#Doesn't feel good but doesn't feel bad - just feels complex and confusing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queers-gambit · 1 month

Text

Damage Done

prompt: The Winter Soldier is activated and Bucky's lover is unlucky enough to be in proximity.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.4k+

note: oh, wow, Cherry wrote Bucky NOT in a Mafia AU?

warnings: takes place during Civil War, absolutely no plot - author just doesn't know how to shut the fuck up. cursing, violence, established relationship, small angst, injury, blood, hurt and comfort, Winter Soldier antics, choking, abrupt ending, maybe domestic violence? it's the WS.

it's really not that bad, it's not terribly descriptive but still tread carefully if triggered by these topics.

"Keep them together," Agent Everett Ross commanded, a little man with a raging Napoleon Complex, gesturing at you and Bucky; the latter held in mobile, restrictive captivity. "He doesn't play nice if he doesn't see her, or so it's said," his eyes rolled.

"You're making a huge mistake!" You barked, struggling in the restraints they had you wrapped in.

"No, I don't think so," he sneered, approaching you as Bucky's unit kept moving. "I think the mistake was letting you out of anyone's sight. Tell me, how long have you been in cahoots with the Winter Soldier?"

"He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, you jackass, he's a person! A real, live human being! His name's James but he prefers Bucky! He likes plums," you were yanked away, still snarling, "his favorite color is blue, likes motorcycles, he has real guilt over his past transgressions, and you've got the wrong guy!"

"Oh, right, like you're the best judge of character," Ross laughed.

"Natasha! Nat! Fucking tell him!" You pleaded, struggling in the hold of the men who kept iron clad restraint on you and were starting to drag you away. "You've got the wrong guy! Bucky didn't do this! I wouldn't lie - not to you, Natasha! Tell him!"

"That's touching, really sweet," Ross mocked, rolling his eyes as you were finally overpowered and lead away.

"Hang on a second," Nat muttered, sharing a look with Tony. "Was her DNA or facial recognition anywhere at the UN? Anywhere near where the bomb was set off?"

"What's that matter - "

"Since they met, they've not parted ways," Nat spelled out. "He won't go anywhere without her - you, yourself, are keeping them together for interrogation - "

"It's just easier," Ross scoffed.

"No, you know..." She blinked in confusion, "You know, Bucky won't talk unless she's there - you know he'll be ten times as difficult if she's not in the room."

"So?"

"So, in the past two years, have you heard about him without her? Have you seen her without him?"

"Nobody's seen or heard from either of them," Ross shook his head.

"Exactly," she nodded, lungs tightening with nerves. "If you can't find evidence of her being in Vienna... Bucky might not be your guy... Besides, they're both trained to avoid cameras - "

"Mistakes are made," Ross waved off.

"Not by two highly trained assassins like them," she snapped. "Check the files, go back - look! Actually look, run her scans through facial recognition - if you don't find her, it wasn't Bucky."

"You're so sure?" Tony asked skeptically.

"I know her," Natasha nodded, "better than anyone. She's as good as my sister, she's as good as blood. I know her. I know she wouldn't run this risk - "

"Then you also know she wouldn't get caught," Ross laughed.

"Neither would Bucky."

The silence stretched, but Ross was stubborn; sneering at the Avengers and taking his leave with his own plan of action in mind. He left Tony and Natasha to deal with Sam and Steve as he went to observe the interrogation. When he got before the monitors, he watched as it took four different men to restrain you enough to hoist your locks up the wall until they were clicked in place by ultra-strength magnets.

You jostled, feeling the full extent of your containment, grunting when the pipe you were connected to shocked your entire system into submission. Everett Ross smirked at your pain; watching your tongue swipe over your teeth, arms high above your head, readjusting your weight in your feet, but otherwise, not moving.

Ross heard Bucky ask quietly, his eyes watching you carefully from inside the reinforced cell, "You okay, doll?"

"Looks like they learned from last time," you grit, the cuffs around your wrists electrified; charring your skin, making you grimace slightly in a veiled attempt to hide your pain from your lover.

"Don't fight, you'll make it worse," he advised softly, frowning, eyes glassy from restrained emotion.

"They could've at least put me in a bit more comfortable position," you sneered, glaring up at one of the cameras, shaking your head as if in disappointment.

"I don't think they want to play nice, sweetheart."

"Yeah, could've guessed that from when they arrested us," you shook your head, puckering your lips to gather the blood in your mouth; spitting it to the floor. "You good, baby?" You asked as the men who restrained you moved to plug in the power cell caging Bucky.

He nodded silently at you, bowing his head and letting his long locks curtain his face. You frowned, shifting again as you blindly felt your cuffs and designed a way to get free; watching the men stoically as they exited the room to make way for the psychologist. Your jaw clenched, the air smelling foul - alerting you that something wasn't quite right.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes," the accented man greeted casually, standing at a single table in front of Bucky, you off to the side; chains rattling as your defenses flared. The psychologist smirked and greeted you, too, assuring your real identity was known - something that Natasha released to the world about two years ago when HYDRA sent Bucky after Cap in DC. You didn't fault her, in fact, you respected her move, and after getting out of the blown-to-shit base, you had run into the Winter Soldier... Beginning your epic love story, both of you on the run from authorities and higher powers.

You smuggled Bucky out of the country, using fake aliases that had yet to see the light of day and therefor, wasn't released in the files Nat published during her takedown of the compromised S.H.I.E.L.D. agency. He was appreciative, pondering how he was meant to go forward in a world he didn't know; so, you agreed to stick around for a bit to help settle him, and that bit turned into a couple of years - the two of you inseparable.

There was an incident in London that almost exposed you, but instead, it just shined a light on your new partnership. Captain American, Nat, Sam, shit - even Tony Stark himself was unable to catch up; your trail going cold, Nat knowing your Widow training was running the show and keeping you safe. Granted, she probably could've unraveled the web you had weaved - but the truth was, she didn't want to. So, she kept quiet. Leading you all here...

"I've been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you both," the man you'd come to know as Helmut Zemo continued; playing his part very well, but not well enough to convince you of his innocence. Something about the man rubbed you the wrong way. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked politely, feigning like you two had a choice. When he did, Zemo continued, "Your first name is James?"

He noted the way Bucky and you shared a look, both remaining silent. Zemo tried to assure, "I'm not here to judge you - either of you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" Continued silence, your head subtly shaking - an act only Bucky clocked. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," he croaked, your sigh echoing around the room.

"Hm," Zemo nodded, "I take it, she doesn't want you to talk?"

"She wants me safe," Bucky answered stiffly.

"That is admirable," the psychologist offered kindly, "a great display of love, is it not?"

"Jesus Christ," you shook your head, offering a glare, "you went through all that schooling to ask stupid fucking questions? Might wanna get your money back."

Zemo chuckled after humming, "I am merely trying to establish the connection you two share. I hear it is rare to find one without the other, that you two have become, uh, joined at the hip?"

"I protect her," Bucky offered, sharing a long look with you, "and she protects me."

"An equal partnership, would you say?"

"Yes."

"Buck," you warned, wrists twisting to hold the cuffs; being zapped, making your jaw clench and the veins in your neck to bulge.

"It's all right," his voice sounded like it was being put through a grater. "We're caught, doll, it's all right."

You huffed, eyeing Zemo as his eyes flickered between you two. He nodded, making a note in his little book, "I was warned that you would be unwilling to cooperate without her present. Why is that?"

"She keeps me safe."

Zemo hummed, "So you've said, and yet... Here you both are..." You were ready to lash out, but the doctor changed course, "Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your restraints zapped you again when you jolted forward as if to physically silence Zemo, Bucky's head snapping over and his eyes drooping in sympathy. "Told you not to move, it'll only get worse," he told you softly.

"He's asking questions that will get him killed," you snarled, gritting your teeth as the electric currents seized most of your energy. But it was worth it, finding a little weak spot and letting your mind devise a specific plan.

"You fear," Zemo continued, "that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. I feel it is safe to assume, uh, your lady is privy to your past experiences? Perhaps, you two have shared a couple?"

"Just leave her out of this," Bucky pleaded.

"Don't worry," he assured you both, tapping something on his tablet before looking back at Bucky with a sick recognition. "We only have to talk about one. One mission... That I know you," he nodded at you, "were not present for."

"Kinda game you playin', Doc?" You sneered. "Think anything he says will change my opinion about him?"

"No, no, I know your relationship is too strong for that," Zemo smiled. "So, it's not so much what he will say... But what he will do..."

"The fuck does that - "

But then, the lights went out; darkening the room save for the lights individual to Bucky's holding cell. You perked up, the electric currents halting as the cuffs died with the power and gave you an opportunity to begin working on your escape. As red panic lights flickered, Bucky questioned, "What the hell is this?"

"Why don't we discuss your home?" Zemo offered. "Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no," he reached into his satchel, revealing a red notebook the world thought long lost... Buried in snow... Forgotten in time. "I mean, your real home," Zemo removed his glasses as you frantically started working.

"No, no, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey, don't - fuck!" You grit, trying harder to free yourself. "Bucky - Bucky, don't listen - ah, Goddamnit!"

The man you now understood to be a fake psychologist stood with a little flashlight, opening the red notebook, and began repeating words in Russian that would activate the decommissioned Winter Soldier. Bucky had told you all about these words, begging you to provide a shield against them should they ever be uttered again; but you had prior knowledge, the Winter Soldier someone you had been debriefed on during your time with other secret agencies.

"Longing."

"No," Bucky whispered, head tilting back in panic as he felt his stomach curl in a familiar pattern.

"Bucky - don't fucking listen, please!" You begged, still working to free yourself.

"Rusted."

"Stop," Bucky pleaded, sounding in pain.

"Don't do this!" You pleaded to Zemo. "You're fucking hurting him, please, stop!"

"Seventeen."

"Stop!" Bucky barked, his vibranium hand clenching in anger and pain; the entire arm whirring from the flex of his muscle. He began to pant, a deep growl emitting above your panicked whimpers.

"Daybreak!"

"You have no idea what you're doing!" You raged, Bucky screaming in pain as his mind was forcibly sunk back into dark recesses of his past. "Don't - Bucky, baby, listen to me - don't fucking listen to him, please, please, baby, don't do this!"

He screamed, breaking free of the iron restraints that kept him seated in the reinforced, mobile cell. "Furnace!" Zemo continued, ignoring the pain and panic you and Bucky were both thrown into.

"Fucking stop, please! You don't understand!" You begged, freeing one hand and working in vain to unlatch the other. Bucky was out of his seat, anger coursing like a palpable rain over you all - him screaming as his metal arm worked to pound into the strengthened glass surrounding him.

"Nine!"

"Bucky, please, baby, please, don't do this!" You tried a new tactic, hoping you were enough to cut through the brainwashing - but how silly to imagine. Decades of trauma was washing over Bucky again and your little words couldn't cut through the barricades of his mind.

"Benign!"

"You stupid fucking little man!"

Zemo rounded around the cell, Bucky still pounding away at the glass. "Homecoming! One!"

"DON'T!"

"Freight car!"

You whimpered in fear when Bucky punched the entire door off the hinges, freeing him at last; but the words were spoken, the damage done. He crouched on the floor, Zemo pausing to take in the sight, slowly approaching Bucky as he stood upright; the jangling of your chains louder and more frantic as you tried to free your last wrist.

"Jesus Christ," you whispered, trying to divide focus between the two tasks of freeing yourself and protecting Bucky - but being terribly unsuccessful as you watched Zemo stand in front of your dead-eyed boyfriend.

What a ridiculous, mundane label to assign someone like Bucky.

In Russian, Zemo questioned, "Soldier?"

And in Russian, the man you loved answered, "Ready to comply."

Zemo demanded in English, "Mission report. December 16, 1991."

You whimpered in fear, listening to Bucky give the report that would haunt you for years to come. Just as he finished, you managed to get out of the cuffs, but the clanging of your freed restraints caught Zemo's attention - who smirked with abundant cruelty. "Don't," you warned, backing out of the room just as officers began to flood it.

It was a brutal fight, trying to stave off Bucky once in his Winter Soldier mindset. You grunted as he engaged you, men dead at your feet - the lucky ones just knocked out. You grit your teeth, trying to defend yourself as Bucky operated mechanically; doing what you could to protect yourself, but it wasn't enough.

Blows landed, punching and kicking one another in an equal match of strength and stamina.

"Seize her," Zemo demanded, and in the next moment, Bucky had you by the neck; an effort that made you wheeze and claw at his bionic hand.

"Bucky," you begged. "Baby - baby - it's me, it's me, please, don't, it's me! Don't do this, baby, please, come back to me. Come back!" You struggled in his grip, trying to pry his hand open, "Baby, please, please, come back to me," spit drooled from your lips as he squeezed tighter. "This isn't you!" You managed to squeeze out, tears surfacing. "Not anymore, don't let them win!"

"Shut her up, Solider," Zemo commanded in Russian, your eyes widening and trying to beg Bucky again before he was sending you into a wall. He marched up to you, grabbing your hair, and surging his balled up metal fist directly into the bridge of your nose, breaking it, head jolting backwards, and effectively knocking you out.

When you came back into consciousness, it was to Steve's worried face; his hands caressing your cheeks and begging, "You all right?"

"Fucking hell," you winced, reaching up to prod the tender spot on your head; revealing blood.

"Got your ass kicked, huh?" He frowned.

"Watch your language, Cap," you smirked, wincing when your face throbbed. "Shit, how bad is it?"

He looked you over, offering, "Definitely a broken nose."

"Goddamnit - where is he? Where's Bucky?"

"Help me," a voice pleaded from the next room, Zemo playing his part by splaying out on the floor like bait.

"Don't trust him, something ain't right about him, Steve," you whispered, waving him on as you sluggishly hoisted yourself up the wall to lean against it. "Kept asking about Siberia, asking about shit nobody should actually know."

"Get yourself safe," Steve told you swiftly, nodding at Sam; who was checking on the status of the other bodies around you.

"Just find him, Steve, he's lost in his own mind - a threat to himself," you panted, slowly standing.

"I know - "

"You don't know," you shook your head, wiping a trickle of blood from your temple, "but you're gonna have to do more than understand him right now, Steve."

"I've got this," he promised, watching you nod and limp away. You had just missed the action, Bucky overpowering both Sam and Steve; getting to a safety landing and running into Natasha, Tony, and Agent Sharon Carter.

