#I FORGOT HIS SCAR GAH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pengychan · 3 years

Text

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 28

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Well, this wedding was a long time coming. Took only about 200k words. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“Well well well, what have we here!”

“Gah! Ernesto-- pinche cabrón-- I told you a million times not to sneak up on-- hey! Give it back!”

Ernesto laughed, and easily ducked under Héctor’s flailing hands, holding the red songbook - brand new, a present from his future brothers in law - out of his reach. “Writing another song already? You’re on fire!”

“That’s private-- ”

“Who puts shoes on their head?”

“I said it’s private! Come on! I’m writing it for Imelda!” Héctor kicked Ernesto’s shin with a frankly excessive amount of force, snatching the songbook in mid-air when Ernesto dropped it with a yelp.

“Ow!”

“Serves you right.” Héctor huffed, jabbing at his chest with an accusatory finger. “I told you I don’t like anyone seeing the songs I’m still working on.”

“Ugh, come on!” Ernesto made a face, rubbing his shin. “It’s been ages since you promised me a song! You’ve written at least a dozen for Imelda--”

“I am about to marry her, and this is the one I’ll have you sing at the wedding part--”

“-- for Miguel--”

“I’m adopting him!”

“-- Gustavo--”

“He gave his life--”

“And even one for the hen!”

“Juanita is a rooster, if Cheech heard you-- ugh. Fine. I am working on that song for you, if you must know.”

“Oh?” A grin, and Ernesto forgot about the sting in his shin. He leaned against a tombstone - trust Héctor to write upbeat music in a cemetery - and waved a hand. “Something about my heroic rescue, I trust?”

“The heroic rescue we had to enact after you got your ass kicked, you mean?”

“... Look, I took a calculated risk and it would have worked perfectly, if not for the fact there was one guy who just had to recognize me,” Ernesto muttered, making a face. He tried not to think too much of that part, and it was getting… easier now that his chest hair had grown back enough to hide the word etched in his skin, a still fresh scar that had yet to begin fading.

The fact he could no longer be hanged for deserting an army which no longer existed helped, too. Much like Victoriano Hurta, the Federal Army had gone with a whimper rather than a bang. As a matter of fact, the only bangs to be heard as the news came were those of fireworks… at least in Santa Cecilia.

Elsewhere, gunshots were still fired; the end of Hurta’s power and the fall of the Federal army did not, after all, mark the end of all hostilities. Too long a conflict, too many lives changed, too many factions; with the tyrant most could agree to unite against gone and human nature being what it was, it was perhaps inevitable for some to turn on one another.

It would take time for things to return to normal everywhere in Mexico, for it to be safe enough to travel. And for the time being Ernesto, who still very much planned to become a famous musician one day was… rather content to wait it out. He could count on a roof over his head in a village where he happened to be rather popular, and with the work on church grounds not too demanding… well, it left him time to do something he rather enjoyed and that he’d been unable to indulge in. Namely, singing his heart out in front of a public during market days.

Finding that his throat and voice had not been damaged by the attempt at turning him into a tree decoration had been such a relief, he may or may not have had a cry in private.

“Sure, sure,” Héctor was saying, unaware of his thoughts. He flipped through the pages and finally handed him back the songbook. “Here. It’s just the first draft, don’t go singing it yet.”

Well, for a first draft, it was pretty damn good. Ernesto’s eyes went over the words and notes, mentally playing the tune, and he grinned. He may not be able to write a good song himself, but he could recognize a great song when he saw one.

For music is my language and the world es mi familia.

“You never get it wrong, do you?” he laughed, and handed the songbook back. “Why don’t you come with me when I leave?”

Héctor blinked. “Leave?”

“Well-- I told you, no? I want to be a musician, play for the world - you ought to know, you're writing a song about it! So I can’t stay here forever, you understand.” Ernesto shrugged. “I mean, I could buy a villa for myself here, once I’m rich and famous. For holidays. Once we’re rich and famous, if you’re coming!”

A small, somewhat incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am!” Ernesto grinned, dropping a heavy hand on Héctor’s shoulder. “You’re an amazing songwriter, just think what we could do together!”

“Ay, mi amigo, I am getting married-- I want to start a family, and there’s Miguel. Don't take it the wrong way, I'm sure it would be fun, but… I think I’m spoken for.”

Ernesto shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to decide now. Maybe in a year or two, whenever it’s safer to travel, and it could be just a tour to start with. A few months and we’d be back. So just think about it. Your songs need to be heard--”

“Can’t I just write you some songs?”

“... Qué?”

Héctor held up the songbook. “I mean, I can write songs whenever. So I guess I can just let you use the songs if you want? Except the private ones, clearly,” he added quickly. “And write more. I wouldn’t really need to be traveling, no? Best solution for both!”

Ah. That was… a good point, really. Ernesto wondered how come he hadn’t thought of it first. “That’s… actually a good idea,” he muttered.

Héctor’s right eyebrow arched. “You know, I’m not sure I like how surprised you soun--”

“Anyway!” Ernesto cut him off with a wide smile and just a little hurriedly, clapping a hand down on his shoulder again. “Any news on the wedding date?”

Just like that, Héctor’s expression turned into longing. “None,” he sighed, as though announcing he had just gone through his third week without a single bite to eat. “Ay, all this waiting will kill me. We’ll marry as soon as we know we are released from our novitiate, but that letter seems to never come! I keep asking Padre Ju-- Father John, and he tells me to be patient.”

“Well, all the more reason to be prepared so you can have the ceremony as soon as possible, no?”

Héctor laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I guess it’s all we can do. Imelda is getting Ceci to make her a new Sunday dress - you know, she didn’t have much as a novice - and it will be ready to wear at the wedding, and-- ah, I almost forgot!” He grinned at him, golden tooth glinting in the sun. “How do you feel about being the best man?”

With a dramatic sigh, Ernesto placed a hand on his chest. “Ay, it is a burden, you know.”

“Huh?”

“The pressure of constantly being the best man around. But I try to stay humble and-- hey! Ow!” He yelped and ducked just on time to avoid being smacked on the back of the head again, laughing at Héctor’s groan.

“Pendejo-- my best man, I mean! For the wedding!” Héctor yelled, trying to smack him again, but he was laughing as well. Ernesto caught the hand still holding the songbook before it could connect with his head again, and grinned.

“Mi amigo,” he said, “I’ll be honored to grant you the honor.”

***

“... So really, your dress is almost done and you can come pick it up… Thursday afternoon, let’s say. I am glad you saw reason in compromising to periwinkle because really , that purple you had in mind? Lovely color for a Sunday dress, but if you’re to also wear it at your wedding-- come now, it simply doesn’t work, does it now? It’s the color of mourning, not a good look for… Imelda?”

Imelda, who had been staring at the calendar on the wall with a deepening frown on her face, recoiled when Ceci suddenly spoke her name. She looked back down, arms spread and unmoving to keep the pins in her new dress in the making from piercing her skin. “Qué?”

“Have you heard a word I said?”

“Er…”

Ceci sighed, somehow not displacing any of the needles she kept between her lips even while talking. Imelda had no idea how she managed that particular feat of ventriloquism. “Ay, never mind. What’s so special about the calendar? Oh, has the wedding date been set?”

“Ah… no, not yet,” Imelda muttered, turning back to the calendar, and inwardly starting to count again, all the way to twenty-eight. And again. And again. No, it couldn’t be right - surely there was a mistake.

She counted again.

It may be nothing concerning. Happens, sometimes.

Not to me. It was always on time, always, from the first month. Could have set a clock on it. Twenty-eight days. Never early or late by more than a few days.

Except that this time, it was… more than a few days. It was closer to… nineteen? Twenty, maybe? Ay, she should have made a note on her own calendar, but she hadn’t thought about it and now… now...

“Mmh. You’re acting awfully odd, you kno-- Imelda? Por Dios, are you well?”

“I-- yes, of course--”

“You’re pale! What is it? Have you been standing too long?”

“No, I… I mean, yes, perhaps.” Imelda gave a grimace that could barely pass off as a smile, heart pounding somewhere in her throat. “Do I need to be still for much longer?”

“No, no - a few more details and you can get out of the dress, I can add the finishing touches from here…”

Getting out of the dress without disturbing the carefully placed pins took a minute, but somehow it felt like an hour. She smiled, thanked Ceci, and left her home as quickly as she could without running, looking for Héctor with a pressing sense of urgency she hadn’t felt since she’d rushed to snatch him alive from the claws of Federales.

