange encounters throughout their world’s West’s End

I started tags for it so you’ll probably find a lot of that stuff under #hybrid complex, and now #HC:CWOU

Do know I occasionally post other types of content

Things you may see include

Fanart

Animation

Video Game Screenshots

Homemade Memes

Occasional Reblogs (I don’t reblog often cause I like to have mostly my stuff on my page and tumblr has no origination system)

Update post

Random Polls

Etc/Misc

My core series of interest include:

Top Never-Wavering Interest

Naruto / Shippuden / Boruto

Five Nights At Freddy’s

Kingdom Hearts

Blood Blockade Battlefront / Kekkai Sensen

Jojo’s Bizzare Adventure

The World Ends With You

Second Tier Interest

Dragon Ball / Z / Etc

Jujutsu Kaisen

My Hero Academia

Sonic the Hedgehog

Delicious In Dungeon / Dungeon Meshi

Last Airbender / Legend of Korra

Katekyo Hitman REBORN

Code Lyoko

We Bare Bears

Steven Universe / Future

Adventure Time

FINAL FANTASY (VII, XIII, XV)

The Legend of Zelda

Kaiju No. 8

Additionals

The Dragon Prince

Resident Evil

Pokémon

Super Mario

Additional whatevers:

No reposting my art

I allow ask (No anonymous ones)

I will not do drawing request

My commission sheet has been posted! You can find it here

You can also check if my commissions are open by checking my bio

(This post is prone to change)

#artist of tumblr #blog intro #small art blog #small artist #oc artist #hybrid complex #welcome to tumblr #artist on tumblr #help an artist #animators on tumblr #writers on tumblr #character designer #illustrator #animator #video games

8 notes · View notes

halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

Text

y'all know what time it is! it's monthly fic rec time!!!

i decided to move this to the first so i wouldn't miss any fics that might be posted on the last day of each month!!

& a small, kinda sad update:

usually this is where i'd link to my fic-recs blog, but i hit the character limit on my filter page where i have my recs organized and when i made a new page it saved over the first one.

all of my filters and recs on that page are now gone and have to be manually re-done. you can still find my recs by scrolling through the blog, but the filter page is going to be under construction until i can get everything fixed and re-added!!

Alex Keller

❀ click click boom - @writeforfandoms

i don't see a lot of alex fics, so this was already a fav as soon as i saw it, but then i read it and ???? hello???? this was so good??? the characterization of alex alone was amazing, and the rest was like the cherry on top!!

❀ convallaria majalis - @nightingale-ghost-writer

19.2k words of absolute perfection. a fic i have been looking forward to and now that it's out, i just can't get enough of it! did i have to take breaks while reading so i could twirl my hair and kick my feet? yes. was it worth every second? yes.

Arthur Morgan

❀ the fire in your eyes || part VII: horseshoe overlook iii | part VIII: horseshoe overlook iv | part IX: horseshoe overlook v - @cowboydisaster

if there's one character i love more than anything in the world, it's arthur morgan and this series has only made my love for him that much stronger. so beautifully written, i couldn't stop reading-the whole time with a smile on my face. the entire bar scene in part vii??? i was crying with laughter. this is def one of my fav series i've ever read and i am on the edge of my seat waiting for more!

Carlos Oliveira

❀ the way we let it stay - @uselsshuman

this is a fair warning right now that most of the resident evil fics on this list are going to be from em. she has single-handedly ignited my hyperfixation for RE and all of her fics are incredible. including this one!

❀ old wounds new loves - @uselsshuman

i love little cute domestic fics, and carlos is so real for not liking cereal. “Waking up and eating a bowl of cold soggy food? No, thank you.” i feel that on such a spiritual level. also protective!carlos is just the best!!

Javier Peña

❀ arepas - @mvtthewmurdvck

i know i already went feral over this fic, but i'm going to do it again because i love this fic so goddamn much!! this fic is incredible, the way everything feels so natural between javi and reader, the teasing, the friends to lovers trope, everything about this is just so beautiful!!

❀ a broken sight - @mvtthewmurdvck

i don't understand how you can write a character so perfectly. i will never not be amazed by the way you write javi. and the angst??? ugh "He’s here. Like you needed him to be." don't mind the noise that's just me sobbing in the corner.

❀ the dreams we made - @mvtthewmurdvck

there's nothing like a good ol' helping of jo angst. this hurt in all the right ways, completely ripped my heart out and shattered it only to put all the pieces back together again and fill the cracks in with gold.

❀ nowhere to run || file room + accusations | sunshine yellow | a new day - @mvtthewmurdvck

the series that got me into narcos, i actually started watching the show just so i could read the perfection that is this series!! am i potentially spoiling things for myself a little bit? yes, but it's absolutely worth it because this series has me by the throat.

Joel Miller

❀ want. - @mvtthewmurdvck

literal poetry best described by this gif:

John "Soap" MacTavish

❀ none lacking sins - @halcyone-of-the-sea

listen, i like soap. he's not my fav, but he's a really good character. this fic though? it's moved soap up to my top five favorite characters. this made me want to read nothing but soap. i must've read this a dozen times, i was immediately sent into a soap hyperfixation. every aspect of this fic is just amazing. stunning. perfect.

❀ the hanging tree - @writeforfandoms

had me on the edge of my damn seat trying to figure out what was going. the worry and the tension built up so wonderfully i was dying to know what was about to happen and omg i was not disappointed. and the way jen writes soap is just *chef's kiss*

❀ i will wait - @mvtthewmurdvck

this fic had me realize how much i crave soft!soap and just fluff with soap in general. the tender moments warm my heart up something fierce and make me all giddy. like waking up to the perfect sunrise.