"We'll hash our bullshit out later," you panted, "but for now - "

You heard a commotion behind you, flinching out of sight when Bucky made himself known and began taking down rogue agents unlucky enough to stand before the Winter Soldier.

"He have an off switch?" Nat asked.

"Not that I've found," you frowned. "Split up."

Tony tried to engage Bucky first, using a mobile Iron Man device he wore on his wrist that used sonics to disorient Bucky. It only worked to a small extent, the two exchanging a few blows, Bucky firing a bullet at Tony's face at pointblank range that was saved by his technologically advanced glasses. Bucky got the upper hand, sending Tony flying back, letting Sharon and Nat attack.

He disposed of them both easily, stumbling when you caught him off guard and wrapped your legs around him. Normally, you'd do anything to have your legs around him - but this wasn't one of those times. You exchanged several punches, blocking one another, going for disarming hits but being of equal challenge; leaving small cuts and blooming bruises on each other as if to prove the engagement. Natasha rejoined the fight, two Widows showing Bucky up on a few instances, but he was heaving her across the room as you swung onto his shoulders in an impressive acrobatic move.

You heaved your fists down in a repeated fashion on the top of his head, Bucky charging at one of the cafe tables; slamming you down and choking you again with his metal hand. Both your hands held his, legs up around his neck to try to keep him at a distance for relief on your windpipe.

Through a strangled breath, you managed, "You could at least recognize me!"

"Who said I don't?" He growled, reaching out to snap a piece of wood from a chair.

You tried to regain normal breath, wheezing, "This isn't you, baby, you are not this person anymore - you're not a psychotic, robot killer! You're a man - please!"

"You don't know a damn thing about me," he seethed.

"I know everything about you," you strangled, "and I know this isn't you. Come back to me, baby, please! Y-You can't let the demons win, Buck, please - fucking listen to me!" But he only raised the wooden shaft above his head. "BUCKY, DON'T!"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

You cried out shrilly when he jabbed the sharp wood into your shoulder, staking you to the table just as King T'Challa rushed onto the scene and stole your brainwashed boyfriend's attention. You hissed in pain, trying to yank the wood free but being unsuccessful; resulting in blood to splatter onto the tiled floor.

Hearing someone pant your name, you caught a glimpse of red and knew it was Nat, her face worried over yours a moment later. "Where's Bucky?" You coughed and winced in pain.

"Goin' up by the looks of it," she informed, "now hang on, this is gonna hurt. Want a belt to bite?"

"No, just do it, get it done, please," you panted, bracing yourself, and suddenly, without warning, your companion heaved the piercing shaft free from your flesh. Naturally, you cried out, groaning and clenching your jaw so tight, it nearly crushed your teeth into dust.

"Hey, you seen..." Sam arrived on scene, taking in your injury, "Holy shit, you good?"

"Yeah," you grunted, stumbling to your feet as blood bloomed into a bigger, brighter blemish on your tactical shirt. "We gotta go, Sam, we should get outta here."

"Hang on," Nat paused you two, your opposite hand holding your wound; her hands occupied by a smart device, "looks like Bucky tried to highjack a helicopter. Steve stopped him, but it resulted in them all crashing in the river."

"Shit," Sam breathed. "We gotta go find them."

"We need to get outta here, you know, away from the cops and agents," your head shook. "Get somewhere safe, away from this catastrophe. We'll regroup with Steve."

"Go," Nat permitted, "I won't say a word."

"You're one of a kind, Nat," you praised, pecking her cheek. "Let's go, Sam. And grab that First Aid kit," you pointed to the wall where the white box was mounted. He agreed and you lead the way out of the facility.

Bucky groaned as he woke up, head lulling back before realizing he couldn't move his metal arm; finding it clamped in industrial weights. Sam called you both to attention, but while Steve jogged over, you remained in your place out of sheer distress.

You only vaguely listened to the conversation, hands trembling as your shoulder was bandaged to prevent further injury or infection. You did what you could to patch up any injury, and when you heard your name, you dialed in; Bucky asking, "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"You don't remember?" Sam sneered.

"No..."

"You stabbed her," the Falcon growled.

"What? N-No, I-I-I couldn't've - I wouldn't!"

"You did," Steve confirmed, pity coloring his words. "Punched her out pretty well, choked her, too. Broke her nose..."

"Please - Steve, please, tell me I didn't."

"I'm sorry, Buck."

"That why she's not here? She's in a hospital?"

"Actually, no," Sam trailed, "she's just in the other room."

"She didn't want to come here?"

Steve sighed as Sam informed, "Don't think she wants to see you right now, man."

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"We know," Steve swiftly promised, nodding his head. "She knows it, too, you just have to give her some time."

Bucky looked utterly defeated, murmuring, "I scared her. Oh, my God, I scared her..."

"Gotta agree with you there."

"Sam," Steve reprimanded. "Look, Buck, she'll come around."

You waited until the two men left Bucky alone to regroup and stratify a new course of action. Slowly and almost sheepishly, you entered where Bucky was being kept, steps silent but he heard you anyways. His blue eyes flashed in concern as he met your gaze, mouth opening and closing as if words failed him.

"Doll," he finally breathed, "a-are you all right?"

"I'm okay."

"Don't bullshit me, how hard did I hit you? Steve said I broke your nose, I-I'm so sorry, doll, please believe me. What'd I do to your shoulder? Is that where I stabbed you?"

"Buck," you sighed, slowly squatting in front of him, "I need you to take a breath and know that I understand you were not in your right state of mind. You were forcibly triggered and sent back into that way of thinking, I know it wasn't you."

"I still hurt you, I still did it."

"Did you, though?" Your head cocked, eyes narrowing slightly, "Because I know my Bucky wouldn't hurt me, would never dare lay a hand on me - but the Winter Solider is a different story. You didn't do this, Buck, you weren't you."

"I can smell the fear on you."

"Well, yeah, it fuckin' scared me. I tried to stop that fake doctor, I tried to help, tried to save you and keep your safe. I'm sorry I was too slow, that I failed."

"You didn't fail anything, sweetheart... I-I failed you, I broke my promise to never hurt you."

"No, you didn't. The Winter Solider did all that, not my Bucky."

He frowned, repeating to ask softly, "Your Bucky?"

"My Bucky - the kind, charismatic, impossibly stubborn, kind hearted man I've loved the past couple of years who always gives me the crispiest fries, who has nightmares, who loves me unconditionally despite what I, too, have done in my past. And you know what I was doing out there while Sam and Steve talked to you?"

"What's that, doll?"

"Understanding that loving someone means loving their flaws, accepting them exactly as they are. So, while, yes, the Winter Solider scares the fuck outta me, he's still part of you and I can't authentically love you if I reject the Soldier."

His head shook "Your kindness is wasted on me."

"I think you should let me decide what's a waste and what's not when it comes to my own energy and emotion."

"I'm just gonna end up hurting you again. You're better off without me, baby, you and I both know you're better off keeping your distance. You should get out now while you still can."

"Not gonna happen. 'Cause you know what else I realized?" You reached up to caress his cheek, "I trust you beyond reasonable doubt, I trust you even if I'm afraid of the Winter Solider. I should've been faster, I should've helped you more, but I was powerless against that red notebook."

"You and I, both..."

You pet the cheek you were holding. "Buck, I know it was scary, I know how it must've felt being forced back into that mindset, but I want you to know that I'm in this for the long haul - you're not gonna scare me off. Because I love you, Bucky, and every single part of you - whether choking me out or not. Whether I earn a broken nose or not."

"I'm so sorry. I-I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry, I hate that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby, I can't - I can't even put it in words how much I regret putting you in that position."

You smirked, "See? The Winter Soldier has no remorse, but my Bucky does." You gingerly reached out to curl his hair behind his ear. "My Bucky apologizes and takes accountability. There's no reason to not love that man - especially when he deserves it so much. Hey? Hear me? You deserve to be loved, too, Buck."

"And you deserve a man who doesn't run the risk of being turned into a psycho killing machine over a few measly words."

"I deserve to love my best friend, so let me do that. Say whatever you want, try to push me away - but I'm like a boomerang, baby, I'll just come right back."

"What kinda man puts his best girl in that kinda position? Who hurts the most important person in his life?"

"A man who endured decades of abuse," you laid your hands on either of his thighs, "a man who wasn't allowed control of his own mind. I can't - no, no, I won't fault you for that, Buck. Today wasn't your fault and I'll remind you of that as often as it takes. Don't you dare feel guilty because you didn't do this to me, okay? You didn't put me in any position - that fake fucking doctor did this, Agent Ross did this, special ops put us here. You, my sweet boy, didn't do anything to be at fault. You were trapped, but look at you now - freed, level headed, talking to me."

His eyes gleamed with a sheen of emotion, staring at the bloodied bandage wrapping your shoulder wound before his eyes danced over the bruising and other aftermath of your injuries. "I could've killed you," he muttered, tears filling his eyes.

"But you didn't - and surprisingly, neither did the Winter Soldier. Maybe there was a part of you still alive, wanting to refuse orders and not actually hurt me."

"Perhaps," he frowned. "I'm still so sorry, doll, I hate that I did this to you. It never should've happened."

Your head nodded, "I know, baby, and listen - I forgive you. Yeah? Hear me? I forgive you, this is in the past."

"Are you sure about me? You sure you wanna do this? Knowing I could flip a switch and hurt you - maybe even worse than today?"

"I'm sure about you, Buck," you agreed. "I don't wanna be without you, so, sign me up for whatever's to come."

"You might regret that."

"The only thing I could ever regret is abandoning you. I don't want to do this without you - I love our life together. In any world, in any lifetime, I'd still choose you. There's nothing that would make me regret you - regret being with you."

"You sure? I don't want to make you do anything out of your comfort."

"I love you, Bucky, yes, I'm sure. No matter what damage you think you might've caused, whatever damage has been done, I promise, that's not the truth. There's nothing about you that I could regret."

"Well, all that's left now is to get to Siberia, stop the other Winter Soldiers."

"And figure out a way to free your mind once and for all... It's what you deserve," you told him softly, rocking to your knees to meet his forehead with yours and caressing his cheek again. When you heard approaching footsteps, you sighed and pulled away from him to stand and turn, spying Sam and Steve. "C'mon, Cap, get him outta this. He's not gonna attack anyone," you requested, gesturing where your boyfriend was trapped.

"You sure?" Sam asked stiffly. "He did a real number on you alone. Not to mention all the other agents and cops he took out back there."

"He's good," you snapped, perking your brows at Steve, "and you two would do well not to throw what happened in his face, it wasn't his fault. So c'mon, free him, he's not a wild animal."

Steve agreed and lifted the machinery from Bucky's prosthetic, him instantly snatching it back and massaging where the joint met metal. Bucky stood with a set stare at Sam and Steve, as if anticipating them to lunge at him. His throat constricted, swelled with emotion when you stepped in front of him - posing barrier between the two Avengers and himself.

"You still got that phone on you?" Steve asked you softly.

"I do."

"Is it still unregistered?"

"You know it is. Who're we calling?"

"Reinforcements. We're gonna need help now that the Avengers will be looking for us. We gotta get to Siberia."

"Here," you agreed, unlocking the device and handing it over. "Who's first on your list?"

"Any Avenger who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords."

When he walked away with Sam again, you turned to face your lover directly; staring into swirling storms of baby blues. "You still with me?" You asked softly, reaching up to caress his hair again to push it behind his ear.

"Always. Got my six?"

"You know I do, baby," you smirked, stepping into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "We'll figure this out, together."

"Together," he agreed, sighing deeply and returning your embrace tightly. His flesh hand rose to hold the back of your head, bringing his lips down to lay a chaste kiss on the top of your head. His voice rattled quietly, "Thank you..."

"Hmm? For what, handsome?"

"Believing in me. It's nice to think we can end this torment."

You smiled up at him, "You deserve freedom, Bucky, and to live without this haunting fear."

"I don't know about 'deserving' it, sweetheart. Done a lot of things that would argue against that."

"Maybe against the Winter Soldier, but Bucky deserves the world. Deserves kindness, accommodation, love and understanding. Now," you smirked and sniffled, giving his waist another squeeze before releasing and pulling back, "get your head outta this pit and focus, we've got a long day ahead of us."

He agreed, letting you take his hand and lace fleshy fingers together in a tether. Sam's face remained stoic and passive, but when Steve saw you two, he couldn't help but smile. Two years he hunted for Bucky and just today, he's learned his best friend's been shacked up with you - a warmth blooming in his chest over the idea of you two finding one another and loving each other.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

274 notes · View notes

endlessthxxghts · 7 months

Text

You Better Jump... (1 of 2)

neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k

Summary: You wake up after a drunk night out to the lock on your door broken. The neighbor who lives in the same apartment complex as you offers to fix it for you.

Warnings: canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). allusions to further sexual activity between reader and Joel, mainly fluff and flirting and embarrassing interactions that'll give you butterflies, an unhinged best friend (vulgar dialogue from said best friend), cellphone audio connecting elsewhere where other people can hear..., 18+ MDNI. F masturbation in a bathtub, Joel having incredible self control until he doesn't, making out... (I think that's it! As always, let me know if there's anything I missed that should be in here!)

Author's note: I intended for this to be a one shot, but I just know the next part will be pretty long. I still need to write up a few more details for part 2, but it will be posted VERY SOON! For now, please enjoy this. :)

PART 2 HERE (VERY NSFW, 18+ MDNI)!! || MASTERLIST

“Shit, I don’t even know which lock to get,” you mutter to yourself as you stand helplessly in the middle of the aisle.

You went to the bar last night, got a little too drunk for your own good, and when you woke up in the morning, your front door’s lock was broken. You genuinely don’t know how that happened, but you do know that you need to fix it as soon as possible, especially with the fact that you just moved in not too long ago and you live alone.

“Hey there,” a rough Texan drawl says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up to see a tall, broad man. Soft, brown eyes, a mustache and some scruff along his jawline. He’s clad in a dark blue t-shirt and some jeans. He’s handsome, and oh god, you’ve been completely gawking at him instead of responding. You finally meet his stare, and his eyes twinkle in delight, like he’s enjoying the attention you’re giving him. “Oh, hi, uh- I’m sorry, just kinda zoned out there for a sec,” you ramble on, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “don’t worry about that.” He smiles, and you’ve never experienced anything more beautiful. “I, uh, couldn’t help but recognize ya, and overhear ya about the locks?” You give a confused look, and he continues, “I think we live in the same apartment complex. You just moved in a few weeks ago, right? I’m Joel.”