The concern that had been at the back of her mind for a few days was now a near certainty, and she knew they had an issue. And unless they found a way to fix that issue very quickly, Imelda was not sure she would be able to snatch Héctor alive from the claws of her mother.

***

“You-- mamá?”

“Héctor.”

“Baby. We’re-- baby?”

“Héctor, I am begging you to start functioning again.”

He tried, he really did, but all he could think at the moment was that he was going to be a papá - well, he was going to be a papá again, because he already considered himself Miguel’s papá before the adoption could even be official, and now he was having another child and it was going to be a baby and he and Imelda made that baby and--

“We’re-- you think we're having a baby?” he managed in the end, and when Imelda nodded, her mouth pulled in a tight line, he couldn’t hold back a grito from deep in his chest - unable to think of anything but the fact he was going to be twice a papá already and it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He laughed, picking Imelda up, and twirled. “Imelda! We’re going to have a baby! Miguel is getting a little brother or--”

“Lower your voice!” Imelda’s tone was somewhere between urgency, worry, an excitement barely kept at bay. “We shouldn’t be-- I am-- happy, but we’re not married yet and we need to change that immediately, do you understand?”

Ah. Right.

That.

Realization cut through the almost delirious happiness, and for the first time Héctor truly took in how worried Imelda looked... and for good reason. Having a child out of wedlock would be… bad. More for her than for him, by miles. He could get away with what they had done, the same way Ernesto could get away with bedding several women while pretending to be a priest, but people wouldn’t be quite as forgiving towards a woman.

… All right, there was Sofía, but she was an exception in the sense no one wanted to admit they had slept with a nun, so it was a fairly well-kept secret by several people who did not realize they were far from the only ones keeping said secret.

“Right. Right. Yes. I understand.” Héctor let go of Imelda and ran both hands through his hair, trying to think. “So we got to-- marry quickly. Of course. Yes. We got to be-- let go from the novitiate. I’ll get Padre Ju-- John to-- I, I will fix this! I promise!” He hurriedly grabbed Imelda’s hands and kissed her on the lips before grinning, trying to look more certain than he really felt. “We’ll be married by the end of the month. I have a plan.”

Imelda raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

Yes. Beg and, failing that, beg some more.

“You’ll see,” he said instead, and kissed her again on the lips before he took off, running as fast as he could towards the church. Still standing in the orchard, Imelda watched him go and dared crack a smile despite the anxiety, a hand resting gingerly on her stomach.

***

“Broth-- Hec-- Héctor, I have told you several times - I will gladly officiate your wedding as soon as you’re both officially released from your novitiate. Once that letter comes, I will let you know without delay. I fail to see how bringing this up every other day is going to speed this up.”

“Right, right.” Before him, Héctor made a valiant attempt at a smile that only came out a grimace. He seemed really nervous, Ernesto noted, leaning in the shovel to observe the scene comfortably, the heat of the day forgotten about.

At first he’d only been glad Héctor had showed up to speak with the gringo because it interrupted him right before he could subject him to another lecture about inconsequential matters such as ‘keeping a shirt on while working on church grounds’, but now he found himself genuinely curious about what was going on.

Because something was going on: Héctor’s furious blushing and stuttering made it clear enough. “I was-- just wondering,” he went on, nearly crumpling the hat in his hands, “if you could-- perhaps-- send a follow-up letter to make sure the instance to release us has not been misplaced? So we can marry, uh, soon. Sooner. As soon as possible.”

Father John Johnson sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. His left arm was finally out of its sling; the shoulder joint was stiffer than before, probably for good, but functional. “Héctor-”

“By the end of the month would be a really good time, come to think of it!”

“The end of the-- it’s the twenty-fourth of August today!”

“And the weather is wonderful, no? Perfect for a wedding! No need to delay--”

“A-hem.”

It was the fakest throat-clearing in history of all throat-clearing, but at the moment Ernesto chose not to bother putting his considerable acting skills to full use. He was a little too busy grinning widely enough that his face hurt, the sudden panicked look on Héctor’s face telling him in no uncertain terms that his educated guess on the reason for such a sudden rush to marry Imelda was entirely correct.

The gringo still looked confused, of course, but Ernesto suspected the train was about to arrive at that station for him as well. Just in case, he decided to give him… a little nudge.

“I am wounded, you know. I assumed you would tell me about such a milestone,” he said, knowing full well that Héctor would sooner eat a cactus than reveal such intimate details to him or… well, anyone else. “When did the happy accident happen?”

Héctor’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. “W-well-- we’re not sure-- we think--”

“Oh!” Ernesto’s face split in a grin of pure delight. Did Sofía know? Probably not, or else he would have been informed pretty quickly. Ah, she was going to love the news. “Multiple times, then?”

There was a noise like that of a wounded dog. “Ernesto, please! This is not-- Padre Juan, we must get married as soon as possible!” he pleaded, grasping the priest’s robe. “If we marry by the end of the month, we can still-- you know, say the baby was born a bit early, no one could really prove otherwise--”

“Baby?” John Johnson’s fair skin went chalk white in an instant, only to turn bright pink and then red in a matter of seconds. His expression turned from confusion to realization, to something akin to panic, then anger. “What baby are you--?”

“The baby they made,” Ernesto supplied helpfully, still leaning on the shovel. “Imelda’s baby. Héctor’s baby. That baby.”

“A-at least we think there is a baby-- I mean, Imelda thinks-- you know, her womanly-- issues, she says--”

“No need to tell me-- just-- how did it happen!”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow and decided to help him out. “You see, when a man and a wo--”

“For the love of God, Ernesto, I know how -- shut your mouth, will you!” Juan groaned, and glared back at Héctor, who in turn seemed to shrink. “And you-- I thought you’d know better!”

“I--”

“Carnal relations before marriage! Violating your novitiate, before being released from it!”

“Yes, what kind of pendejo goes and breaks vows?” Ernesto muttered, causing both Héctor and the gringo to simultaneously choke on their own spit. Ah, he was loving it.

“A-anyway--” Juan avoided his gaze and desperately cleared his throat, trying to regain control of his own voice and the situation. “Did-- did her parents not task her brothers to keep an eye on your-- your time together!”

“Juan, I feel you are severely overestimating those boys’ attention span.”

“Will you shut your mouth, Ernesto!”

“Padre, please!” Héctor spoke again, frantic. “You must help us, we really cannot wait now! If people find out-- and her parents!"

"Are you even certain there is a baby?"

"Imelda thinks it's very likely and-- and if she's right, we cannot risk waiting! Everyone would know the was, uh… made… out of wedlock. Can you not try to get the process sped up?”

“That is not how it works, Héctor! I have done all I can do! The letter to confirm you’re both released from the Church may come at any time, you simply never know with post. Any letter I send to follow up may take weeks to even arrive--”

“We could have a fake wedding,” Ernesto said. His suggestion was met with sudden silence, and both men turned to look at him like he’d just suggested something outlandish. All right, maybe he had, but what else did they even expect from an army deserter who had decided masquerading as a priest was the best course of action possible to avoid the gallows?

At least Juan seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of having a fit right away. “... Define a fake wedding,” he said, and Ernesto shrugged.

“You tell everyone that the letter arrived and that they can marry, so they have the ceremony for everyone to see, go live as man and wife. Then--”

“But-- but!” Héctor protested, waving his arms. “We want to be married for real! We do! We--”

“Cálmese,” Ernesto cut him off, holding up a hand. “Ju-- Padre Juan can officiate the real thing in private as soon as the letter does come.”

“Oh.” That idea clearly hadn’t occurred to Héctor, and his eyes widened with hope. He turned to the gringo, biting his lower lip. “Would that be-- possible?” he asked, and braced himself for a tirade.

Instead there was a long sigh as Juan ran a hand through his hair. “It would mean living in sin until the real wedding can take place,” he pointed out, only for Ernesto to shrug.

“Bit late to worry about their virtue,” he muttered, and Héctor’s face flushed again.

“Well-- we-- I mean, we could just not… anymore, until we’re really wed…” he stammered, only for Juan to groan.

“I should hope so,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He no longer sounded angered or embarrassed, only… oddly defeated. “May God forgive me for this charade in His church.”

“I mean, worse things have been done on church grounds,” Ernesto reminded him.

Juan’s left eye twitched a little, but he elected to ignore him and turned to Héctor - who was torn between worry, hope, and the desperate attempt to act like he had no idea what he and Juan did behind closed doors. If the gringo knew that he knew, he may very well implode.