John Price

❀ puppy love || one | two | three | four - @writeforfandoms

puppies and price? what more could someone ask for? these two are so cute together and with the added cuteness of the puppies (and gaz lol) it's just an overload of cuteness in the best possible way!

❀ scratches in the surface - @halcyone-of-the-sea

was not expecting a part two to one of my favorite price fics, but damn if this wasn't a fantastic surprise. the angst is top-tier here and as much as it hurt, i couldn't stop reading and will probably read it again a million more times.

❀ neon medusa || part 1: static in the airways | part 2: warning signs - @yeyinde

CYBERPUNK!AU????? WITH PRICE????? WRITTEN BY YEYINDE???? SIGN ME TF UP!!! i am feral, consumed by how excited i am for this series and how utterly fantastic it's been so far. i will never get tired of lev's fics, and how gorgeous her writing is.

❀ untitled - @lunarvicar

okay this was adorable. the way price drops everything to get to her apartment, immediately ready to protect her is just sooo perfect. and her being freaked out by ghost adventures?? asdasljlsjd relatable.

❀ untitled - @yeyinde

i live for domestic bliss, and this fic just scratched that itch so well. there's something so comforting and homey about this fic, just the quiet intimacy between price and reader, the cute back and forth, this line: “Gaz said I looked like an Edwardian lord—” an absolute comfort fic if i've ever read one.

❀ comforts of home - @halcyone-of-the-sea

this fic had me weak, literally struggling to read cause i was too busy looking like this at my phone

❀ barking dog - @yeyinde

jealous!price is not something i see often, but damn if i don't want to see more of it after reading this. i am obsessed with the way lev writes price, how real and natural and captivating he is in her fics.

❀ wicked pyre - @yeyinde

you can't just give me dragon!price and expect me not to love it. i am so feral for monster!au's and this is saldkjaslda i can't be normal after reading this, i am feral, so enraptured by this fic and the entire concept of dragon!price.

❀ origami boats - @halcyone-of-the-sea

a sequel to the best price fic of all time???? say less. this fic was in my top three before i even started reading, i just knew it was going to be good. well, it wasn't just good, it was great. stunning. heart-breaking in a way that gives you the best kind of hurt.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

❀ high hopes - @writeforfandoms

gaz my sweet mans. as one of my favorite characters, i tend to be picky with my gaz fics, but this fic right here? loved it. adored it. read it six times with a bigger smile on my face each time.

❀ cult of vagabonds || prologue | landless gull | snail & thrush - @halcyone-of-the-sea

not only is this a gaz series, but it's one written by halcyone who can never write a bad fic. this is immaculate. i can't even describe how much i love this series so far and how much i can't wait to see where it goes!

❀ boom - @sleepiexx

ok but like this was so good?? the tension, the desperation, the way gaz was so ready to die with her. i'm shook. and that ending???? i’m giggling, i’m blushing, i’m re-reading this fic a million more times.

Leon Kennedy

❀ leon kennedy masterlist - @uselsshuman

i'm gonna be real here for a second, this entire section was 99% made up of em's leon fics. i couldn't choose which ones to add, which ones were my favorite, because i loved them all. so i'm just putting a link to her leon masterlist, because every single one of those fics deserves to be seen and read and given all of the love that they deserve.

❀ enough || one | two | three | final - @uhlunaro

i have one word for this series: wow. just wow. i have never been more thankful to find a series after it was already done because i would've gone crazy waiting to see what happened next! which part was my favorite? all of them. every single one. the hurt, the dialogue, just the way leon is written. i'm speechless.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

❀ exit row || exit row, part iii | exit row, part iv- @lunarvicar

the phrase "post-dick flashback" will live rent free in my head until the day i die, i was wheezing. i'm convinced there isn't a character nat can't make me love, because her portrayal of ghost here?? 🔥🔥🔥

❀ happiness || diamond ring | fearless | - @lethalchiralium

more of my favorite family man!simon series!!!!!! yesssss!!!!! i swear with every new addition, i just love this series more and more. i am so stressed reading it, but i love every second of it.

❀ the effect you have - @mvtthewmurdvck

screaming, crying, throwing up. how do you do it, jo? how do manage to make me hurt and heal my heart so beautifully in every single fic? how dare you, but also thank you so much.

❀ the captain || part 6 | part 7 | thunder - @as-is-above-so-below

omg i can't. y'all can't just keep giving a+ quality family man!ghost fics and expect me to be normal. you can't just give me cute shit like:

“Gaz frug.”

and not expect me to be like:

also, i am absolutely in love with freyja. the way her relationship is written with ghost and the kids is so lovely and has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair.

❀ ghost at the beginning of your relationship - @angelltheninth

cute. adorable. sweet. i love me some good fluff and even more so soft!ghost and this was the perfect combination of both of them! and simon having "guard dog energy" is so funny and so correct.

❀ ménage || refuge | resolution - @lilywastaken

my new go-to for simon fics. the relationship between simon and reader and between simon and the 141 are both so great. and oh my god that wild ride of emotions i went during part five had me stressed tf out i couldn't stop reading! such a great and fun series.

❀ making progress - @constantcrisis19

"dragged into the CoD fandom kicking and screaming" and still delivering an absolutely amazing fic. the teasing, the small talk, the faint smile?? incredible. the entire conversation about powerful music?? fantastic.

#moth fic recs #fave fics #monthly fic recs

100 notes · View notes