You are seriously so confused right now because you are so sure you would never forget if you had a neighbor that looks this handsome. And apparently all your defenses are down right now because you just fucking said that out loud.

You can see Joel’s cheeks and neck flush into a bright red, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck and the blush in your face follows. “Holy shit, I did not just fucking say that out loud,” you groan as you bury your hands into your face. You realize you still haven’t introduced your name, so you quickly squeak it out. He tells you it’s nice to meet you followed by your name, and he rambles on, “And I, uh, I’m flattered...you’re, uh, not too bad yourself.” Your head shoots up, and you swear your face cannot get even redder, but somehow it does.

He senses that you can’t handle anymore of this god awful attempt at flirting, so he saves you by continuing his original thought. “Well, what I was tryna say was- I overheard you sayin’ ya didn’t know which lock to choose? I’m pretty handy in the maintenance department, and I’ve helped a few neighbors in our complex with much more complicated than door locks. Maybe I can help ya?” You feel all the stress from your body completely fade away, and you absolutely take advantage of this beautiful man offering to help with your locks.

“Oh my god, really? I owe you one, thank you so so much,” you tell him. He smiles. “It’s no trouble at all, darlin,’” he says as he grabs the correct lock for the apartment complex, “this is the one we’d need.”

All you came here for was for the lock, but you ended up staying with him and having conversation throughout his entire Home Depot run. Turns out he’s a contractor, used to live in a home but since his daughter moved out he doesn’t find the necessity of having a big home for himself. He didn’t sell it though, he let his brother and his wife take it over. Very minimalist kind of guy.

You forget you two didn’t drive to the store together, so you’re almost kind of bummed at the fact that you have to separate from him. He bids you goodbye and says he has to run a few more errands. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Is it okay if I swing by your place then?”

You’ve been so entranced by his presence and your guys’ conversation that you forgot the entire reasoning behind why you began talking in the first place, and it’s heavily evident in your confused look. His lip quirks up again, “…to fix your door lock,” he adds, amused.

You mentally slap your forehead. Fucking get it together, you think to yourself. “Yes,” you immediately blabber out as soon as you realize you’ve gone quiet again. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Alright, darlin’, I’ll see you in a few,” he says as he shoots you a wink and begins walking in the direction of his truck, and there goes that nickname again.

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s a ten minute drive back home, and as soon as you get back in the car, you call your best friend and tell her what an absolute fool you made out of yourself.

“BITCH,” she screams, gasping for air at how hard she’s laughing, “I can’t fucking stand you, oh my god, I’m crying.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her, while tears are also streaming down your face, attempting to catch your breath. “Dude, I swear, once you get a good look at him, you’ll see what the fuck I’m talking about, and you’ll see my reaction was VALID to such a beautiful looking man.”

She stays on the phone with you for the rest of your little drive, and ends your guys’ conversation with, “In all seriousness, though, you better jump on that di-”

You gasp out and yell her name, “OH MY GOD, you’re done. Goodbye.”

She cackles, “Update me later, babe. I love you.”

“I love you more, you fuckin’ menace,” you say as you park.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your next few hours are filled with you absolutely stressing. You know Joel is just coming to fix the door, but you can’t shake away the nerves. So you spend the first hour absolutely deep cleaning your apartment.

You still have about maybe an hour left, so you decide to try and calm your nerves some more with a quick bath. You quickly undress and give yourself a quick wash in the shower to wash all of today’s dirt before you set up your bath.

Filling up the tub, you throw in some lavender scented bubbles and light your favorite cashmere vanilla candle, the combination of the scents immediately relaxing you. Maybe a little too relaxed, though, because as you sink deeper into the tub, your body can’t help but continue to rise in heat at the thought of Joel. Without thinking, your eyes slowly close and your hand drifts closer to where you’re aching the most.

You start by drawing soft circles on your clit, pulling soft little mewls from your throat. The thought of those big rough hands pushes you to move a little faster, and the thought of that scruff rubbing against your inner thigh pushes you to dip your middle and ring finger into your entrance, pumping in and out with such a need you haven’t experienced in a while. The sounds coming out of you now are high pitched and whiny, and you can’t help the way your body writhes against the bathtub, sloshing water out the sides.

Your hips are grinding up against your palm, stimulating your clit while your fingers hit that velvety spot that drives you absolutely mad. You bring your other hand up to your mouth as a reflex to silence your sounds, but an image flashes in your mind that it was Joel’s hand over your mouth instead, and that’s what ends you.

Your eyes clamp shut, head thrown back, spine completely arched, and all you can see are little white fireworks behind your eyelids as your orgasm breaks you, the lukewarm water feeling hotter than when you first drew the bath.

You sit there for a moment to catch your breath, willing your body to work since the man you just touched yourself to should be here in any minute.

You dry yourself off, putting your hair up in a towel and dressing in some gray sweat-shorts and a tank top, not caring to completely doll your figure since he’s in your home after all. Right as you finish up your skincare, you hear a knock at your door. You take one more look at yourself, and you’re still absolutely flushed with a hint of that orgasmic glow, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he can make you cum like that with just the thought of him, you’re absolutely gonna take your best friend’s advice from earlier.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You open the door for him and immediately the heat you tried to save yourself from is back, tenfold. “Hey, darlin’,” he says with a smile. The nickname makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter harder than before. You give a sweet smile back. It’s his turn to melt, but you don’t clock it as easily as he can with you.

He steps inside, a little closer to you, and immediately he falls to his knees. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a few little tools from his back pocket, and suddenly you realize you were holding your breath. Here he is, wasting no time getting started on fixing your door for you while you stare at him like he’s giving you a strip tease, all because he got down on his knees.

You clear your throat, trying to regain your composure, and you offer, “C-can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

He looks up at you, and he cannot get enough. Your flushed cheeks, the way your body language shows your excitement and nerves all in one, your towel lopsided on your head. So goddamn beautiful, he thinks to himself. Again, it’s his turn as he zones out in his thoughts, but this time, you do notice, and you can’t help but feel a sense of confidence shoot down your spine at the fact that you’re affecting him just as much as he affects you.

Your smirk grows the longer he stares, and finally he realizes what’s happening, and his face goes tomato red. He’s pretty sure no one has ever seen him blush this much since he was a teenager. “Some water would be wonderful, sweetheart, thank you,” he says, thanking whatever God in existence that his words were coherent and not a blubbering mess like his brain.

“Coming right up,” you say, and make your way into your kitchen, thankful for the little private moment to yourself. As you grab Joel a cup and fill it with ice and water, you feel your phone ring in your pocket. It’s your best friend. You bring your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button on the way up.

“Hello?” you repeat several times before you hear your best friend, but not through your phone. Forgetting the water for a minute, you scramble to the living room, where Joel is right next to, to hear your best friend coming from your living room speaker: Hello? Can you hear me?? I said did you jump on sexy neighbor’s dick ye-

You hurriedly end the call and throw your phone across the room. Your heart starts to pound even harder when you see Joel in your peripheral view, still working hard on the lock, but he is definitely in the proximity to have seen and heard everything. You quickly turn back to the kitchen to grab the glass, purposely avoiding Joel’s eye.

Quickly you grab the glass and place it on the little table near the front door. Joel sits back on his haunches for a moment and takes a long gulp of the ice cold water. Too amused at the display that happened moments ago, he can’t help himself when he says, “So… sounds like ya got your hands full with that friend of yours, hm?” He looks up at you with mischief in his eye.

And just like that, any sense of confidence you had at having the upper hand over this Texan man went down the drain. You completely fumble. “Oh- I- yeah, my best friend… Did you hear- Fuck, no, of course you heard, I-”

Joel pulls himself up to stand at full height, now towering over you. He brings his pointer finger and thumb to your chin, pulling you to meet his eyes while also pulling you from the hole you keep digging deeper. You immediately shut up. He has a crooked grin plastered on his face when he says, “I didn’t hear a thing,” followed by a wink. You can feel your knees wanting to buckle. You breathily squeak out an okay and he assures you with another okay in response. You two stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Joel, without thinking, says, “Let me take ya out to dinner.”

You slowly pull away from his grasp, afraid you’re invading his space even though he just asked you out on a date. He takes it as a sign of discomfort and immediately creates an arm’s length of space between you. “I-I’m sorry if I overstepped or made you uncomfor-”

“No, Joel, hey,” you cut him off quickly, stepping slightly closer. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’d love to go to dinner with you,” you beam up at him, your bottom lip wedged in your mouth to ease your nervousness. “I just pulled away because I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything,” you quickly add.

“That’ll never happen,” he softly says. He steps closer again. “I’m sorry, but I- Shit, okay, I’m a gentleman through and through, but I-” he pauses for a moment, “I just- I really need to kiss you-”

You don’t let him finish his thought as you grab onto his arms and pull him into you, guiding both his arms around your lower back and guiding your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s a battle of teeth and tongue, and the way your noses bump each other ever so often is enough for you to completely buckle. His hold on you is tight enough to keep you standing, but you truly don’t know how much more of this you can take with a certain bulge pushing into your lower belly. His one hand falls lower and testing the waters, he lightly grasps onto your asscheek. You moan into his mouth at that, and he takes that as your signal for him to fully grab you, hiking you up onto your tippy toes in an attempt to consume more of you. He breaks the kiss a little to give you some airflow back, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his kisses to the side of your mouth, to your cheek, gliding down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping anywhere you give him access to.

You were right. It’s not quite exactly your thighs like you were imagining earlier, but the way his plump lips, mustache, and scruff feel along your neck is absolutely sinful and addicting, and…

Oh, you are absolutely fucked.

Author's note - extended: I hope you guys enjoyed this enough to tune in to part 2! The 2nd part will be very SMUTTY, so... ;)

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

514 notes · View notes

manicpixiefelix · 3 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #saltburn imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

181 notes · View notes

mistkisbiggestfan · 6 months

Note

Oh my God.

I had a very funny and slightly strange idea...

Imagine that there is mutual sympathy between the reader and Jax. In short, Jax has crush on reader, but the reader... don’t know it.(or just don’t see it)

So, a new person appears in the circus. It doesn't matter who it is, what it is, what their name is, etc.

So, the newcomer and the reader became very close friends. I mean, sleeping in the same room, hugging, holding hands...(I mean friends, no lovers)

Look, I just want to see Jax get jealous, okay...?

Thank you🫶❤️

Jealous! Jax (Romantic) + Pomni (Platonic) / Gn! Reader

Jax (romantic), Pomni (platonic) / Gn! Reader

A/n: Back on the grind we go!! Hell YEAH!! I actually like how this turned out, hope you like it!! REQUESTS FOR TADC ARE OPEN!!!

Summary: Jax may or may not have a crush on you and be very much jealous of Pomni being your close friend. Words: 1448 Request: yup!

There was always a spark between you and Jax, surprising? Absolutely.

The thought that this deranged, unhinged, smooth rabbit man could ever feel such complex emotion as love was insane, at least to everyone except for you.

Sure he has some bad qualities, but that’s normal. (Get a grip bro this man is beyond saving /j)

He was here once you got into the circus, and that first time you met, both of you hit it off great! He was always smug and funny, but nothing too overboard. Of course everyone realized right off the bat, and Ragatha just came to you and was like: “How did you do it?”

You were confused, Jax was always like that! A bit silly, and very charismatic.

And so this feeling bloomed, but somewhere where none could see, not even you. You liked him a lot, surely, but he wasn’t the type to fall for a person, he was so sure of himself, you knew there was no chance of him swooning over someone, not like it’s a bad thing, but he wasn’t a type of person to beg for affection if it was to be taken away.

Or so you thought.

You let your crush take a backseat in this h#!! of a ride. But meanwhile, to Jax’s absolute demise and confusion, he found himself staring a bit too long, or laughing a bit too loudly at your jokes. He fell, definitely not first, but most definitely harder.

The thought process was quite simple really: “Absolutely no f*@/!n# way.”

But oh well, he’s 100 % the type of guy to try to impress you every chance he gets, even at the expense of others.

Not like he cares about others though.

What you might not realize is how under all that narcissistic and overall not the best person is someone who is like, very touch starved.

He would die to even hold hands, but just with you.

That pisses him off slightly, he never had such problems, and it’s not looking good.

He has a way with words, but not a way with emotions. That concept is foreign and very, unsettlingly new to him.

Then a newcomer comes around, a silly little jester – Pomni! Both of you become friends really fast, because unlike Jax, you’re actually one of two best comforters in the Digital Circus, the first-best being Ragatha.

That’s why Pomni always sticks with either you or Ragatha.

At first it wasn’t that much of a problem – You were good at putting others at ease – Jax knew that, and with time, he also knew that Pomni hated physical touch.

So when he saw you two hugging or anything like that? My man is pissed.

And it became an actual, apparent problem. Because the smaller jester stuck to you like glue, soon she was even sleeping with you in your room: “Because hers was too stuffy.” Yeah, he wasn’t buying that. (It was the truth tho lmao)

And when Caine brought it up one time, asking you and Pomni if you were dating?? Fuming, you could really see the smoke coming out of his ears.

Of course both of you quickly shut that down, saying that no, you weren’t dating, and were actually far from it.

Part of him wanted to accept that, why did he even care? The other part told him to fuck up Pomni’s mind to the point of abstraction, one sentence could destroy her so why not?

It wasn’t hard to catch on with his emotions, you saw him pull pranks which were just getting more and more cruel. And there was no way you could let that slide.

Especially since Pomni was coming to you for advice on love herself, since she had an eye on one, quite pretty ragdoll here in the circus.