“... Very well. I want it to be clear I am doing this for the sake of an innocent unborn child, who should not be bearing the shame of its parents’ rash decision,” he said, and Héctor’s expression melted in a smile that was so relieved and ecstatic, even the gringo’s scowl seemed to soften. “... Go tell your betrothed the ceremony is in three days. The seamstress may went to get a move o--”

A sudden grito caused him to cut off, and he stammered a little as Héctor threw his hands around him in a crushing hug. “Thank you, Father-- thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“Agh-- my arm-- put me down--!”

“Lo siento, lo siento!” Héctor laughed, and dragged the gringo in a clumsy half-twirl before he finally did put him down. Another yell of thanks and he was off, running as fast as his ridiculously long legs could carry him towards Imelda’s home

“Don’t I get thanks?” Ernesto yelled after him, receiving no reply. He rolled his eyes. “If it’s a boy, they had better name him after me.”

“... I’d rather you’re not associated in any way to further babies in this village,” Juan said, his voice dry, and Ernesto cleared his throat.

Ah, right. He was still hung up on the confessions a few women had made to him, in the weeks following… well, the unofficial reveal was that he was never a priest. They simply couldn’t keep their mouths shut in the confessional, it seemed, and it included at least three married women who had received his… blessing to help them conceive.

“I told you, that was, uh. Before we--”

“I can tell the time,” Juan said, voice still dry. “That was still extremely inappropriate of you.”

“... I feel I have done plenty of extremely inappropriate things. This shouldn't stand out.”

“For the sake of those women and their children, you had better hope none of them takes too much after you. A chin like yours would make their parentage painfully obvious.”

“Oh, ouch.” Ernesto made a face before grinning again, hoping to avoid another lecture. Juan had chewed him up well enough after finding out. “I told you though, there will be no more women. Married or otherwise.”

“I should hope so.”

“You keep me quite busy,” he added, and the gringo’s face colored again, though the frown did not fade. “... Surely there is a way I can make it up to you?”

“Yes. You can finish planting this vegetable garden by sundown.”

“Anything else I can do after sundown?”

“I’ll think about it. At the moment I have the most dreadful headache.”

“Ah.” A pause. “For real, or are you being passive-aggressive just now?”

“I do have a headache, thanks to Héctor. And here I thought he was more responsible than yourself.” A sigh, a roll of his eyes. Ernesto chuckled.

“... Gracias.”

“What for?”

“For helping out. The old Juan would have never.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave a child to suffer the consequences of being born out of wedlock,” he muttered, and looked over at Ernesto. “... Nor leave those two to suffer shame for an act of love, I suppose.”

He smiled, tilting his head on one side. “Getting soft, gringo?”

“Mph, hardly. But they did save your life in July, if what you told me is true.”

Ah. “It is. I wasn’t conscious through most of it, but I know I would have died without their intervention.”

“Then this will be my thanks for keeping you from further harm. Now get back to work.”

As it turned out, there was something Ernesto could do after sundown to soothe Juan’s headache. Plenty of things, really, and once all those things were done and they were resting close under the blankets, Ernesto dared to bring up the fake wedding again.

“Shame my little act is up,” he muttered. “It would have been perfect if it had been me to officiate the ceremony. A fake priest for a fake wedding.”

A small groan against his shoulder. “I am begging you to shut up,” the gringo muttered, and for once Ernesto was more than willing to acquiesce to his polite request.

***

“We need more flowers.”

“Miguel, these are all the flowers we could find in Santa Cecilia.”

“I mean, there are more in the cemetery…”

“I heard you, muchachos. No one takes the flowers from the cemetery on my watch!”

“But how about behind your back, Cheech?”

“You just need to turn around…”

“Absolutely not. Scram now, go see if your sister needs anything!”

A wave of Chicharrón’s walking stick was enough to make Óscar and Felipe run off - not in the direction of the cemetery - but Miguel was undeterred to make sure the flowers paving the way from the church to the site of the wedding party were perfect. Not that there was much else for him to do, other than supervising what other villagers were already doing.

Pretty much everyone had stepped up to help preparing the wedding in record time; Miguel was not sure if it was because all of Santa Cecilia had been waiting so long for Héctor and Imelda to just get together, or because they were still elated over the end of the Federal Army and looking for any excuse to celebrate a bit more.

Even Chicharrón was wearing a clean shirt and a polished leather shoe on his only foot, which was something Miguel had never seen on him. With Héctor having no family to speak of, Cheech had sort of stepped in to take on whatever the groom’s father is expected to take on, in his own way. He’d waved off Héctor’s moved thanks, and told Miguel that he’d smack him into next week if he tried to call him abuelo - but then he’d laughed and ruffled his hair, so Miguel was pretty sure it was an empty threat. Maybe he’d test it, eventually.

Not far away, Imelda’s parents were also making sure the decorations on each table outside the cantina was in place, too. They were each dressed at their best and it was… odd to think he would soon be referring to them as his abuelo and abuela. They were nice to him - they got him good clothes like the ones he was wearing now, and told him he could start calling them that even before the adoption was official, but Miguel still needed time to wrap his mind around it.

He still needed time to call Imelda and Héctor his mamá and papá, too. It didn’t feel real yet.

“Looking good, niño.”

“Gah!”

Miguel recoiled and looked up, startled. He opened his mouth to protest, but he found himself staring with wide eyes. Ernesto stood before him dressed and groomed like Miguel had never seen him, in full-on mariachi attire, perfectly fitting and all black and silver. In a way, it seemed much more natural than anything else he’d seen on him - the priestly robes, the simple civilian clothing. He looked in his element like never before.

“Hah! See, that’s the reaction I’m hoping to get! Hopefully, someone will still notice the bride,” Ernesto grinned down at him, clearly pleased. A quick look around told Miguel he wasn’t the only one to think he looked stunning: several people’s heads were turning,and Ernesto was very clearly enjoying every moment.

“You look-- good,” he muttered.

“I know, thank you. Looking good yourself. Ready for the performance? We’d better make it a good one, with all the planning that went into making those two idiotas drop their vows and marry.”

Miguel smiled back, only… a little nervous at the prospect of performing at a wedding party instead of the usual corner in the plaza or the church choir. But Héctor had specifically asked him and Ernesto to sing the new song he’d written for Imelda, and he really wanted to do his best. It was a good song, too. He could see Un Poco Loco become a huge success someday.

“Sure! I got my guitar ready,” he added. The prized white guitar Óscar and Felipe - oh he was never going to call them his tíos - had built for him was all polished and ready. It wouldn’t be his guitar for much longer, because he wanted to give Héctor a really nice gift and that was the most precious thing he had to give, but he would put it to good use that afternoon for the very last time.

“Perfect! Follow my lead and it will be well. Also, you may want to stop your dog,” Ernesto added, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.

“Wha-- agh! Dante! No!” Miguel groaned, and ran to pull Dante away from the flowers he was feasting on before he devoured the entire path to the church. He was in the middle of an epic scolding when, suddenly, the bell began ringing.

It caused Dantle to howl along, but Miguel didn’t really pay him any mind: he just looked up towards the belltower, where someone - Sofía? - was pulling really hard on the rope, and grinned.

It was time.

***

Well.

So this was happening.

Imelda was not sure whether the flutter in her belly was caused by the fact she was getting married or by the unexpected guest who’d just decided to move in a little too early - was it too early to feel it? She had no idea and no way to ask without arousing suspicion - but she did her best to ignore it while walking up to the altar at her father’s arm.

The church was packed full of friends and family and just plain acquaintances; somewhere to her right, children were singing Gloria in a choir. No one seemed to have made any comments on how very quickly everything had been organised, but then again everyone seemed to think that the wedding had been a long time coming.... a lot longer, in fact, that either her or Héctor had realized.

Imelda kept walking, and turned a little to her right. Seats usually reserved to the groom’s family were full, too; Chicharrón was there, and Sofía, Miguel, and of course Ernesto. He gave her a quick grin, and she responded with the closest approximation of a smile she could manage. Then she was at the altar, and her father left her there with a kiss on her cheek and a nod at Héctor.

She finally dared look over at her groom, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment. Héctor was not a traditionally handsome man - all the love in the world did not change that simple fact - but right now he was beaming, and no other man could compare to the sight. She barely noticed his fine clothes, the care with which he had combed his hair; that glow, that smile, was everything.

This was happening. This was finally happening, and Imelda’s nervos rictus finally turned into a real smile. It took a slight clearing of Father John Johnson’s throat for her to remember they were supposed to kneel instead of staring at each other like the pair of lovestruck idiots they were. They both knelt, the choir’s song ended, and the gringo spoke up.