– Good thing this is just a dream, right Pomni? – Jax elbowed the smaller jester, leaning over her, he watched the product of his words show off in the girl’s eyes, as her pupils became dark and disorganized scribbles. Both of them stood somewhere near your room, everything happening because Jax saw Pomni walking to yours again. And he wasn’t having that, so he decided to mess with the jester who was stealing your attention lately. Pomni stayed silent, making Jax snicker lightly, but something interrupted this $h!t show from going on further, light footsteps. The taller man turned around just to see you coming down the hallway, his smile widened. You focused your eyes on two figures before you. – Jax, Pomni! – You smiled at Jax, making him look away for just a second, before you turned to Pomni, smile turning into a frown. – Pomni? Finally stopping you looked at your friend who was visibly not doing so great. You spoke up again. – Hey Pomni, are you doing okay..? – The jester shook her head, breaking out of the trance, she looked at you, her pupils dilated. – What? Uh, yeah, you know what, I’m going to go. – She said quickly, before awkwardly speeding away from you two. You sighed and looked at Jax, who was smugly looking at you. – What did you tell her this time Jax? – You questioned tiredly, anticipating any reasonable response from the rabbit. He laughed. – Oh nothing much you know, just typical stuff. – His grin widened. – Jax. – You looked at him sternly, at times like this you wondered why you even liked him that much. That, seemingly brought him back to earth for a second. – Maybe something about this being a dream.. you know, just typical stuff. You knew how Pomni was, h#!! she told you herself. Poor little thing, she was battling so many emotions right now, especially since she fell for one of the circus members, just like you – which you could relate to. And know you were looking at him, wondering why? Looking at him, you mentioned for the rabbit to follow you. Finally, as both of you stepped into your room, you shut the door behind you and turned to him. – Jax, what’s up your @$$ lately? – You asked, mad. Well that was anything else he expected from you, seems like you caught on to what he was doing, he sighed still smiling smugly. – What do you mean? – You know what I mean. – You said, crossing your arms on your chest, looking up at him. – Not a single clue! – He played along, to a one sided game. You weren’t having that. And then out of all things you could’ve done, you managed to surprise him, catching his breath in his throat, why? Because out of all things you attacked the weakest part of him – His crippling touch starvation – You caught one of the straps to his overalls and pulled him down so you and the rabbit were on the same eye-level, faces dangerously close to each other. And as he felt your touch on his body, he felt something clicking in his at the moment thoughtless brain. But as soon as the touch came, it was gone, and he felt it linger long after you left the room, leaving him staring dumbfounded at one spot in front of him for far longer than what was deemed normal. And now he was left with two options, mess with your new friend and get all this newfound and surprisingly great but still negative attention, or apologize and somehow get you to touch him again. As he was leaving, walking along the halls towards his room to think, he saw Pomni down the hallway, she saw him too. She looked confused, caught up in this tricky territory called love, just like him. But this time, he decided to leave the jester be, which brought him one step closer to his new habit of longing for you and your touch.

Did he apologize to you? Yeah, if you can call it that. It was a typical, Jax fashioned, half–@$$ed apology, but only because his ego didn’t let him go as far as saying an actual sorry.

But he did change! Well, kind of. He was less obnoxious towards Pomni, and let her adjust to this new hellish life she was forcefully pulled into.

After noticing how the jester’s eyes literally turned to hearts when she looked at Ragatha, and when he overheard you giving love advice to her, he definitely gave up on making her abstract out of pure jealousy.

Instead, making it his goal to get you to touch him in any way, yes, he’s that desperate.

But that made you just more in love, he was actually (a little tiny bit) nice!!

Let’s just hope no new people come around, because jealous Jax is literally a walking death threat.

#requests open #request #please request #tadc pomni #x reader #pomni #ragatha #tadc jax #jax #the amazing digital circus jax #caine #the amazing digital circus #tadc #jax x reader #tadc x reader #tadc jax x reader

387 notes · View notes

david-talks-sw · 2 months

Note

I was watching the Clone Wars featurette about the Holocron arc and Dave talks about the scene where Bane threatens to kill Ahsoka. He says "we're seeing a dark side of Anakin, and in a very clear illustration of why Jedi should not have attachments, we see that attachment get exploited." So clearly at what point in time he understood the whole attachment thing. What happened?

Unlike Karen Traviss, I think Dave Filoni actually understands what "attachment" means, in Star Wars. Apparently, it's the Star Wars theme that he and George spoke the most about.

"The biggest area of the Force and the Jedi [that] George and I have gotten into discussing the whole deal with attachments. And, arguably, that's what Anakin whole life is hinged on, is this - like you've mentioned - he has a lot of attachments to Artoo and how how right or wrong is that? Is it that the Jedi have made themselves dispassionate, that they are actually deceived by the Sith and they fall apart?" - Dave Filoni, Rebel Force Radio, 2012

What I've noticed is that, while understanding the meaning of attachment... Filoni doesn't seem to agree that the Jedi embody the concept of compassion.

He has acknowledged sometimes that "attachment is bad" is the theme of Anakin's story (but question if it's really so bad, unlike Lucas who says it's understandable but bad) but disagrees that the Prequel Jedi represent the obvious counter-theme, "compassion is good."

If you read what Filoni says, he argues that:

The Jedi have lost their way, taken the "rid yourself of attachment" rule and pushed it to an extreme where they've rid themselves of any empathy and thus compassion. They've focused so much on being selfless that they've forgotten how to love.

All except for Qui-Gon, who is the only one that truly knows how to love without getting attached, to love selflessly.

And personally, that strikes me as a coping headcanon, a way of reconciling the theme and feeling the Jedi like Mace, Ki-Adi, even Yoda and Obi-Wan are stoic, unlikable and too different from Luke.

Sure, they're not perfect, but nowhere in the films is the Jedi's stance on love framed as "bad" by the narrative. The narrative agrees with their philosophy, and George echoes it.

In fact, among 772 collected George Lucas quotes, I've never seen him state that theme while adding the asterisk that "of course, the Jedi of the Prequels have forgotten how to be compassionate, except for Qui-Gon who was the true Jedi."

And of course he doesn't do that. Because doesn't that muddy the waters so much?

Supposing Qui-Gon truly is the only character that embodies the concept of "compassion"... doesn't killing him off in the first film confuse a targeted audience of children?

Bearing in mind that the Prequels are about how greed makes people and institutions become the very thing they swear to destroy, and Star Wars as a whole is about being selfless instead of selfish:

In one corner, we have Anakin and the Senate showing what you're not supposed to do.

In the other, you got Padmé, Shmi and the Jedi, showing you what you should do instead.

Simple. I can see a kid getting this (and I did). But according to Filoni, that second point is incorrect. Instead, it's:

In the other, we have... Qui-Gon, who is one of the first film's four protagonists that dies at the end, without openly stating anything about the trilogy's theme. Theoretically, there's the Jedi who state and address the theme, but they don't themselves embody it so they don't count. So really... in this corner we have nobody (?)

That seems overly complex, a whole lotta hoops to jump through. Doesn't make sense. But hey, good luck learning the lesson, kids.

So yeah, Dave Filoni gets what attachment means. He just doesn't think it's as bad as Lucas' films frame it as, and disagrees on the Jedi narratively embodying the concept of compassion.

And I think it's coping. It's connecting non-existent dots, Always Sunny-style, to justify not liking characters that weren't meant to be developed much, due to their calm, collected nature and secondary/tertiary role in the story.

Coping and coming up with headcanons are what any irritated Star Wars fan does when they're confronted with something they're unable to make sense of.

“I care because I passionately believe that important stories ought to make sense.” As well you should—and when a story does not, you apply that passion to finding a way to make it make sense. [...] When a rational and inquisitive mind is confronted by the engaging yet irrational, it often responds in this manner. This process is not usually appreciated by those undergoing it; the most common reaction is a deep irritation. But isn’t that always how pearls are formed?” - Don DeBrandt, Star Wars on Trial, 2006

Unless they choose to make documentaries and click-baity YouTube video where they decide to spew hate and get angry pointlessly. Which I'd argue is still worse.

#Dave Filoni #George Lucas #Jedi Order #attachment

129 notes · View notes

prettyboypistol · 1 year

Note

Okay okay- that scout fic got my brain thinking.

How would each of the mercs react to being dommed and being called good boy??

BC LIKE YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD I LOVE IT

MINORS DNI 18+

Mercs Getting Called a Good Boy! (xGN Reader)

Pyro referred to with all pronouns, but AMAB

Scout

You pull Jeremy close as you ball up his shirt. He can feel your hot breath tickle the hairs on his neck.

"C'mon Jeremy, be a good boy for me?"

Nearly cums on the spot

blushyyyyy blush blush blushhhh

If you're not railing him, you will be soon. that's one of his secret insta horny buttons.

Even if he's fucking you, if you call him a good boy he will melt

Tie him up, smack his ass, kiss him, tease him, fuck him til he's dizzy. He doesn't care as long as he's your good boy.

If it's sprung on him it hits his ego a little and makes him feel a little emasculated, so he begs that you don't say it around the others.

Engineer

He's usually gotten shit for being the shortest of all the mercs, so it takes him a moment to really understand what you meant by calling him a good boy.

Like don't get him wrong, it's not like he's insecure, but a guy can only take so much before he develops a complex.

He's not really a fan of it tbh, but he doesn't mind letting you top

Dell would call you a good boy/girl/lil' thing easily, pulling his southern drawl in to really mess you up

Yeah he's more of a trad masc dude, not that he cares about nontraditional men's choices, it's just his preference

Spy

Very confused, but immediately gives you sass about it.

"I'm already letting you have the ropes, you're just gloating now"

He's into it only in specific circumstances, like when he's fully a bottom.

His control complex is hard to get through, but as soon as you do, god it's adorable how much he craves it.

He will never tell you up front, but there are microexpressions that you might pick up on to tell you if he's in the mood for it.

One of those "figure me out" types, and will never tell you what he wants unless he's taking it.

Heavy

Feels??? Weird??? but also warm inside, like when you usually call him pet names

It makes him feel small, but not in a bad way.

He's never been dommed or topped before, so it's all kinda exciting

He'd prefer some other version of "good boy", like "my baby" or "honeybear"

Would kiss you and want kisses so so much

Heavy knows you're trying to get hi in the mood and mindset of being a sub, he's not an idiot, so he rolls with it.

Overall he's neutral on it, not ecstatic but doesn't hate it.

Demoman

Surprisingly very into it

Like, you're taken off guard at the babblemouth he becomes after "Good boy" slipped from you.

He usually dirty talked during sex, but you didn't realize that he's like that when he's the bottom!

"C'monnn, give your good boy what he deserves!" whiny ass baby

After the fact, cuddles you close and rambles on about how he's always been into it, but nobody's been bold enough to call him that

Tavish loves all versions of good boy, ex "attaboy", "prettyboy" "babyboy" etc.

Pyro

Loves it so fucking much, through the muffled squeaks and nods of approval, you decide to go with it at the enthusiastic response

Pyro was always into affection during sex, from gentle touches on their body to touching you- maybe he's making sure that you're real?

Since the mask coming off was a hard no, every time you called her a good boy you heard a happy moany-wheeze of breath of enjoyment.

As much as Pyro is infantilized, I prefer a more realistic depiction of schizophrenia/psychosis. As fun as Pyroland is all sunshine and rainbows, delusions really hurt the psyche.

When you two are done fucking, they seem at peace. It's hard to feel like a good person when you're that disillusioned with reality

Medic

Now this man gets all giggly like you might expect Pyro to be.

Super eager to please you

Loves getting your hands tugging your hair as you pull his head back when you're behind him/on top of him. Bite his neck and call him your good boy.

It'll bleed into when he's experimenting too, if he gets too spooky while you're on the operating table just hit him with "Aww, be my good boy?"

If Medic's topping, he somehow rails you harder

Aftercare king if you praise him sweetly

100% gets jealous if you call Archimedes a good boy.

Sniper

Not a fan at first, but it grows on him

After long days he just crawls into your arms and sighs, he puts your hands into his hair and groans

"My good boy" "yeah.."

He doesn't mind subbing/bottoming, but you get the best results when he's tired and exhausted.

As he's breathing deep, tired, and in the moment, you just kiss his brow and say it.

He snuggles into you tightly, nearly stopping sex to just hold you

Smack his ass and call him good boy at random please

Soldier

Surprisingly receptive, but in an unorthodox way.

"Good boy Solly-" "I'm a good MAN!"

well, that works too.

It works as more ammo when you're topping

"That's it honey, what a man. Good boy, Jane~"

Since Soldier is one of your more crazy lovers, you like how he puts his own spin on everything. it's a breath of fresh air.

He'll call you a good boy, but it'll drabble into telling you that you're patriotic during sex

443 notes · View notes

momentomori24 · 5 months

Text

I haven't seen anyone talk about it in detail if at all, so I'll just throw this out there: Is it just me, or are Ashley's feelings for Andrew very not romantic?

Just to be very clear-- this isn't me trying to sanitize the incest present in their relationship or twist it into pure unproblematic platonicness despite everything in the game being a hellish, dystopiant, grotesque, unapologetic mess (in a good way), just an observation that's been on my mind for a while.

We know Andrew is absolutely, 100% romantically attracted to his sister especially through both his inner monologues, relationship with Julia and of course, The Scene. But I never really got that same attraction from Ashley. She loves to degree where it can't be considered platonic, but there's a blunt edge to her affection I wouldn't call romantic either.

She's obviously been obsessed with him from a young age as he's the only person she had to cling to without worrying that he'd leave her. She doesn't treat him like a person, she treats him like a coveted toy that only she can play with. Between borderline neglegent parents, untreated apathy issues, a major abandonment complex and a parentified brother/psuedo-dad, unhealthy attachments and toxic tendencies can go real bad real quick. Go figure. It's possessive, referring to her brother as hers and something that's considered stolen the moment someone else has an interest in it, but it feels a lot more "innocent" than Andrew's possessiveness of her. Andrew is hers to have because he's her brother, just like how a plaything would be hers because it was bought for her-- there doesn't seem to be anything more to it than that.

I think the best example of that is their reaction to the Vision in the Burrial route:

Unlike Andrew, who is disturbingly flustered rather than reasonably revolted, she just... doesn't have a reaction to it. They've already trapped themselves in a box with each other and commited some of the worst atrocities imaginable, so she just chalks it up to another thing to add to their crimes list. Her causual playfulness and indifference to the situation is such a strong contrast to Andrew's desperate denial and really shows her feelings about the whole thing. Or lack of, as she isn't at all fazed about it. You'd think that she'd be thrilled, or excited or equally as flustered as Andrew at the thought of their relationship taking the next big step, but there isn't any of that here. Despite her jealousy, obsession, possessiveness and extreme closeness, it doesn't seem that there was ever any romantic intent involved on her end (or at least none that she knows of). Heck, she even voices her confusion when Andrew confesses he read her actions that way:

There is something funny about going through the story thinking ''ok i get it she's the obsessed yandere sister with a brother complex i see you game'' only to be hit with the revelation that it's the complete opposite way around. Basically just Ashley hitting both Andrew AND the players with the "wait you really saw me like that what did i even do to make you think that??" at the very end and it is baffling. The fact that she seems genuinely oblivious to how she comes off is both a little cute and unexpectedly innocent, but also cements just how little she grew up from when she was a kid.