“Dearly beloved,” he spoke, his voice echoing in the small chapel. “You have come together into the House of God, before His minister and your loved ones, to enter into marriage. Christ blesses the love that binds you.” A pause, and he asked a question everyone present already knew the answer to. “Héctor and Imelda, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”

Oh, had they. Imelda folded her hands tighter, and they both spoke as one. “I have.”

"As you follow the path of marriage, are you prepared to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

“I am.”

“Are you prepared,” he spoke, with only the slightest twitch of his lips, “to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?"

Like you didn’t know, Imelda thought, and her own lips twitched before she answered along with Héctor, who sounded like he was trying not to have a little cry.

“I am,” they both said, and their glances turned over towards Miguel for just a moment. He was sniffling and gave them a shaky smile, reaching up to wipe his eyes. Ernesto’s hand was on his shoulder.

That look back was a bit of a break from etiquette, but the gringo let it slide. He nodded at them, and opened the Bible on the altar to recite some verses. An useless exercise, that: when he spoke, he recited each word by memory, not looking at the pages a single time.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal,” Father John Johnson quoted, his voice oddly soft but still reverberating between the chapel’s stone walls. His arms were lifted, palms up. “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

A pause, and he folded his hands as though to pray. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Imelda had somewhat feared a few… jabs about her condition weaved into a sermon, if nothing that would clearly give it away, and this was not what she had expected. The gringo was treating that wedding exactly the way he would a regular one; as though the fact it was technically not yet valid in the eyes of the church made it no less real.

Because it doesn't. Whatever vows we will tell in private later will only serve as the rubber stamp. We are married today.

In her surprise, she forgot she was supposed to keep her gaze lowered, and so did Héctor. They glanced up, and the priest looked down to meet their gaze. His voice remained soft.

“Love never fails,” he recited. “But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” The priest went on, and smiled for the first time since the ceremony started. Imelda had never seen him really smile before; it made him look ten years younger.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love,” he finished, and closed the Bible he hadn’t needed to read from for a second. He gestured for them to stand. “But the greatest of these is love.”

There were a few sniffles somewhere behind them - and beside her, really, because Héctor seemed really touched by the verses the gringo had chosen for them. It took him a moment to realize they were expected to stand up, and he did so on shaky legs. They joined hands, and they were so warm.

"Héctor, do you take Imelda for your lawful wife - to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

The smile was back, wide and still incredulous, and oh so bright. “I do,” Héctor said, and turned to look at her. Imelda didn’t so much glance at Father John when he spoke again to address her.

"Imelda, do you take Héctor for your lawful husband - to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

She smiled back, a little breathless, a weightlessness in her entire being. They would have to answer that question again in private once they were truly released from their novitiate, she knew, and she would give the same answer gladly - over and over and over. Still, Church’s consent or not, she’d consider Héctor’s her husband from that moment forward, until death and hopefully beyond.

“I do,” she said, and squeezed his hands.

Somewhere behind her two identical voices muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘awww’, quickly followed by a light smack. Ernesto and Sofía managed to turn their chuckles into discrete coughs, while the gringo made… a noticeable effort to pretend he had heard and seen nothing. He cleared his throat, and looked on as Héctor and Imelda both signed the simple sheet of paper declaring them husband and wife.

The witnesses came forward to sign as well; Sofía wasn’t really trying to hide the manic grin on her face, and Ernesto’s signature just had to have the most ridiculous flourish to it that Imelda had ever seen. Once they returned to their seats, the gringo lifted his hands.

"May the Lord in his kindness graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you," he said. "What God has joined, let no one put asunder. Let us bless the Lord."

"Thanks be to God,” several voices responded as one, and the children of the choir began singing again, but Imelda heard none of it - Héctor had reached over, tilted up her face, and kissed her. It made her rather weak at the knees, but an arm was around her waist to hold her up, and all was right in the world.

***

As far as Miguel was concerned, that was the best wedding party ever.

All right, maybe he was a little biased there because he had helped organize it and also he was currently singing his heart out along with Ernesto, who had taken charge of the guitar when his own arms had grown a little tired - but it really was the perfect party. There was food and laughter and drinks, and now some tables were pushed aside and people danced - even the nuns - with Héctor and Imelda at the center of it all.

Well. Ernesto was getting a fair amount of attention too, but Miguel didn’t mind too much. He’d helped make this happen, after all, and it was… fun, seeing him really perform for the first time. He somehow managed to sing, play and dance all at once without missing a beat, and he did it all so well, it was like he was born to do it. Miguel found himself trying to copy his steps while he sang along with him, through another song and then back to the one Héctor wrote specifically for Imelda, to be played that day.

“What color is the sky ¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor--!”

They sang it several times among other more traditional songs, until they were tired enough to take a break. While Ernesto muttered he needed water and then proceeded to drink something that definitely was not water, Migel kept staring at Héctor and Imelda with a grin. He’d taken off the jacket and her dress was a little rumpled, the flowers in her hair coming undone, but neither seemed to care. They looked so happy.

“Admiring our handiwork, eh?” Ernesto laughed, and suddenly the white guitar was back in Miguel’s arms. “You’ve got talent, muchacho, have I told you before? Have a go at the next performance yourself, I think I’ll take a moment to-- huh. Where’s the gringo?”

Oh. Miguel looked around, realizing that Padre-- Father John was not there. He’d taken part in the dinner and celebrations, sitting at a table and slowly drinking through a single glass of wine, seemingly content to watch the fun. But now the glass was empty, and so was the table. “Oh, he’s not here. Maybe he went back to the parish?”

“... Maybe.” Ernesto frowned, wiping some sweat off his forehead with a sleeve of his impeccable jacket. “I’ll go check on him and be right back.”

“Don’t take too long, Óscar and Felipe--”

“Oh, you mean your tíos?”

“Ugh, not you too!” Miguel rolled his eyes. “Never calling them that, ever. But they have prepared fireworks and they say it’s gonna be big. You don’t want to miss it.” A pause. “That, or you may be needed if there is an accident.”

“Right. I’ll make it quick then,” Ernesto muttered, and just like that he was off towards the parish. Miguel watched him go a moment, wondering why he needed to check on Father John, then he shrugged and gripped the guitar better, a smile on his face.

Time to give his best performance for the newlyweds.

***

“... Still allergic to parties, aren’t you? Or did seeing the effect I have on ladies bother you?””

Ernesto’s voice snapped John out of his thoughts, but he did not recoil. Part of him, he saw now, had expected Ernesto to notice his absence and come to find him there, at the parish, in his room. A meek smile and he looked up at him. He stood at the doorway in the weak light of the oil lamp. “I was just-- reading,” he said, and his gaze fell back on the yellowed sheet of paper in his hand, his father’s handwriting all over it. He had kept it in his Bible for years, reading it every day.

Sir, I am writing to demand you cease your attempts to contact my family. I have mourned the death of my firstborn, as did my wife. My children mourned the loss of a brother, and put it behind them. If you have a shred of decency, you will not reopen our wounds to seek a blessing that is not mine to give. Y our path in life, wherever it leads, is your own. You no longer have a father. I only ever had one son. For both of our sakes, never write again. Sincerely, Reverend Johnson.

Every morning and every evening he’d read it, until very recently - so that he may never forget his sin, what it cost him, and everything he wished to regain by cleansing himself of it.

His home. His family. Their love. His father had loved him once, had he not? He had been proud. He had stayed awake at night when he was sick with measles, nearly ill himself with worry. His mother, too, had loved him - how could it be, then, that all love for their eldest child had fled from their hearts so fast? At his first failure?

You no longer have a father, Reverend David Isaac Johnson had written. But he did, for a time. He had Father Joseph, who’d mentored him. Who’d called him his child, who had called him son, and whom he’d spurned in his desperation to fix himself, to win back the love of his flesh and blood. Because they loved him once - didn’t they?

“I don’t think reading that is good for you,” Ernesto said quietly, sitting beside him. He didn’t touch him, nor did John try to seek contact. He just stared at those words, at the signature.

Who did this to you, my child?, Father Joseph had asked.

A wise man, a man of God, the scared boy he’d been had wanted to answer.

“I thought over the words I spoke today, you know,” he murmured now, older and no longer quite as scared. “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

“You’re not like--”

“But I was, was I not? Faith to move mountains, and no love for those I believed, in my arrogance, I was sent to save.”

No reply, and John let out another long breath. “If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing,” he murmured, staring at the letter. Beneath the robes, the scars across his back seemed to burn. “... Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

And they did none of those things. They had no real love for me, or anyone else. Maybe even for themselves. I have been trying to win back something I never had.

Ernesto remained silent. When John spoke again, his voice trembled. “I ought to burn this,” he whispered, staring at the letter. “But I don’t know if I am strong enough to.”

A nod. “Would you like me to do it?”

“... No. Just… would you hold the lamp for me?”

He did, fetching the oil lamp and holding it before John. Another long breath, and his eyes rested briefly on the only words that after everything still did, perhaps, ring true.

Your path in life, wherever it leads, is your own.

Goodbye, Father.

It took moments to destroy something he’d been holding onto for well over a decade. He let the small flame lick the corner of the letter and suddenly it flared up brightly; John Johnson let his father’s last letter fall on the ground, watched the flames eat at the paper, the ink, the words, the rejection. It burned through the name of Reverend Johnson last, and then there was nothing but ashes.

The flames died down, and John closed his eyes. He waited for tears, but they did not come.

“Juan.” An arm around his shoulders, without words, and it was all he needed. He leaned against Ernesto, let him embrace him, pull him close, and he knew it would be all right. For love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

And never fails.

***

[Back]

[Next]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

64 notes · View notes

scriptaed · 4 years

Text

his side, her side finale | 00:00

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut;

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 4.6k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

No matter how infinite the pages could write itself, in the way that he catches her stealing glances from across the room or the scalding spark imprinted on her hand by the touch of his own, there really are only three versions to every story: his side, her side, and the truth’s side; and in your unsolicited albeit self-justified defense, the truth is, what was once seemingly perpetual is now merely trivial. The imagery that once had you kicking and screaming into your sheets at night, the fleeting moments that were shared by both but valued by one, and the inevitably incessant burden of jealousy brought upon by a fervent want that could never be had could only have been falsified by a break—spatially, temporally, and heartfully. The mind can only tug so much at one’s strings; and yet, to be bent, only time could prove possible.

...and that time is exactly what is needed by all.

her side;

“Are you joining us for dinner tonight, Y/N?”

“Huh? What?” your ears perk at the sound of your friend’s call.

“Oh, there she goes again,” your other friend interjects with the roll of her eyes. You almost collapse when she swings a hand over your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to get your ears checked?”

“No, but I might have to get my eyes checked,” you joke, despite pulling in all the performance points you could win with a disdainful scan up and down her less than professional attire. Thankfully, your act is gleefully extended by her cheesy gawk of an expression. Putting up a merciful pair of hands in the air, you laugh, “hey, in all seriousness, it’s not my fault you guys keep drooling over boys.”

“Uhuh, so you’re trying to tell us that boy talk is what’s putting you to sleep?” your friend’s accomplice crosses her arms, raising an accusatory pair of brows.

“Yeah,” you say much too seriously so you throw in an airy laugh, “I mean, there’s more to life than boys, y’know?”

“Right, like…?”

“Like…” your voice trails off because, for some reason, your mind goes blank as you attempt to recall your lifestyle from your previous hometown. “Like… hanging out with friends! With you guys!”

“Gah! You’re only able to say that because you have dozens of boys chasing you around the office. Us, on the other hand, time just… it just keeps ticking…” the two of them sigh in synchronization and you feel the heat of her arms retract as she shakes the hand of her one and only sympathizer.

“Psh,” you can’t help but grin throughout the frown elicited by their vivacious performance, “you guys have plenty of time. Just enjoy life for now and I’m sure you’ll find someone along the way.”

“Wait, but seriously,” her voice suddenly rises from her previously sullen state, as does her head on her friend’s shoulder. She looks you dead in the eye, and, honestly, you almost feel as though your privacy had just been invaded. “You really haven’t ever liked anyone before?”

“Uh…” you scatter through the disarrayed files that were your buried memories, eyes squinting at the sun that peeks through the clearing sky after a day full of rainfall. “Elementary and middle school don’t really count… too busy studying in high school… college was full of fuck boys I couldn’t care less for… and at work…”

The more that you hear yourself ramble, the more the reality of your lonesome future settles into the already burdened shoulders of yours.

“At work? You mean here? Or do you mean your last job?”

“Well,” you frown, trying to recall every male colleague that had piqued even the tiniest of interest in you; and as the two of your friends lean in, you start to lean back, despite the charging light bulb that flickers from the unlocked recollection of two years ago. “There was a guy who liked me and told everyone at work that he liked me, which I thought was really weird… nice guy, kind of a nerd, but I didn’t like him that way. Who else? Uh, hm—”

—bzzz.

The vibration against your back pocket pulls the plug from your train of thought.

“Aw man,” you hear your friends curse in the background, “just when we were finally getting her to spill something.”

The name on your screen has your heart skipping with delight.

Yezi [5:20 PM] Hey, I know you’re gonna forget, so you before you do, we’re having dinner together tonight :)

“It’s okay,” your friend pats the back of the other, “there’ll be some cute enough boys for her at tonight’s barbeque, I’m sure.”

“Ah shit,” you curse under your breath, hastily typing a response before peering up at your friends like a deer caught in the headlights, “actually, guys, turns out I already made plans with my friend from home. I’m sooo sorry.”

“Oh, really?” the two of them gasp. “Isn’t that a two hour train ride from here?”

“Yeah, so I really got to go now,” your phone tumbles into your bag as you begin to widen your strides like a woman on a mission.

They shake their heads in unison, “no, no, it’s okay!”

“I’m seriously so sorry guys,” you say as you pant, the distance between you and your friends widening by the second and forcing you to whirl around as you pace backwards. “I’ll make it up to you next time and do whatever you guys want, okay?”

“Really? Anything?”

“Yeah,” your hands draw a wide, inclusive circle into the air, “anything.”

“Even a blind date?”

“You know what? Why the hell not?” you chime, whirling back around with your back on them and a smile hidden away. Skipping off into the opposite direction toward the train station, you exclaim nonchalantly, “new year, new me!”

Lately, either through a stroke of luck or a reset of a life in a new town, there’s been something spectacularly whimsical about tonight’s air; and when a zephyr passes by, lifting you to the tip of your toes to an invincible high and relaying the confuzzled whispers of your friends—

“—wait, it’s not a new year, it’s already April—”

—you finally acquire a two year long-sought sensation: golden.

“I can’t believe you almost forgot about our plans!”

“Hey, I had a reminder set on my phone just ten minutes after your reminder” you quip with pursed lips, “and I still made it on time, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Yezi prims with a stern look plastered across her face, gesturing, “with your hair and clothes damp in rain and your face smiling like a wagging, clueless beagle.”

“Well… beagles are cute, so I’ll take that as a compliment?”

She frowns, ignoring your remark, “did you not check the weather forecast?”

“I did.”

“So why didn’t you bring an umbrella?”

“I forgot.”

“Ugh, you forget everything these days,” she plants a palm to her forehead before returning to her plate, “well, I’m glad that at least you’re so carefree nowadays. You’ve finally settled into your new workplace, huh? You look so happy now.”

“You talk—” it’s difficult to speak with food being stuffed into your mouth “—as if I lost a loved one.”

“Well,” she grits her teeth, as if biting her tongue, and proceeds to slice the slab of steak, “I wouldn’t say that’s too farfetched.”

Frowning, your words come out muffled through puffed cheeks, “whaddya mean by dat?”

“You can’t tell me you forgot about what happened last time you were in town.”

“Uh…?” you furrow your brows, tracing into a forgotten yet familiar field you had long neglected for your own wellbeing. Last time you were in town, last time you were working here, last time you went out on a company party, last time you walked through this town’s treacherously embracing frosty breeze, last time you were dining here, last time you got wasted, not just here but anywhere, last time you shed tears… all the last times of this town shared only one similarity, a similarity you had subconsciously left behind at some point in your transition between the past and the now.

“Do I really have to say it myself?” she leans in, concerned. “I don’t want you bawling your eyes out again…”

Did she possibly mean… him?

“Jeon Jungkook,” she blurts, “there! I said it!”

Her utensils clatter onto her plate as she tosses her hands in the air in mercy, almost as if bracing herself for the storm after the calm, observing you intently but warily; that supposed storm, however and ever so fortunately, never arrives.

“Oh,” you utter, words slipping from your lips like sand through a palm, “I’m not crying.”

“You’re not crying,” she confirms, astonished.

“It doesn’t… hurt anymore?” you almost ask yourself.

“It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t,” you utter, shaking your head. Just as she’s caught off guard, you lurch across the table to pinch her cheeks, “but that doesn’t mean I appreciate you bringing him up during a perfectly lovely night!”

“Sho—” she furrows her brows in combination to her squished cheeks “—he doesh make you shad shtill?”