But I think this line from her really encapsulates their relationship perfectly:

One way to keep him around. She won't sleep with him because of some repressed sexual tension or genuine (messed up) affection, but because she views it as transactional. She loves Andy, that version of her brother who went along with whatever she wanted and cared about her despite all her issues when no one else did. She always acts uncaring towards other people, but it's so obvious that she's lonely. That the people she cares about not caring about her has an effect on her. We see it with their mom, the way she continued to call her despite the abuse and neglect she put her through and immediately assumes she wouldn't have wanted them to find her because she feels that unwanted. We see it with her ''friends'', the way she felt so betrayed by how they basically left her for dead in that apartment without bothering to try throwing some food up their balcony. She didn't even care if they would've succeeded or not-- she just wanted someone to try. She clings so viciously to her brother because he's all she has left. She's been labelled unlovable by everyone else in her life, and the moment he leaves her for someone more stable, she's alone for good. Andy needed her the same way she needed him, but now he's gone, and Andrew is more unpredictable than ever. His nightmares have gotten better, so he doesn't need her to sleep easier at night (not that he did in the first place). He's better at having a social life too, so surrounding himself with others and getting his life together shouldn't be too hard. He doesn't need her the way she needs him anymore, but she knows that Andrew wants her, so she'll give herself to him before anyone else can if it means that he'll stay. Which, by the way, is such a good parallel to her mom's own mindset when it comes to relationships (like mother like daughter ammirite). It's so far from love; it's just blatant codependancy she doesn't acknowledge on her end, something we see Andrew both enable and take advantage of whether he realises or not. And I think that's a more nuanced, fascinating trait of her character rather than just the ''yandere sister in love with her brother'' trope.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this messy, hopefully coherent analysis of our gravecest couple, mostly focused on Ashley. And who knows, maybe she IS in love with Andrew and I completely misinterpreted her feelings for him, but until proven otherwise I'll keep clinging to this theory. This GAME THE-- [GUNSHOTS].

#the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #andrew graves #gravecest #i wonder if another reason Ashley wasn't freaked out about the vision was because she doesn't see him as her ''brother''#andy was her brother and the person she loved more than anything while andrew is the guy she clings to because he's the next best thing #but she recognises that he's not the same person he once was so that makes him more of a stranger with andy's appearance than anything else #just food for thought #proof reading this later hopefully

146 notes · View notes

xoxoavenger · 7 months

Text

I Know Places

pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

summary: they take their shots, but we're bulletproof (I know places) and you know for me, it's always you

word count: 2579

warnings: some blood, this one kinda got away from me my bad

1989 masterlist main masterlist

"Here's the problem I have with keeping us a secret,"

"I don't want to hear it."

"I wasn't finished." Y/N doesn't let Stiles' dramatics get in the way of her venting, because right now she couldn't be more mad at the fact that they were not public as a couple.

"Y/N, please," She's only going to say things that have been repeated on multiple occasions in the seven months they've been dating, and tonight Stiles doesn't have the energy nor the time to get into it.

"No, Stiles!" He looks over at her as he realizes that she's more fed up with this than usual. He puts his eyes back on the road as he lets her go off even though he's heard it seven times this month. "I can't stick up for you! You get angry when I so much as look at you in front of the pack, much less try and argue. I mean fuck, no one is going to suddenly think we're dating because I voice the problem I have with using you as bait." She hasn't even taken a breath, and while Stiles understands her side of the story he's not wavering his position.

"I'm not saying you can't look at me! But nothing you say is going to make Scott or Lydia agree to change their position."

"And what about you?" She asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the door to see him clearly.

"What about me?" Last time he checked they were talking about her feelings. He chances a glance at her which only makes him feel weirdly guilty about something he's sure he has done but can't actually remember doing.

"Nothing I say can change your position?"

Stiles is a smart man. He gets relatively good grades. He makes countless plans that work, figures out who's trying to fuck with them before even the police can. He can argue and persuade for just about anything. So he knows what Y/N is talking about, and he knows that playing dumb will not help his cause.

"You're mad because I volunteered to be bait." The only reason the two of them are in the Jeep on the way to the woods is because Stiles told everyone that he would gladly draw the new alpha pack to him and run to the check point where the rest of the pack would be waiting. The only problem was the time period before they would make it to the pack, where they would just be to far to help if something happened. They had all been arguing about who it should be when he stepped in, causing Y/N to imagine herself breaking his arm just so he wouldn't.

"I don't know why you have some sort of hero complex," She angrily gets out of the car before he's even parked, leaving him to sigh and slam his own door when he gets out. "But what I'm even more confused about is why you're somehow astonished that your girlfriend would be mad at you throwing yourself into the line of fire." She's freezing as soon as they start walking, but she doesn't say it. In order to draw the alphas, they needed couldn't wear a jacket. In December.

"You didn't have to come with me." He grabs her hand anyway, because they're alone and they don't get to walk holding hands very often.

"Are you even listening to me?" She asks quietly, aware that their pack is intently listening to them, ready to jump in when the alphas arrive. "I'm not mad that I'm here with you, I'm mad you volunteered for sudden death." They make it to the agreed spot, cuddled close together as they shiver.

"You're mad because this plan is the worst." He clarifies, and just like that they're back to normal, clearly understanding each other. They don't need to say it to know that they're both able to forget about the details in the face of death.

"It is," She tells him quietly, smiling wide when he leans his back against a tree and lets her lean against his front. "I mean, having to kiss you, make out even," She isn't able to roll her eyes because Stiles is leaning down, hands coming around her waist as he kisses her.

The amazing plan Stiles came up with is for them to pretend to be lovesick teenagers (because why would a couple of twenty-somethings sneak out to kiss) completely oblivious to the pack roaming the woods. And Y/N wanted to kiss Stiles right then and there when he came up with the plan, which made her even more mad about keeping their relationship a secret. They weren't in high school anymore, and Y/N was sure the pack would be able to handle the knowledge that they were dating, but Stiles was worried, didn't want to step on any toes or break the whole 'no dating pack members' rule that had been established when Malia and Scott broke up.

They kiss for a while, and it keeps them warm for a couple minutes. But soon it's too cold and they're chattering as they kiss, and neither of them even wants to kiss anymore. Just as Y/N's about to tell Stiles that she's not sure she can feel her feet, let alone her hands, they hear it.

They both snap toward the sound of a twig breaking, much closer than they were hoping for. The alphas don't even try to hide, instead flashing three pairs of red eyes through the darkness. It doesn't take anything else for Stiles to begin sprinting, grabbing Y/N's hand and pulling her along.

They run toward where the pack is waiting, desperate to be away from danger and somewhere warm. Y/N's thankful for the adrenaline, which masks pain sparking from her legs as she shakes the cold off and follows Stiles. They're almost to the meeting point when a pair of red eyes makes them veer away.

They hadn't expected that they'd be surrounded.

Stiles doesn't waste a second, pulling Y/N away as if they weren't supposed to be going toward anyone at all. She's freaking out, hoping the pack can hear the change in their footsteps and come meet them. She's lagging behind, the cold burning her lungs in a way that she didn't even think was possible. Her ears are shooting pain into her head as the breeze makes it's way through her body. Her hand is slipping from Stiles' and she's about to give up when she feels pain erupt in her leg, which she previously thought was numb.

She lets out a blood curdling scream as she falls to the ground, Stiles turning to see the sight that haunts his nightmares; Y/N is on the ground, blood pouring out of her leg as she tries to claw herself forward. There's an alpha behind her, a man with a sinister look that tells Stiles the alpha wants to do more than just turn his girlfriend. Before Stiles can even think about how to fight the werewolf that is twice his size, Scott is roaring and tearing at the Alpha's chest, taking him by surprise.

"Run!" He yells at Stiles and Y/N, going back to fighting. Everyone is there within seconds, fighting off the alphas and clearing the path for the couple.

Except Y/N can't run.

She can't stay quiet either, letting out grunts and moans and whimpers with every step. She leans heavily on Stiles, but he's only human. He knows they're surrounded, knows there's not many options for them. It's do or die, and he is not letting his girlfriend die because he just had to be the bait.

He pulls her into a thick patch of bushes, out of sight. They crouch, which becomes sitting and Y/N extends her leg to fully see the bite wound she now has. He knows this isn't enough however, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the thought of what he has to do next.

"They will smell your blood," He whispers to her, maneuvering them to be able to hold her, her back against his chest. Her hands go up to his arm and squeeze, as if he wasn't already feeling guilty enough for what he has to do. He only thinks this quickly because of his recurring nightmare of this exact scenario. He's tried many different ways to hide, and through it all this was the only way they weren't found. "I'm so sorry," He puts a hand over her mouth and pulls her into his chest, his other hand grabbing the moist dirt and pushing it against her wound. She screams at the contact, muffled by his hand that she is clawing at. He grabs more dirt, a tear falling down his face as he presses it harder against her leg.

They will still be able to smell the blood, if they're close and really looking, but they won't be able to track it from afar. All he can do is hope that his pack can take care of it so he can get Y/N to Melissa.

"Stiles," She whimpers, trying not to cry as he moves his hand from her mouth. "Oh God, I'm bit, Stiles!" Her voice was getting high with panic, so Stiles grabs her and holds her as close as he can.

"You're going to be okay, it'll be okay." He doesn't believe his own words, but he needs Y/N to believe them. He needs her to stay strong, because he doesn't know what he'll do if her body rejects the bite.

It feels like they're sitting there for hours, Y/N's grip slowly slackening. Stiles tries not to read too much into it, but the dirt he had put on her leg is wet and dark with blood. He can't put more on, knows that by now there's too much blood to be able to dampen and the only thing it'll do now is introduce infection. He can still hear distant roars, and he hopes someone realizes they never left.

"Stiles!" It's Scott, running quickly. He's able to find them in no time, confirming Stiles' thoughts. He's just glad an enemy didn't find them first.

"She's bit," Stiles tells his best friend, who is currently taking in their position. Y/N's head is lolling, sweat pouring out as her body is fighting to stop the bleeding. This bite was deep, deeper than Scott's or Liam's, and it instantly worries Scott.

"We'll get her out," He assures his best friend, realizing that there's a large possibility that Y/N and Stiles are more than friends. He's surprised they were able to hide it for so long, surprised he never picked up on it.

"I had to put dirt on it. I didn't know where they were, or what was going to happen." Stiles is rambling while Scott helps them stand. "I don't even know if it helped but I couldn't just sit here and let them find us." Y/N is groaning and crying out and finally Scott just picks her up, knowing he has to move.

"You did what you could, Stiles." He tells his best friend, the two of them rushing to get back to the Jeep.

"Stiles," Y/N pants, jostling in Scott's arms as they reach the Jeep.

"It'll be fine." It's the only words Stiles knows, apparently. It's all he can think, because he doesn't even want to imagine any other possibility. He lets Scott put Y/N in the back seat and then climbs in after her, which surprises Scott. He's rarely ever been allowed for drive the jeep, and he realizes now that Y/N and Stiles might be closer than he originally thought. The theory that Stiles has been keeping his girlfriend a secret from his best friend makes him upset, but he knows this isn't as important as keeping Y/N alive.

"Here," He's taking off his sweater and handing it to Stiles to hold to her leg. They both know that they're pushing the dirt in and risking infection, but it's worth it to keep her from bleeding out.

"Y/N," Stiles mutters as he pushes her hair back, trying not to notice how pale she's become. "Hey, baby," He smiles when she opens her eyes.

"I'm bit," She tells him once more, her voice scratchy. She takes shaking breathes, eyes locked on her leg. "Oh my God," She's shaking, the fear in her eyes causing Stiles' heart to jump.

"It'll be okay, I promise. I'm right here." He looks down and sees the blood soaking through Scott's jacket, which makes him uneasy.

"I didn't want this," She cries, causing Scott to squeeze eyes shut.

"I know, I know," Stiles pushes some of her hair off her forehead.

When they get to the hospital, Melissa is waiting outside. She's clearly nervous as Scott gets her out, looking around as they get Y/N on a gurney and rush her in, trying not to be seen by others.

"What happened?" Melissa asks, getting Y/N hooked up to machines. When Stiles pulls the jacket away, she gasps.

"I was bit," Y/N's a little out of it, which worries Stiles. Her blinks are slow.

"Why isn't she healing?" Melissa grabs things she needs to clean and suture the wound.

"We don't know." Stiles answers, gagging as Melissa begins cleaning the blood away.

"We need to get this wound closed, because I can do a lot of things for you guys but I cannot steal blood." She takes a deep breath as she looks at her tools. "I can't steal any drugs to numb your pain either." She's very positive Y/N will pass out before she gets too far into it anyway.

"I can help." Scott puts a hand on Y/N's leg. Melissa nods before beginning her stitches. Y/N doesn't even have the chance to feel the pain because Scott is already taking it, veins darkening as he breathes deeply to not show how much it hurts. Y/N wishes she could thank him, but everything is heavy.

"Her eyes are closing." Stiles is freaking out only slightly. He moves closer to her head, trying not to look at the mess that was her leg.

"Try to keep her awake." Melissa instructs. It's the last thing Y/N hears before she gives herself up to the darkness.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Y/N hears Malia ask through some fog.

"We were worried you guys would get all weird." Stiles answers.

"What does that even mean?" Lydia asks, and Y/N tries to force her eyes open. She can't quite do it.

"You guys always get strange when two people in the pack start dating! And no offense, but it was so awkward when Malia and Scott broke up. We didn't want to go through that again." She's finally able to open her eyes.

"For the record," She starts, voice scratchy with misuse. "Our last argument was about the fact that I didn't want to hide it." She starts coughing, and everyone is at her side, asking a million questions. She doesn't pay attention to anyone else, only watching her boyfriend's face as he realizes that she's awake and okay.

"Oh my God." Stiles is holding her close, tears in her eyes that make her emotional.

"I'm okay," She whispers, still weak but squeezing Stiles with all her might. "I'd never leave you." It breaks the dam and Stiles begins crying into her, knee up on the bed to steady himself.