“Well, he doesn’t make me elated,” you finally release her from your wrath, returning to stare downward at your food, “but I guess it makes me reflect fondly on the past. It’s kind of like a scar. I know how much it once hurt but I can’t feel it to the same magnitude anymore. Actually, instead, the happy, jittery moments are more vivid to me than the tears that were shed. Is that… odd?”

“Like… like what? Examples?”

Like when his arm bumped into yours for the first time on the walk after work, like when he discretely went out of his way to ensure your safety across the bridge home, like when he enamored over the ‘ripped abs’ of a fully nude female character design of an upcoming project whilst you stood awkwardly with a set of breasts in full display for the two of you, like when the two of you escaped to become the aloof, static noise of an unbefitting party, or like when he held you in his hands and kissed you at the stroke of midnight, the butterflies live on—even today—to shield you from the dampened blows struck by dull weapons of jealousy, insecurity, and remorse.

With time, the silver lining finally showed itself like a sun shining through after a stormy night. You’ve finally accepted the truths behind every weapon. She was pretty. They were pretty. She never wronged you. They never wronged you. They deserved his love. His heart belonged to whomever he desired.

He never badmouthed his peers and, as blunt of a man as he was, he never pointed out your flaws, even if that meant you would later return home only to find mascara flakes on your cheeks. He treated women like a gentleman, as contradictory as it may seem from his appetite demeanor; and while you fell for him for that, you also cursed him for that very reason. He didn’t owe you anything… up to a certain point until the lines were too blurred to decipher between the truth, the deserved, and the faulty. Be it Ji-eun or Jennie, you’ve come to terms with his relationships.

As much as your relations with him seemed to run on a fragile thread of fate, your time had run out and the window of opportunity had been shut—but hey, at least you had fun.

“Are you… smiling?”

“Hm?” you look up to find her staring at you in concern. Blinking blankly, you quickly clear your throat and retract the smile you had subconsciously adorned. “I am?”

“I… don’t know if I should be worried or not,” Yezi downs another glass of iced water and you’re about to follow suit until she almost chokes on her water, “hey—isn’t that Jennie over there?”

“Jennie?”

You almost curse at Yezi for teasing you over bygones that should’ve been left as just that, but she really wasn’t lying. You can’t believe your eyes when you whirl your head around to look through the darkened tint of the restaurant’s window panes. You might have never really spoken to Jennie, but that figure is undeniably Jennie.

“What is she doing?” you squint, struggling to grasp a clear vision of her silhouette under the dim, orange street light beside her. You could only catch a hint of her side profile but those cheeks and unique sense of fashion definitely belonged to her; on the other hand, the constant stumbling and the hand to her head, almost as if she’s about to collapse at any second, did not resemble her. “Oh, oh, hold on, wait, whoa—we should help her!”

You scramble to your feet and bolt out the door whilst Yezi takes care of your abrupt leave with the restaurant staff. A freezing blast of wind welcomes you as soon as you step into the sidewalk but you waste no time. Abandoning the cold behind you along with the past, your mind is set on aiding the collapsed woman on the streets.

“Hey! Jennie, hey!” you call out to her as you sprint to her side, dropping to the floor without caring to notice the shards of glass that consequently cut your knees as you carefully roll her limp body onto its back and away from the sharp hazards. The pain has you wincing and seething under your breath, but the conditions of the person lying before you has you even more concerned. Her skin is even paler than usual. Her chest rises and falls rapidly in an evident struggle. Your taps against her shoulder gradually become frantic shakes until all you can hear is your voice and the whispering commotion of bystanders behind you. “Jennie! Can you hear me?!”

“Y/N!” you turn around to find Yezi peering down at you from above. “What happened?”

“I don’t know but something’s definitely not right,” you say as calmly as you could, “call 911. I’ll call her family.”

“Got it,” Yezi nods, immediately dialing the numbers on her phone but pausing in the midst of the ring to face you, “wait, do you know anyone from her family?”

Gritting your teeth, you frown as you dig into your memories, “...no, I know she might have had a boyfriend back then, so he might know, but I don’t know if they’re still together and I don’t even know his number…”

“Do you know anyone who might know her boyfriend then?”

“Well…”

The ending trails of your voice are whisked away into the returning wind of that fateful night. Hands gripping at your phone and eyes staring at the stranger yet familiarity of a name that glares off the screen, it’s an inevitable force that has you stupefied yet marveled at the revival of a tugging string that ties you to him through the strangest, most meandering paths.

his side;

It was almost like a fever dream. Her name plastered across his screen and his eyes squinting through the glaring light that illuminates his room. It had been two years since he had any contact nor mention of her; and now, out of the blue, in the midst of a nap after gym session, she calls him for help. He couldn’t believe his ears when he first heard her voice, believing it all to be another one of those numerous dreams that had him regretting his past or questioning his choices. He shot straight up in bed, phone grasped and glued to his ears that blocked out the computer fan that ran in the background.

Even now, after throwing on a sweater and jacket and bolting out the door in a state of rescue, he can’t quite believe his eyes; because there she sits on the hospital bench, in the signature slumped boyish manner and the confused blank stare off into the distance that still has him quirking a smile in remembrance every once in a while. In her favorite white blouse and her only slack of black dress pants, it’s almost as if nothing had changed, almost as if she had never left.

It’s almost like time had bent to his incessantly subconscious pleas and reversed its works; but the almost will always be an almost, for as long as those hallmark vivacious eyes and those rekindled mien of ambition lives. As far as Jungkook knew, she left with a dreary heart and returned with a fiery purpose.

Despite all that, he can’t help but notice the way she fidgets in her seat, nearly sinking and avoiding all contact the second his presence had been noticed. Instead of the sheepish flickering stolen glances of the past, he finds himself at odds with the way she fights to return the locked gaze of his eyes. She fought so hard that she might have forgotten how to speak, rendering a soft chuckle from his lips because the girl he endlessly dreamt of might still live after all; and for the first time in a long while, Jungkook has to put forth the effort to fill in the silence.

“Why did you call me?” he asks plainly as he stands before her.

“Well, I didn’t know any of her friends except you…” he watches as she fidgets with her hands, gaze falling to the floor before returning to him, “are you going to visit her? I think the doctor should be okay with it if you’re her close friend.”

“No, Kai will be here soon,” he explains, finally bending down and placing the bottle of rubbing alcohol beside her on the bench. “I have other shit to attend to.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbles. The evident surge in annoyance amuses him that he just can’t quite wipe the smirk off his face. Turning her head, she continues, “you must’ve had plans with Ji-eun tonight. Sorry for the trouble.”

This is it. This is the moment that replayed on repeat like a broken tape in his dreams. This is his chance to mend the wounds he had inflicted upon the confessing girl who cried her eyes out on the cab home that one, indelible night.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air with the exception of the unscrewing of a plastic bottle and the gentle return of the bottle against the metallic bench, which is then followed by another staggering silence.

“We’re not that close and I’m not dating Ji-eun now.”

The girl turns with the quirk of a brow, especially when she spots him kneeling before her with a soaked cotton ball. “W-Wait what? Wait, shit, ow.”

“I don’t talk to Jennie as much as you think,” he states as a-matter-of-factly and continues to gently pat the cotton against the wounds on her knees. After hesitantly placing a band aid over the wound—something he had never done for anyone else nor for himself who just “sucked it up”—he finally lifts his gaze to interlock with hers, observing intently as if to soak the reality of it all in now before the inevitable tape begins to replay for the near future. “I broke up with Ji-eun before you left.”

“And...” she utters slowly, “why are you telling me this?”

Just like in the pool on that one night, her challenging eyes never budge and neither do his.

“I thought the past you would’ve liked to know,” he states. Head tilting to the side as if to get a better look, he remarks, “shit, you don’t look away anymore, huh?”

“Why would I?” she quips, snorting and finally breaking contact to stare off to the side. “It didn’t matter if I knew or not. It’s not like we were a thing.”

“Really?” Jungkook hums, gathering the scraps of cotton and paper before standing to his feet with a genuine soft sigh. It’s hard to brush off the two year old sinking sensation in his chest for something so nonchalant, but he manages to do it like he always does with that stoic look on his unreadable face. “Cause I thought we were.”

“What?” she gapes and he only gazes firmly back at her. “Why? It’s not like I… liked you.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker up at the ceiling for a brief second, lips pursing as he concludes the cards on the table: the unapologetic albeit risky truth or the defensive albeit purposeless self-deception. Unbeknownst to her, Jungkook had all the cards in his hands.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze and shrugging, “and it’s not like you liked me.”