"I'd never let you."

tags: @tbsimp @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @mcueveryday

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagine

278 notes · View notes

devine-fem · 8 days

Note

ion remember who said that but someone here said that bruce is a bad parent but he loves his sons and that's so true.

He's done bad things but he hasn't done them out of genuine assholery, like he genuinely cares but bro has no clue on how to deal with the kids emotions.

And that doesn't necessarily make him a bad person. Maybe a bad parent but he isn't some evil abuser like the other side of the fandom makes him out to be, and he isn't a saint who loves to shelter kids like a mother hen either...

y'all need to start allowing people to do bad things cuz they DO. Parents can be emotionally abusive or give a kid trauma without even realizing. And it's sad that for Damian we have to fit him into either A: Talia hits him and tortures him B: Bruce hits him or tortures him or C: they're both angels of parents 😭 or D where they both do it ig

Need Damian's trauma to be such that you cant exactly place the blame on someone, but it's there and it's bad. IDK IF I MAKE SENSE UGHHHH

No, stop. Imagine going from a world where you’re not allowed to become emotionally attached to anything and you’re proned to violence for survival. Then you go form that to an emotionally distant and neglectful father who has been proned to violence since his 20s and has you go straight into breaking criminal necks in yellow suits.

Mind you, the only person who thought it’s be a good idea to have Damian completely taken out of their lives as they were was Talia Al Ghul. She wanted to give him up to adoption in secret so he wouldn’t have to grow up in the league or with Bruce Wayne.

Imagine your parents love you to death but just that, it’s always to death: they can never just show you like a normal person what loves supposed to be. They always gotta show it differently and how confusing that must be for a child?

We simply do not ignore the bad things Bruce does to Damian like we do Talia but I do and I always will. The morrison run was too important to Damian’s story to ignore and City of Bane, etc was too important an event to ignore. Fortunately, we have cognitive thought and can determine what’s in character and that even bad actions doesn’t mean these characters just always had bad intentions. Damian will always be their baby boy, they love him so much but unfortunately… they love him in a way that accommodates for both their seperate missions… which is why he’s so between two worlds…

I truly couldn’t like Talia, Bruce and Damian if they were exempted from all bad action; it’s fun only when there’s complexity… I don’t read these comics for family feels anyway but I also take this things head on because well, they did them and it can’t be ignored how we wish it could.

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #batfam #talia al ghul #dc comics #asks

53 notes · View notes

txttletale · 9 months

Note

having thoughts about your point that players/the gm shouldn’t have to design anything for a good ttrpg and wondering if i’m thinking of the gm’s role using inaccurate terms. what would you call the gm’s responses to uncertain mechanical situations in a given game (e.g. a mixed success in pbta - the onus is on the gm to come up with what that means, following some guidance from the rules.)

it seems like something that people find comforting about d&d is that even though the rules are overly complex (and often confusing), many of the common mechanics have clearcut (and boring) outcomes (such as save or suck, hit or miss, etc), meaning the gm doesn’t have to produce/interpret a result themselves. is the other approach (i.e. rules-light) putting more “design” weight on the gm? or is that thinking of it too formally?

otherwise, good design being the gm’s responsibility seems like it just falls under the umbrella of playing in good faith - whatever the situation, it’s bad faith to create untenable/insoluble scenarios that the players can’t meaningfully navigate

yeah, i mean--PBtA games have a list of GM moves, right? when a player has a mixed success, usually that means they succeed and the GM makes a GM move. and obviously those moves have choices and stuff the GM needs to come up with -- something like Monster of the Week's "Put someone in trouble" or "Separate them" definitely require the GM to think of how that works in the fiction -- but that isn't game design, right? the mechanical aspect of that has been handled by the game's rules text. so i think that if there's more weight on the GM i think it's strictly creative weight rather than design weight, unlike the 5e GM who is forced to mechanize anything they might want to make up and is often left without any mechanical guidance

and i mean, i think in general 5e (and dnd more broadly) give the GM absolutely fucking nothing to work with. there are literally no GM-facing mechanical levels other than enemy statblocks (which also, unlike something like Lancer or even fucking 4th Edition, come with no guidance on how to use them or how to assemble combat encounters with them). it's much, much easier to GM a game with GM moves, because then you have an actual set of mechanical levers available to you--and of course, like the aforementioned "Separate them", these levers automatically lend themselves to telling the sort of stories the game advertise for their genre. here's some GM moves from other PBtA systems that, just by seeing them as a mechanical lever, can push the story into the genre and tone directions the game wants to emulate:

Put innocents in danger (Masks, teenage superhero drama)

Reveal an unwelcome truth (Fellowship, high fantasy adventure)

Make honour and shame real (Sagas of the Icelanders, saga-era viking drama)

Bring their gender into it (Night Witches, Soviet airwomen war story)

Make them teach a class (Pigsmoke, magic-school cutthroat academia)

and one of the absolute best things about GM moves (and similar mechanics, like BitD's consequences, or BOB's setting sheet moves) is that because they are clearly delineated and restricted, there's no self-policing. because a dnd 5th edition DM can, rules as written, say at any point "100 ogres appear and beat you to death", they always have to be navigating a series of unspoken social contracts, creating threats but never threats which can win, introducing problems and consequences at a rate that keeps stakes up but is also fundamentally winnable, make everythign feel 'fair'. and dnd players have learned to accept this all as just the table stakes of a GM role, but it doesn't have to be. because all that is game design, and in a better game, that design is taken care of. GM moves say 'look, we've already thought about pacing and fairness, here's the levers we've pre-designed for you to pull, go nuts and tell a story with them'.

so in my opinion PBtA mixed successes represent a lot less onus on the GM to design the game for the designers than anything that happens in 5th edition outside of individual clearly resolvable combat actions--and it's one of the reasons i started having much more fun with TTRPGs once i stopped GMing 5e and realized that other games gave me actual tools and support to work with instead of expecting me to do all that bull shit

#ask #ttrpg

181 notes · View notes

imarvelatthestars · 1 year

Text

Thank You, Mr. Daimyo

Or, the story of the mighty Boba Fett and the school teacher that stole his heart.

Pairings: Boba x teacher!Reader

Warnings: mutual pining, flustered Boba (if such a thing requires a warning)

Notes: I've been sick and miss doing cute crafts with my students, so this is my remedy.

Children have always been something of an enigma to him, even when he was a child himself. He remembers the ones he grew up around, the young clones blindly marching off to battle, eager to prove their merit in a war that didn't matter in the end. He remembers being a child under his father's watchful eye, all the things his father taught him, the good... and the bad. He thinks of the childhood he lost too early to the likes of Aurra Sing and Cad Bane, and then he watches you interact with the children of Mos Espa and it stirs something in him.

Boba's not sure what this something is. At first he thought it bitterness or jealousy, although he supposes there is a bit of truth to that, then he thought it simple confusion. After all, children do have the tendency to be loud, obnoxious, and messy. Djarin's kid is a prime example. But now he wonders if this something feeling that pulls at him whenever he sees you - spectacles perched on your nose, your head and hair wrapped in a kerchief to protect you from the burning suns, a too sweet smile to match your too gentle words - is more complex than any of that.

One of your students, a little Rodian, goes running off after its mother and Boba finds himself drawn ever closer by your smile that lingers long after the children are gone. Your eyes flicker in his direction and your smile falters, hesitant and unsure but still welcoming as you nod at him.

"Another successful day?" It's the only thing he can think to say and he's glad his helmet hides the grimace he makes when he realizes just how ridiculous he sounds.

But you laugh. And that's a start. He pretends not to notice the way his chest tightens when you do.

"Mm, you could say that." Your attention drifts to the Rodian and its mother. "Only one bloody nose today and some of them actually managed to read something. I'm tempted to say I witnessed a miracle."

He thinks a lot of things, then: that you're a fortunate woman to make such an easy living, that you must have the patience of a kriffing jetii (even if such a comparison makes the vein above his eye tick), that he's almost foolish enough to think you're cute, that it's the people like you who make being Daimyo worth all the trouble.

"Must be because you're a miracle worker."

And when you look at him, Boba would like nothing more than to crawl back into that blasted sarlacc pit because when did he start letting himself sound so cliché? His throat suddenly goes dry, even when you smile and chuckle and duck your head away at the poor excuse for a compliment.

"I don't know about that," you mumble shyly, "but thank you, Lord Fett."

That's the other thing about you that doesn't sit right with him. He doesn't like it when you address him properly, with the titles and respect that he's earned. It leaves an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach long after you part. He finishes his rounds in the streets, greeting merchants and playing the part he's chosen, but even when he returns to the palace that discomfort lingers. It isn't until after dinner when he's removing his armor that he realizes he's never heard you say his name and perhaps he'd like you to address him without all the fancy titles and that reserved demeanor you only pull out when he's around.

That should be enough warning for him to stop this, whatever this is.

Infatuation, screams his logic. A childish notion. He's not a child any longer. He could go on for hours about the sort of man he is now, battle hardened and clever and relentless. He's outgrown romantic things like love and affection. This whole thing is stupid, he's acting a fool, and he should make a point not to stop by your school unless absolutely necessary. If his father were only here to see him now, if Sing or Bane or hell, even Bossk knew he'd let himself entertain a crush-

The evening breeze catches the drapes along his balcony just right and it casts Fett back a whole year. He's huddled in front of a dying fire and the moon is high and the Banthas are snoring. The wind is whistling through tent flaps and the Tuskens are whispering to each other, holding their loved ones close. The kid is snoring by his feet with his pet Massif and Boba feels at peace, at home. He looks from one family unit to another, and then he's back in the palace, blinking away a sudden stinging in his eyes.

Your Tusken family, Bane had called them. They'd never really been anything else, had they? They were safe, strong, the missing piece that filled the emptiness a lifetime of solitude had carved into him. He wonders if you could be that, too.

It's stupid. He's going to make a fool of himself. Probably get himself hurt. But his weekly outings to Mos Espa just wouldn't be the same without the usual stop at the school. And it would be bad form not to check in on you.

Little Shronah raises her hand. "Teacher?" Her Rodian accent twists the vowels a bit, so it doesn't come out quite right.

You smile in an attempt to encourage her since she's usually so quiet. "What's up, Shronah?"

"Can you help me?"

The rest of the kids are working either on their own or in pairs on their drawings, so you head over to her side of the room. Paper is outdated even on Tatooine, but you've always thought that learning to write and draw without tech aides is an important skill for the younglings. It's good for their hand dexterity, hand-to-eye coordination, encourages creativity, and when it comes to simple crafts like these, it's just plain fun. Plus you love to hang their drawings up when they're finished.

You crouch down by Shronah's desk. "What d'you need help with, sweetie?"

She points to her picture with the Rodian equivalent of a frown. "I don't know how to spell it."

It's an interesting picture. Lots of brown and green scribbles. You think you can make out double suns in the top half and maybe some limbs in the bottom half, but crayons are difficult for Rodian physiology so it looks more abstract than anything.

"Spell what?"

"My momma said that I- that I should say thank you to the Daimyo because he..." Shronah pauses to catch her breath and her big eyes sparkle when she looks up at you. "Because he saved our city from those big ugly slugs, so I wanted to say, 'thank you, Mr. Daimyo,' but I don't know how to- to spell that."

Oh. You can't help the smile that fans across the entire breadth of your face. Stars above, it's the moments like these that make every bad day worth it.

You tuck your chin into your open palm to hide just how much you're smiling. "Well, that's very nice of you, Shronah. I'm sure Lord Fett will love it." You hand her one of the green crayons, the same shade she used for what you now realize is a scribble of herself and the mighty Boba Fett in all his armored glory. "So thank - thesh, aurek, nern, krill..."

"Cayty, looks like your dads are here." Her auburn braids go bouncing behind her when she darts off. You turn and tap a few other students on their shoulders. "Fetmuh, Nihln, your parents are here, too."

"Bye, teacher!" Fetmuh calls over her shoulder with a wave and a big grin.

"See you tomorrow!"

It takes a moment, but the light ringing of spurs catches your ear amid the hustle and bustle of pick-up time. And really, it should be embarrassing how your body reacts to even the slightest possibility of seeing him. You're still working, for crying out loud! You shouldn't be entertaining the flutter-bys in your stomach or the nervous, flustered feeling in your chest that's crawling up into your face. But you are.

Stupid. It's stupid to think that his weekly check-ins mean anything to him other than the fulfillment of his duties as Daimyo. He has a whole city to run, a whole planet, and you're simply a cog in the greater machine. You know that, logically, you do, but some not-so-small part of you wonders if it could ever be more.

The two remaining younglings fall into an awestruck silence when Fett's frame comes fully into view. He's not particularly tall to you, but he's kriffing broad as a bantha and even more so with his armor. You can tell there are muscles under it all. You try not to dwell on the resulting image that springs to mind.

"Lord Fett," you hum with something between a nod and a curtsy.

You're not sure why you're curtsying. You've never done that before, but the man makes you nervous in all the right and wrong ways, so there's only so much you can do.

His helmet is quickly removed, something he only ever does when the children are around (you like to think he doesn't want to scare them), and your two remaining ones go a little giddy. You don't blame them.

"And how were your lessons today, little ones?" Fett gruffs with something of a smile.

Shronah bounces up onto her toes. "Fun!" she squeals with her fists in the air.

Toma, on the other hand, doesn't share her enthusiasm. "Boring," the Pantoran grumbles as he kicks at a pebble.

The corner of the Daimyo's mouth quirks into a fuller smile that causes his cheek to dimple and Maker, if that doesn't send your heart racing. There's mischief in his eyes when he crouches down onto one knee, his helmet braced under his arm, and he leans in conspiratorially.

"Boring? Don't tell me she's actually trying t' teach you?" and he sounds positively horrified at the concept.

Toma's eyes go painfully wide and he nods frantically, leaning even closer so he can cup his hand around Fett's ear. He's a terrible whisperer, though, so you hear him clear as day. "She is. It's awful."

You've never noticed it before, but his eyes are beautiful. They settle on you, shining bright amber and kaf brown and a little hint of black, and you can feel your entire face go hot when he finally, properly smiles at you. In fact, he's laughing. It's a marvelous sound, rich and hearty, and you really, really like it.

He raises his eyebrows as his head tilts slightly to one side. "Is that so?"

"Guilty as charged," you reply, arms raised in surrender.

Fett tsks and shakes his head in mock disappointment, but the kids are giggling hysterically. Your heart feels so full, it could burst, and you know you're beaming. Stupid, silly crush. Stupid, silly man. Stupid, silly kids.

"And what are we going t' do with you, hm? A teacher who teaches. I've never heard of such a thing."

You laugh. "Yeah, better lock me up. Maker knows what I could get up to."

Shronah is giggling so profusely that you're honestly a little worried she's not getting enough oxygen. The girl is absolutely tickled and Toma isn't much better off, although he's making a considerable effort not to look as amused. Trying to play it cool. Damn, you love these kids.

By now, both of their parents have arrived for pick up and you can see the confusion written plainly on their faces. It's an odd sight, to be sure - two giggling younglings, a Daimyo, and a teacher, it's like the setup of a bad joke. But you wave them goodbye and watch them leave, and Boba Fett stays.

There's a million things you want to say. You're impressed with how good he is with the kids, you want to ask if he's ever worked with any before, you want to say something that might make him stay a little longer, even just a moment, when it comes to you.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" And he turns his attention back to you, expression neutral and damn near impossible to read, but you don't let it bother you. You're sure you can get another smile out of him. "Shronah, our little Rodian? She made something for you in class today. Thought you might like to see it?"

That clearly gets his attention judging by the way his eyebrows shoot up. He seems to process this for a moment, almost like he's confused. He blinks, frowns, blinks again.

"For me?"

You nod. "Come with me. I'll show you."

You try pointing out little bits of the classroom to him, where Shronah and Toma sit, today's lesson still marked on the board, and you hope he doesn't notice or mind the stray crayons on the floor.

Above your desk, there's a banner made out of twine and today's drawings that stretches from one side of the room to the other. It's mostly stick figure families and a few with you guest starring, even one with something that you think could be a rancor but could also be a sandstorm.

"There we go, right there." You point to the one right above your chair and flash Fett a smile. "The smaller green scribble is Shronah and the other scribble is you. You're lucky, she gave you limbs, I think. We had some trouble with the spelling, though. But I think it turned out okay."

The look on his face; you're not sure you've ever seen that look before, on anyone. He's less confused now, it seems to have morphed into shock, but there's something else you can't place. He's almost sad? Or maybe he's just thinking? You glance back at the drawing and chew nervously on the inside of your cheek.

"My Mando'a's a little rusty," you admit. "I think I chose the wrong translation. But I thought-..."

You can't bring yourself to finish the thought. Stars above, did you screw up? Did you offend him? Of course the one time you have a chance to show him something nice, to have a spare moment with the man under the beskar, and you kark it up.

Okay, it's okay, just wrap it up, you tell yourself. Forget it ever happened.

"My apologies, Lord Fett, I-"

"Did you tell her to draw this?"

It's such an odd question and his face is so stern when he looks at you that it's startling. "Wha-? No! No, I didn't... No, she drew it all on her own. But writing in Aurebesh is hard for her, so I helped her spell it out." That much is obvious from the shakily written letters. "The Mando'a was my idea. I hope I didn't offend you, that wasn't my intent."

"No. You haven't offended me." The strange expression lingers for a moment as he considers the drawing again, but is soon replaced by a smirk. "But you are right. Your Mando'a could use some work."

The nerve of this man! You have half a mind to bump him in the shoulder, tease him about it a little, but he is still the Daimyo and you are still just a teacher. You don't want to cross a line.

"Well, it's not like I have much access to Mando culture out here, now do I?" It's a safe enough rebuttal to still be cheeky without bordering on disrespectful. "I'll be sure to brush up on it for the next kid who wants to turn you into a scribble."

"Perhaps the teacher needs to be taught?"

And something in the air shifts. Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes dart around the idea of his face for a moment or two before finally finding the courage to settle on his irises, and you could swear this man is flirting with you.

You nod, still breathless. "Yeah. Perhaps."

Are you offering? You want to scream it from the rooftops.

Knowing eyes the shade of fresh kaf consider you. Fett's cheeks dimple again, both of them, and you have to duck your head under the weight of his attention. It's too dazzling to look at head on.

"Nakar'tuur," he says as he turns for the exit.

You only know about three phrases in Mando'a and that's not one of them. "Uh, what?"

He pauses in the doorway, framed by the sunlight as he moves to replace his helmet atop his head. You catch a whisper of his smile. "Tomorrow. Come to the palace."

Your head is spinning. Or maybe it's the room. Is he fucking serious?

"Uhh." It's the only response you can manage.

"If you choose."

Oh no, he's completely misinterpreting you. Wake up, stupid! Words, phrases, sentences! Anything!

"No!" you yelp. "No, no, I do. I mean, I'd love to. Thank you, Lord Fett, I-"

"Boba." His voice is softer now than you've ever heard it. Hesitant, quiet. "Call me Boba."

You're sure you look like a damn fish with your mouth hanging open, nodding unblinkingly at him like a moron, but you're still processing everything. His voice, his face, his words. His name.

"Nakar'tuur, girl."

And then he's gone. The doors hiss shut on your own whispered farewell, the first time you've ever said his name instead of his title. Something excitable buzzes in your throat.

What will tomorrow bring?

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #boba fett fluff #star wars

473 notes · View notes

plazmafields · 4 months

Text

I've been trying to think recently why I find the age gap with V and Kerry to be endearing, when normally I feel an age gap over 10 years is problematic. Here's what I think:

(Long rambling ahead along with minor spoilers maybe)

There is a power imbalance between V and Kerry, in multiple ways. Kerry is much older, yes, but he also makes a lot more money. Like shit tons of money. The first time I romanced Kerry, I thought the romance arch was lacking because of the way Kerry never initiated. However, taking into account that V is 23, Kerry's tendency to wait for V to make the first move actually feels very appropriate.

Kerry's dealing with a lot of mixed emotions about Johnny being back. The fact that he never processed his inferiority complex while Johnny was alive, then as soon as Johnny died he jumped right into an ego-driven, spite-fueled solo career that took him straight to the top, and now Johnny's back as a digital parasite? And Kerry has a crush on his host?? Wild.

I think that's ONE of the reasons Kerry doesn't flirt with V outright: he's super confused about the way he feels about V, and whether or not those feelings are overlapping with the way he feels about Johnny. Is he so excited to see Johnny that he could just smooch him (platonic)? Is he simply grateful to V for pulling him out of a depressive episode? Is he still a little horny for Johnny like when they first formed Samurai? Is being attracted to someone 70 years younger than him the first sign of a life crisis starting? Maybe Kerry would rather be safe than sorry, and not act on his feelings for V while he's processing all that other stuff.

This shifts the power back into V's hands, who really doesn't have a lot of control over how the media will interpret their relationship, even if it remains platonic (vs. Kerry who has lawyers, and past experience with the media and dating while in the spotlight). This gives V the opportunity to decide if there are any romantic feelings there, instead of falling for the advances of someone very influential and rich. Those two facts could very easily convince someone that their starstruck reaction was actually love. This way, if V is in control of initiation, Kerry can be sure that he's not coercing V into starting anything they may not fully want; a relationship with ramifications V may not be fully aware of. He can be sure V's decision was not inadvertently rushed by anything Kerry may have said/done.

In our world, age gaps in gay relationships are not treated the same as they are in straight relationships, especially when it comes to gay men. I am not saying this is good or bad. But, it is a "trope", one could say, that younger gay men sometimes gravitate toward men many years older than them. I personally feel this is two fold: older gay men who are out publicly may find it hard to find others in their age range who are unashamed of their queerness, due to internalized social pressure. And younger gay men may find it difficult to navigate their sexuality on their own as it applies to daily life (specifically in American culture) and seek the guidance of veteran gays. If we translate that trend into the Cyberpunk world, where life expectancy is DECADES longer than ours, then perhaps Night Citizens wouldn't bat an eye at someone in their 20s dating someone in their 80s. (I'm sure that gap is stretching things a bit even for Cyberpunk standards, but maybe 30s dating 60s isn't uncommon.)

Another aspect of this is something they mention out right during Boat Drinks: Kerry doesn't act his age. He's getting there, but he's got the maturity of someone around V's age. I truly believe his stunted growth as a person is due to being constantly discredited and invalidated by Johnny. I mean, Kerry doesn't seem to have much in common with his former band mates, who have all moved on with their lives and found their versions of success (except maybe Henry). The people he gets along with best are a group of 20-something pop stars from a different part of the world, and V, also in their 20s. Kerry has been trying to prove himself for so long that his personality got stuck somewhere between starting Samurai and Johnny dying.

Lastly, I just wanna point out that V and Kerry's relationship as presented to us in game, with no outside context or deliberation, is inherently problematic. The age gap, the power imbalance, the wealth disparity, V possibly being a symptom of Kerry's three-quarter life crisis or a rebound or the second best thing to Johnny; Johnny being in the picture at all. A relationship doesn't have to be perfect for someone to like it, and it certainly doesn't reflect what they find acceptable in their own relationships. It's all fiction, it's all fantasy. If you want to theorize about how Kerry and V actually have a super healthy relationship, that's awesome! If you love the idea that they just kind of wound up together and this isn't a permanent situation for either of them, that's great! If you believe the relationship is completely toxic and you're loving the drama of it all, that's cool too!

With what the game has given us, and the fact that Kerry's writers' work could be interpreted in endless ways, I think the age gap was handled in such a way that it can be excused (or even played into) if you feel it works with your headcanon, or used as a catalyst for drama if that suits your imagination better. What's important is that it never feels predatory. And to me, that's good writing.

With my personal headcanon for my oc of V, I've decided his relationship with Kerry is perfectly passable. They're not a perfect couple, they lack communication skills and often butt heads over the other's tendency to put work over their relationship (both of them stubbornly insisting only the other one has a problem), but I like them that way.

#my laptop is being repaired so i cant play the game i just have to sit here thinking about it #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #cbp 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cbp2077 #cbp77 #cyberpunk 77 #v cyberpunk #v x kerry #male v #male v x kerry #johnny silverhand #johnny x kerry #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne

76 notes · View notes

halliescomut · 7 months

Text

Boss/Noeul for The Boy Next World

So we got official confirmation (that we were all expecting) that Boss and Noeul will be playing Cirrus and Phugun respectively in The Boy Next World series coming form Mame/MeMindY. I read the whole novel in about 2 days...finishing up 4 hours prior to the announcement. (Poor decision making on my part honestly.) But I wanted to talk about the novel and basic story, the characters and what I think makes Boss and Noeul a good fit for them, some concerns, and some moments in the novel I'm excited to see.

I am going to attempt to sort of graduate spoilers, so we'll start with no spoilers, move on to potential mild spoilers, and the on to pretty moderate-severe ones. I will clearly mark each transition, so you can stop reading when you like.

No Spoiler Section- Story and Character Summaries

We'll start by going over the basic summary of the story. Phugun and Cirrus are university students that live in the same apartment building. One night Cirrus shows up at Phugun's apartment and tells him that he is his boyfriend. Phugun is understandably confused, as despite having attended the same high school and university, they've NEVER interacted before, but invites him in. Cirrus asserts that he is from a parallel universe where they had started dating in high school. From there it's a bit of a shenanigans ensue situation, but Phugun, being soft-hearted, agrees to try and help Cir get back to his own world, and Cir simply can't help doting on whatever Phugun is available to him. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you might yell.

Now to the characters:

Phugun (often called Phu) is a 2nd year humanities student. He is described as small, cute, and a bit silly. He's also quite feisty and soft-hearted (though he doesn't present that side of himself) and importantly he's kind of superstitious. It is a main character point that he believes that wearing certain colors on certain days will bring him luck, and on days where he can't bad things happen to him. He's an only child and his father passed away when he was in middle school or junior high, so probably about 12-13. After that his mother began travelling abroad, leaving him under the supervision of an aunt. He has a close-knit group of university friends, though from what I can tell none of them pre-date uni.

Cirrus (most often referred to as Cir or P'Cir) is a 4th year business management student. He is described as tall and very handsome, often pursued by other students, but he entertains no one. His nickname on campus is Ice Prince, and many people seem to be afraid of his dark glowers. He does have a small group of friends as well, one from high school (or possibly previously) and one that appears to be just from university. He is the eldest of two children, with a 1 year younger brother (Zone), and his parents are divorced. With Phugun, Cirrus becomes warm and doting, in contrast to the cold persona he presents otherwise.

Now reading through those descriptions you may think...those sound kind of a lot like Rain and Payu...and you are correct. Beginning the novel, I had the same concerns, that these characters were far to similar to their LITA ones and wouldn't offer much space for growth and progression as actors. I have also read the LITA novels (they're actually the only Mame novels I had read before embarking on the Boy Next World) and while I enjoyed Love Storm, I did feel that there wasn't A LOT of serious depth or emotional growth happening in the novel. This is not bad, it's simply my observation, and I enjoyed the novel and series regardless. Through the BNW novel we do have access to both leads points of view and a lot more detail about their backstories, so they are far more fleshed out, complex characters from the start. Because of this, I am potentially hopeful of some really affecting moments that will give Boss and Noeul a great opportunity to really stretch their acting wings. I've made a post before about Noeul's acting specifically, as Rain is incredibly different from him overall, and that remembering that definitely increased my appreciation of his performance there. Rain as a roles is more one that seems simple because he's kind of the most relatable, but for him to be so different from Noeul would offer a specific set of challenges.

There are also a couple of instances in the novel that I think Boss and Noeul in particular could convey very well....

Parallel World Set-up

I also want to give a small explanation of the parallel world basis for the novel, as there are many wildly different systems used in fictional stories, some more complex than others. Below is a pretty basic diagram of the type of parallel world set-up we're looking at.

It's pretty basic, the timeline moves forward and a certain point an occurrence or decision changes the course of the timeline creating to separate but parallel worlds (hence why they travel in the same direction together). In media this divergence point can be anything, in Sliding Doors it's Gwenyth Paltrow's character catching the train versus missing it, but it can also occasionally be a decision. A yes leads to one future, no leads to another, similar to a choose your own adventure story. The divergence point is revealed in the novel, but I won't spoil that, but that decision creates Timeline B where Cirrus and Phugun meet and begin dating in high school. That is the only difference between the two timelines. The orange dashed line is the inciting incident of the novel itself where Cirrus-B ends up in timeline A, and Cirrus-A ends up in timeline B.