Peering down at her from above, the boy’s crooked grin gradually settles into the silence along with the usual unreadable mien that he wears on the daily. “How would you know?”

Finally turning to return his gaze, she raises a brow at him before uncrossing her arms and standing to her feet. One step, two steps until she stands before him as close as she could recall on that night, she utters the one mutual truth of the night.

“Because you never told me.”

The brief silence filled with tension seems to last an eternity, yet neither of the two could take their eyes off the other. A rush of thrill intermixed with panic floods his blood. His fight or flight system screams at him to obey the very laws he had followed all these years but his mind warns him that change is a necessity for this euphoric heat that radiates from this very moment. He’s never quite felt like this before: throat knotting and heart leaping nearly out of his chest.

“Let’s—”

“—I need to catch the last train home,” she blurts, quickly taking a step back to distance themselves.

Like a magnetic force that she is to him, her retraction almost pulls the breath from his lungs along with it.

“What?” he frowns, trying to steady his breath. “It’s 10 right now. My last ride is at midnight.”

“Yeah, well mine is at 11 and I still have to walk there,” she shrugs indifferently to the entire ordeal—something that Jungkook takes to the heart.

“What?” he mutters, “the station is right next to this hospital.”

“What can I say? I’m a slow walker,” she prims, bowing her head and waving her hand to bid farewell. “Thanks for the band aid and all the help today. It was nice catching up. See y—I mean, take care.”

He stands there in silence, too stunned by the constant turn of events. Distracted by the crestfallen weight in his chest elicited by his shattered hopes, Jungkook raises a hand in response to her pressed, upcurved lips. He can only mumble a seemingly indifferent, “...see ya.”

There she goes—as gracefully as she had reentered his life and as fleeting as she had left for a second time. All this time he knew his side of the story: growingly regretful, discovering a yearning he never knew was within his capabilities, and helplessly pondering over a past he could not change and wondering if she did the same. At some point in time, those feelings became a fragment in time and that person he wished she knew became a version of his present self. He moved on, he forgot the magnitude of the pain, but he never quite came to terms with what it all could have been.

And all at once, the very moment he stands before her, the past him whomst he had perceived to be temporary comes flooding back into reality—flesh, fervent, and feelings of an immensity he could never have been prepared for—and if he were to be honest, he thought it would have been the same for her.

He never really knew her side, after all; but at the very least, he desires to hear it from her, herself. She never missed him, she never thought of him from time to time, she never woke up from a dream of him so vivid that it felt so real that she was left with a melancholic loneliness in the air—those words would close the gap in his chest.

If there’s one thing Jungkook had absolute control over at this very moment, it’s the last chapter of their shared novel in time and this is not the conclusion he imagined.

Before he knew it, Jungkook finds himself sprinting down the train station. Across the coldly lit hallways, up and down the stairs instead of the ‘shitty, slow escalators,’ and cutting through the nearing midnight breeze of the platforms until the breeze finally brought him to the last unvisited area, his daunting final destination.

Checking his watch, Jungkook’s chest heaves as he holds his hands to his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. It’s well past 11 now, nearing midnight, and he’s standing at the platform in the opposite direction of her new hometown. To the mere bystander, this platform really didn’t make any sense; but to Jungkook and his inkling, perhaps by a disheveled and desperate state, every twist and turn of the wind brought him right where he believes he belongs.

Puffs of his breath mark the airy night as he watches his last ride pass by the rails before him. Every cart, every seat, he scans them all. No one. His heart sinks with each check, each flicker of the eyes, and he begins to curse himself for his state of delusion until the last cart of the train flashes by to reveal his finale.

And as if by some sort of invisible string, life had somehow led him to her once again.

Because there she sits, across the wide yet surely crossable gap of the railway, legs crossed and hands folded in her lap, as if she had been waiting for him all this time.

Jungkook stands there, stupefied by the works of fate, “why are you—”

“—hey, Jungkook!” she calls out to him, voice echoing across the vast, empty station. “What were you going to tell me back at the hospital?”

Taken aback by her question, Jungkook chuckles to himself in utter amusement; and as if by the magic sifting through the night, the nearby tower bells ring across the remaining distance between the two at the precise stroke of midnight.

“Let’s date!”

The boy’s zestful holler resembles more like that of a cheerful proclamation, for the way he holds his hands to his lips before throwing them freely into the air garners a giggle from his spectator. His voice projection accompanies the bells, perhaps too softly and thereby physically undetected, but she could hear him nonetheless.

“I liked you and I still like you so damn much, you dumbass!”

After witnessing the boy’s courageous display, the words she’s been waiting for but never knew she needed until their paths crossed once again for a limitless nth time slips from her like second nature, almost as if she’s practiced it in her dreams all this time. Her loud proclamation, however, slips beneath the bells like an accompaniment to a ceremonious work of fate.

The two of them stand on opposite sides of the platform, their confessions are far and wide and perhaps inaudible, but the dorky smiles adorning their lips as they gaze across at their inevitable final chapters serve to prove an undeniable fact.

Whether by sheer will or by this invisible string, whether by his side or her side, the truth is: their eternities will be forever tied, forever golden.

352 notes · View notes

midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

The Lure Of Nightfall [2]

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: After accidentally flying in on your best friend jerkin his meat to the thought of you, things get out of hand, and you’re thrown into a weekly routine.

WARNINGS!: Voyeurism, Masturbation

Category: Smut, Smut, Pure Smut.

Word Count: 8.7k+

A/N: You all wanted this! >.< I hope I delivered~

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation!

panties are a bitch.

Part One

Tag List: @zylith-imagines-and-fics @birds-have-teeth @my-bnha-things.

The morning after carried on just as any Sunday would have.

Izuku woke up refreshed and ready to start his daily work out.

The strange bird encounter completely slipped his mind as he ran laps, pushing his legs to run faster and faster with each completed circle.

He was always one to push his limits, always one to ignore the burning in his calves and thighs as his legs became a blur of motion beneath him.

All he could think about was how many laps he had run, and how many more he had to go.

You could only ever push yourself so far. He learned that lesson the hard way not too long ago when he didnt stop running until his legs gave out and a student had to come and get him.

His legs were practically dead weight for the following few hours.

Sighing at the memory, he went on, arm coming up to wipe the sweat from his brow.

It was 9:00AM when he finally finished his workout routine, a little later than he was used to. But who could blame him? He did go to bed later than his schedule recommended, after all.

But..

That wasn’t..

His fault..

He frantically shook his head, scarred palms slapping his redding cheeks as what got him so riled up in the first place flickered through his mind.

He did not need to have such thoughts at this moment.

Heading back to his dorm, he grabbed his shampoo and body wash, as well as a fresh change of clothes before skipping down the steps. He felt gross and sticky with sweat, and he couldn’t wait to feel the rush of water against his skin.

Oh!No one’s here!

He thought happily as he practically skipped into the bathroom, putting his clothes in the locker beside the shower stall he chose.

He hopped into the shower, not bothering to turn the heat on as cold showers always seemed to snap him out of any dirty thoughts. Plus, not only did they help make someone more alert after an intense workout, the cool water always left a heated body feeling much better.

Once done, he quickly dried off and changed, making his way to the sinks to brush and fully dry his thick, damp hair.

Such fluffy hair regrettably required a stay-in conditioner, or else it would look simply dreadful - frizzy hair galore. No one, especially him, wants that. Though it took away that masculine scent of body wash guys apparently are supposed to thrive in, it did make him smell pretty sweet. It all fit together perfectly in a way. Sugar n’ spice made everything nice, right?

As he was spraying the stay-in conditioner, running a wooden comb through the damp, curly green locks, he let his mind wander.

He forgot something, didn’t he?

It felt like he did.

He chewed his pouty bottom lip, eyes narrowing as he let his arms run on autopilot so his thoughts could drift.

He wasn’t usually so forgetful, so what on Earth was he forgetting?

Something the other day, surely.

He didn’t have anything planned today.

Just relax and enjoy life for a second. They didn’t get breaks often, and last Sunday he was at the mall all day with you and his friend group.

You..

What about you?

He felt like you were the key to his confusion and forgetfulness, but why?

He hadn’t had an interaction with you yesterday that would require his immediate attention, so-

Wait.

His movements stopped as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection in the mirror.

Most birds sleep at night, that was common knowledge.

So why the hell was there one on his balcony so late last night.

He dropped his comb, wood clanging loudly onto the floor, the noise echoing around his suddenly deaf ears.

Birds don’t nuzzle fingers.

Birds fly away when a human approaches.

That wasn’t any ordinary bird.