I'm going to finish up with trigger warnings for the novel (and likely the series) if you choose to pick it up prior to the show coming out. There are some pretty serious instances of emotional and physical abuse of Cirrus at the hands of his mother, starting from when he was a child. There are also a couple of instances of homophobia. Most of this stems from two specific characters, but there are insensitive and degrading comments made by sort of background characters as well. Grief and grieving is also a potential trigger, as there is discussion related to the death of Phugun's father throughout the novel. As someone who has lost both parents, I did cry at these moments.

Mild to Moderate Spoilers- Scenes and aspects I would like to see in the series

So there are a handful of portions of the book that I really would like to see in the series, and a couple of 'silly' things that I think would just be fun/funny. I'll start with those.

Since we've now established the potential for recasting... I think it would be hilarious if Mame cast a bunch of the actors from the friend group in LITA as the friends in BNW. Specifically Pepper as P'Ren, one of Cirrus's friends who is obsessed with his tropical fish. It would just give the whole thing a bit of a community theater vibe, and I love that.

Since we have a a parallel or alternate universe situation, cast the previous Cir and Phu (Haii and Title) from TharnType 2 as the other versions of them. We don't actually see the other versions in the novel, but it feel like it would be funny like in the opening credits to see like side-by-sides of their lives/timelines.

Now on to actual story points and scenes from the novel I really want to see, and one I kind of hope we don't. We shall get the No out of the way first:

-I do think it is important to keep the child abuse storyline, but I very much hope that it is kept very circumspect or minimal in the show. I would especially not like to SEE it. I think maybe having Cir and Phu talk about it, maybe with audio-overlays or allusions to what happened. But it's pretty dark, and I don't want something like what we got in Don't Say No. Mostly because I have concerns about how filming those scenes can psychologically impact a child actor.

Now the YES's:

-I very much want to see the potential or alluded to second couple of P'Wim and Jin (who are friends of Cir and Phugun). Their vibe is one best described as Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood, and their interactions in the novel were delightful. I'm sure how much we'll get depends on the episode count, but I'm hopeful for more than a Ryu/Sun situation in Wedding Plan.

-As discussed, Phugun has some superstitions related to the clothes he wears, and in the novel this goes all the way down to underwear. I would love to see like a calendar montage where you see him rotating through a rainbow of different colored outfits. (It would be delightfully gay.)

-I want Zone to be in the show. He's only present a couple of times in the novel, but I do feel that he's necessary to the story and that removing him would negatively impact Cirrus's character/backstory, as his relationship with his brother does play a role in a lot of his choices. But in the novel, they have a fun dynamic, and his interactions with Phugun are quite sweet, so I feel like it would be a great inclusion.

-There are a couple of instances in the story where Cir sings Phugun to sleep to comfort him. We know Boss has a lovely singing voice, I would like to see that.

-There is a scene related to a musical instrument that was left to Phugun by his late father, but Phugun can't play it. In the scene Cirrus plays it for him, and it's one of the scenes that made me absolutely lose it. Now the instrument isn't a guitar, but since we know Boss can play guitar, I don't think it's unreasonable to just change the type of instrument, as that doesn't really affect the story. Though I am aware that a lot of viewers hate the "guitar in BLs" trope, there is a real emotional gravitas to this scene that I think it would be unfortunate to lose.

-Lastly, there are not many NC scenes in the novel, I think 3 fully explicit ones and a couple that are alluded to. But the first one is a BJ in which Phu is receiving and Cir is performing. Now BJs in general are rarely even portrayed in BL, for many reasons, but the fact that it's not easy to film in a manner that would get by censors, or to portray in a romantic light are probably major factors. It's also something that could be far more uncomfortable for the actors to film. But when they are even hinted at it's often the 'Top' who is receiving, we honestly rarely see concentrated effort from a 'Top' to pleasure their 'bottom' without achieving their own 'completion.' I think a lot of this stems from the heteronormative relationship aspects traditionally applied to BL couples. Just as there's an idea in heteronormative/patriarchal society that a woman is there to provide pleasure to the man, and a man is not obligated to return it, that get's saddled on homosexual characters, leading to a situation where we rarely see Tops do much more than prep and penetrate (and the prep is often off screen). It's something that bugs me regularly, even in shows I really like. It's something you see with Kinn/Porsche, with Dean and Pharm in UWMA. These are characters where there is supposed to be this insane level of affection and adoration in the Top for their bottom, but they're not going out of their way to make sure they feel good??? Seems fake. In fairness to Mame, while she does fall into many a problematic trope, she also really likes bossy bottoms who advocate for their own pleasure, so there is that.

So....that's my thoughts on what to expect and what I hope to see. I hope you enjoyed.

#BossNoeul #boss chaikamon #noeul nuttarat #Cirrus x Phugun #Cir x phu #cirrusphugun #cirphu #The Boy Next World #Mame BL #MeMindY #Thai BL #PayuRain

140 notes · View notes

van1llam1lkk · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Finale ; Monster Fucking

[ nsfw | CW ; Inhuman anatomy (Diphallia + Prehensile Penis ) , Technically Futa, Stomach Bulge, Dubcon, cream pies, Erisa isn't human, hand job, cream pie, facial, minor overstimulation, condescending tone, God complex, 'Making it fit', Reader is a bit of a pervert ]

Female x GN!Reader

a/n ; Sorry for not posting for like- two weeks, I accidentally started fixating on TADC and was too busy making self-indulgent fics with my silly OCS...

WC; 1.9k

Synopsis — It's recently come to your knowledge that Erisa has tried to cast away her sexual desires. But her neediness for intimacy and growing sexual frustration is starting affect her, and you're more than eager to help her out.

She thought she got rid of this feeling.

She did try so hard, to bury those vile disgusting thoughts in the darkest part of her mind. So that one day she may permanently forget what it felt like to feel so human.

Trying to Satiate the bubbling emotions with the metallic taste of your blood on her tongue.

but it never would be enough she knew that the moment she decided to cast away her humanity.

So maybe that's why she doesn't feel as guilty as she should watching you settle yourself in between her thighs. Warm hands caressing her abnormally cool skin to nudge her already wide-spread legs wider.

Prior to this you spent the entire week bothering her, promising over and over again that you wouldn't break and whatnot. She didn't really believe you, she still doesn't actually- Any devote follower of hers would spout the same thing if in your shoes.

But the idea of savouring those lost desires even if for one last time was enough to have her willingly spreading her legs apart for you.

She supposes it isn't bad, it could've been worse. And to have sex for the first time in centuries with you is definitely ideal.

She's brought out of her personal thoughts when you call her name, pretty eyes staring up at her.

"Erisa?" You murmur staring at the deity, mild confusion etched into your voice.

White eyes flickered to your own, her head slightly tilting. "Yes dear?"

"You have two..?" You start trailing off into silence as the realization slowly hit you. Erisa doesn't respond, or even offer any sort acknowledgment for that matter.

"It's impolite to stare." She finally says, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch that was just a little too small for her size.

You shake your head, trying to clear the growing fog in your brain. "'M sorry, didn't mean to stare." You start but you're quickly shushed by the large hand pressing against the back of your skull.

In your defense— It's a not really a common thing to have two semi-hard dicks pressed firmly up against your cheek. With a little force you manage to pull your head back, a shaky hand grabbing at one.

Sticky and warm, that's probably the best way to describe it. It very obviously didn't behave like a human penis, nor did it really look like one— Tapered tip that's leaking precum, and barely any real details other than it's girth and the sheen coating its length.

You give a small tug, watching with mild interest at the way pushed and squeezed against your fingers. You turn your attention to Erisa, whose breathing heavily— If she actually had blood you're sure she'd be blushing right now.

Shifting your position slightly you move your other hand up to lightly tease the second one, slowly grinding your palm against the thick appendage. "F-fuck, is this good?" You mumbled, eyes flickering up to the deity who was too busy bucking her hips into your hands to care about answering your question.

A shaky exhale leave you, sure there were moments when you'd see Erica's composure falter. But most of the time you'd barely be conscious— Or too focused on the burning sensation on your shoulder to really notice how loose she was becoming.

but this? This was something else, drool leaking from her lips nails digging into the plush material that sank beneath her while her two other arms sat on her spread thighs, as if she was unsure what to do with herself. it was almost cute

Just the sight alone was enough to make you set a steady pace, pumping your hand along both shafts feeling the way they throbbed and pulsed, the wet squelching sound every time your hand slid up Her length filling the air.

"Mhf… You're hands are so—…" Her words start leaving her as heavy pants, as she gives a small thrust up into your hand.

"Shit so soft—" She stammered out, sharp nails that were digging into the fabric finally giving out and tearing.

Her hips mindlessly buck into your hands, her deep breathing be coming shaky and uneven with each passing moment.

You never felt so turned on in your life.

A low moan leaving her with an open mouth and eyes fluttering shut. You can tell you're close, but there's really no way for you to tell if she is or not.

Although, the way her hips are moving and thrusting into your hands in time with your stroking suggests yes.

A small tug on the base of her shaft causes a low rumble to leave her chest.

With a delighted moan she pushes her hips up against your hands, reaching one hand down to grab at one of your wrist and pulling your hand towards her to match a feverishly quick pace.

She hums, eyes fluttering shut as her hips buck and grinds her crotch against your hand, and in response your own eyes squeeze shut, so that the warm spurts of cum falling all over your face and hands doesn't get into them.

Your tongue absentmindedly coming out to lick the creamy substance off your lips. "F-fuck that's a lot of cum." You mumbles wiping your face clean with your sleeves, when you do finally take a peek at Erisa she's already grabbing you up from your position on the floor.

Impatiently pulling the silky fabric off and tossing it to the side so she's able to sit you on her lap. Grinding her already hardening cock against your pussy, "Your so tiny... You'd probably just break from just one cock." She muses, lifting you up slightly so her tip aligned with your sloppy hole.

You'd half expected her to ease you onto it, gentle and caring like you weren't be having like an absolute brat this past month just to into this position. But you'd notice her loosening grip far too late, especially once she got the first inch in. Letting gravity do the rest to pull you down onto her.

"Fuck!-" You gasp out, heavy pants leaving as she finally bottoms out, pussy walls twitching and clenching around her from the sudden fullness you felt in your tummy. You'd probably be in shock right now if it weren't for the same burning sensation of your insides stretching keeping you up and awake.

"Shit— S-shit so deep." You stammer out, hands clawing at her own that had firmly held your waist. Slowly she lifted you up, every single inch she pulled out feeling like it's pulling at your insides to before she dropped you back down.

" Ha.." She hummed pleasantly, savoring how you twitched around her. Her hand sliding over to your stomach, lightly pressing down on the bulge "See that little lamb? That's how deep I am, I wonder if you can feel me in your tummy..." She hums lifting you back up,

"Mmh I can feel your stomach fluttering." She adds with a pleased hum rolling her hips up into yours forcing out a broken moan from your throat.

It takes everything in you not to come right there, the tightening sensation in your pussy overwhelming your mind.

"So, cute..." She adds as an afterthought, fingers trailing over a familiar mark on your abdomen before going back down to your waist. "How does it feel? Being filled up like a common whore, like you're nothing more than a classless concubine?"

Your stomach churned at her words, your much smaller fingers gripping at her own. Loud, wet smacks filled the air, yourself wae hips bucking into hers as she picked up her pace, plunging into your pussy and grinding against your insides.

It doesn't take long before she found a steady pace, wet squelches filling the air, mutterings of praise that you couldn't even properly register.

"Ha-ah, fuck, fuck Eri —!" You stammer out, struggling to keep your voice down as she grinds into you, slick and what you could only assume was precum covering your thighs and leaking down into the couch that you were sure would break with the way it's creaking.

Your eyes flutter shut as you find yourself teetering over the edge, it would be so easy to just succumb to the pleasure. "Ngh, I'm gonna...!"

You're warning is cut short by a needy whine, and the your body stiffening. Twitching under the full weight of your orgasm, your quivering body fall back onto her. Long ragged breaths leave you as you ride out your orgasm.

It takes a good few minutes for you to even register that she's pushed you into a new position eyes too glossy and mind too fogged with list to even notice your back was in the couch till you felt two large hands push your thighs up to your chest.

"God you're Pathetic" She mumbles under her breath, "All wet for me, gripping me like you actually deserve my Cum." She teased, but you couldn't help but feel like she believes it's true in some sense. Maybe it was the way she bullied her cock back into your used, sensitive hole. Not noticing or just choosing not to care the way you squirmed in the slightly uncomfortable position.

"Don't start acting like that now, weren't you begging me to fuck you stupid? The entire. fucking. Month." She mocked, chuckling when you'd only whimper in response.

"So be a good pet— Let this God fuck you." She panted, punctuating her words with a harsh thrust of her hips. With the mating press she'd force your body into, it felt like you could've torn in half— Your lingering orgasm providing no help on easing the sensation. The way the tip nudged against every nook and cranny inside of you, slightly squirming inside of you as she slammed her hips up and down— making it feel like she's dragging your insides in and out of you.

"Hmm— Ahmm..." She hums, white eyes fluttering open to rest on your own tear filled ones. A small smile forming on her lips. The sensation of something wriggling inside of you and twisting and shifting, filling your womb with its warm mass— it's new position wasn't enough to cause discomfort but it was unbearable enough to have you crying beneath her.

Overstimulation and the fullness getting to your lust-hazed mind. " Beg, beg for your goddess cum. Beg me to make you my personal breeding cow." She rambled hips stuttering into you, the second cock that wasn't inside of you grinding and sliding up against your ass glossy with precum and slick and whatever else was coming from where your hips connected with hers.

You felt like you were burning— every single inch of your body was screaming for you to wither away under her. Sensitive bundle of nerves only being grinded against and played with. Poorly string together words flee your mouth, the only sensible lines being

"Please, please." "Please fuck me— Please, I need it." coupled with a breathy moan.

The only warning you got was the stuttering in her hips before she pushed you further down, hands holding onto your hips tightly so she could bury herself as deeply as possible into your cunny.

You weren't sure where the sudden feeling of a tight knot bursting came from, but with how much cum seemed to flood your pussy— Pearly white spurting from your pussy and flowing down onto the couch beneath you.

She pulls off of you, mostly, to let your legs comfortably fall back down.

"Shit— hey, hey Darlin'... don't pass out me now, I still have more to give ya'" whispered rocking her hips against you gently. hand squeezing your neck lightly, but your vision had already blurred by then.

66 notes · View notes