That wasn’t a bird at all, was it?

No.

There was only one person who could turn into a bird..

And that person was..

You.

Oh god.. Oh god, no!

Izuku collapses to his knees, arms wrapping securely around his head as he blushes and whines like a mad man.

You saw him! You had to have seen him!

He was!

He was naked-!

You didn’t… you didn’t see and hear him in the act, right!?

He shakily inhaled, shameful tears blurring his vision.

You heard him moan out your name, didnt you!

You must hate him now! Think he’s disgusting..

What type of person masturbates to their best friend!

But he couldn’t help it!

He’s been in love with you for so long..

He knew his dreams would never come to fruition, that you would never like him as much as he liked you, so he took to his mind to live out a life he’s always wanted.

One his body so desperately craves.

It was so humiliating!

How could he face you..?

Fat tears streamed down his face, heart breaking at the thought of you never speaking to him again. His mind fled to a dark place, completely ignoring the fact that the bird had been so gentle with him and seemingly uncaring.

So, imagine his surprise when you happily greeted him at one of the tables as he walked out of the bathroom for water.

Upon seeing his tear stained face, worry quickly consumed you, face contorting as you jumped up and rushed over to him.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong, ‘Zuku? You were crying?”

You bombarded him with questions, hands coming up to delicately cradle his burning face between them.

His head felt fuzzy as he stared into your (E/C) eyes glimmering with concern.

A whimper built up in the back of his throat, fearful that you’d still leave him.

But why were you acting like last night never happened? That you didnt watch him defile your name?

Well, to be honest, you currently clung onto the hope that he never realized it was you. He wasn’t acting angry or upset like you’d expect him to if he did find out, so it was obvious you were in the clear.

Except, you weren’t. And he did know.

He just didn’t know why, why you were there or why you watched him. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel as creeped out about as he probably should have, it was like there was a small bell of honor ringing in his chest.

All in all, he figured you wanted to hang out, that’s why you were there in the first place.

But he wanted to know why you watched him - why you didn’t leave the moment you no-doubt saw him pleasuring himself.

God, he felt stupid.

He should have paid more attention to the time he chose, you always came to his dorm around that time during the weekend!

He wanted to facepalm, hide his ashamed face beneath his palms.

But for now, he’d soak in the feeling of your soft hands holding his face, thumbs brushing away stray tears.

You were trying to hide it. Hide the fact that you saw him. He’d indulge you, pretend he didn’t know anything

“Y-Yeah! I’m alright..!”

He smiled.

And so the show began.

He never stopped hanging out with you, and the shame soon melted away into desire as the days trudged on.

He didnt know why, but the thought of you watching him do something so intimate.. It thrilled him to his very core, sent tingles down his spine and left him breathless for a moment or two.

It actually gave him quite a few boners in class, much to his embarrassment. Lord, did his mind wander too much. He was just a hormonal teenage boy, after all.

Funnily enough, he could feel that the majority of the time you spent around each other, your stare was directed towards him. It was as if he was your center of attention throughout most classes these days, the apple of your mesmerizing eyes, and it felt amazing.

Like.. like he was the only thing you cared about. Only thing you needed.

He loved that feeling.

He wanted more.

He wanted you to, in a way, need him as much as he needed you.

He wanted it to happen again, wanted to know what it would feel like if he was actually aware of it occurring rather than only finding out about it the next day when his senses came back.

So, he decided he’d try touching himself every Saturday at the same time, since that is when you last showed up, leaving his window and curtains open just so you could, theoretically, get a good view.

He knew how wrong it was, wanting his best friend to watch him do something so sinful at nightfall whilst holding innocent conversations during the daylight.

He was too horny for his own good. Could you blame him?

The first attempt was unsuccessful, and he never did feel your piercing gaze on his trembling body as he worked himself to completion.

It was disappointing, but he had hope, and an unexpected outlet for his sexual frustrations.

Meanwhile, you were going crazy.

It felt like you were holding onto a dirty little secret, one Izuku had absolutely no idea about.

Everyday you had to force yourself to not let the image of him writhing sinfully around on his sheets float to the surface of your overactive mind.

You definitely did not need any soaked panties, especially considering you’d have to walk around all day like that.

It was truly a blessing in disguise.

Was it strange to say that in a way you got off on talking innocently to Izuku now?

Staring into his beautiful green eyes, talking about the math homework you forgot to do, all you could think about was how those eyes were glazed over with lust, pupils blown ridiculously wide as he came all over himself.

Such a messy boy.

Gah!

You aggressively shook your head in class, hands rubbing aggressively at your closed eyes to try and erase the image..

“(Y-Y/N)? Are y-you okay?” Izuku stuttered nervously, hands outstretched, ready to place them on your shoulders if you needed to be steadied.

You were simply talking, but suddenly you had such a violent reaction when he asked what answer you got for question three on the homework!

Had you not done it? Maybe you had had quite the trouble with it and didn’t want to remember the minutes wasted on chewing on your mechanical pencil as tears of frustration streamed down your face? He’d seen it occur before, It was a very weird and.. sad.. sight.

“Ah!” You yelped, ripping your hands from your face as you suddenly remembered where you were - you couldn’t just pull that sort of stunt in class, it’d make people think you were weirder than you already clearly are!

But that was just the start of it all.

You so desperately wanted to see him in that state again, wanted to hear your name slip from his spit-slicked raw lips in a wanton moan.

The fact that he was your best friend slowly started to fade from your mind, replaced by lustful desires. What’s shame? Never heard of that.

Who could hear anything over your moans anyway?

Night fell into a routine of your hands stuffed down your panties, fingers covered in your own slick rubbing roughly at your puffy clit as two of your fingers thrust in and out of yourself.

You constantly wondered just what that pretty boy imagined in that oh-so-obviously dirty mind of his as he pumped his cock.

Was he imagining you riding him, face smothered by your tits, mouth latched onto one of your perky buds, sucking the red flesh into his mouth as you bounced up and down on his long, painfully hard and throbbing cock?

Your breath caught in your throat at the image, fingers speeding up.

Or perhaps was he imagining pounding into your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his slim hips, fingers clawing red marks into his back so that he could show them off whilst changing into his gym clothes the next day in the locker room?

You squealed as you suddenly clenched down on your two digits, the coil wound tight in your stomach from all the dirty images whizzing past your head snapping unexpectedly, cumming all over your fingers.

You laid there panting, eyes staring deliriously up at the star-covered ceiling.

You had to see him in the act again, no question about it.

It was unfortunate how you passed out from exhaustion Saturday before the time Izuku would ultimately begin going mad in his bed.

It was hard not to beat yourself up over it, especially since you now had to suffer through another week of not seeing his pretty face drenched in sweat, mouth wide open and tongue flopping out.

Grr!

More suffering for the both of you.

It was still so very funny how despite all of these lewd thoughts the both of you possessed for one another, you still got along just as well as before.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

Honestly, it was a great relief to the both of you.

Originally, you had thought that since you saw him in that new light, you’d be unable to have a decent conversation with him, and he thought that you’d be too disgusted with him to ever even think about speaking to him.

Of course, that was bullshit.

He knew you purposely stayed there to watch him.

That was part of the reason he wanted it to happen again.

He was clinging onto the hope that you liked him back, and that’s why it seemed as if you ignored the whole thing.

No, wait. He didnt want it to happen again… he needed it to happen again. Not just to satisfy him, but to just see if it wasn’t a mistake. A clarification. Something he could cling to in his mind. Something that told him there was an even bigger chance that you might miraculously like some gross nerd like him back.

He was still insecure, even after all the body changes he has gone through.

The scars didnt help much, either.

He could look at his body and feel proud of how much stronger he was, but those rough scars that would permanently taint his skin always left him feeling a bit shy.

He openly showed them, of course, not afraid considering they were marks of his growth and a reminder that he was able to save someone, but they didnt exactly feel nice.

His skin was once silky smooth all over, but now it wasnt, and it would never be the same again.

You knew him without the scars for the longest, but that also meant you knew the whimpy Deku, and not the Hero Deku he was becoming.

So many thoughts were constantly racing around in his mind, it was hard to keep track of them at times.

He blocked out the thoughts with a heavy heart, going back to his previous activity.

And of course, for you, well, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t visit him in your bird form during the night on weekdays, curious to see if, by chance, he was up - which he often wasn’t, and if he was sinning.

To no avail, of course.

It was hard to place if you were missing it by some misfortune, or if he just wasn’t doing it. So Saturday was your best guess. You saw him do it that day, so you figured from the beginning you’d see him to it again on all Saturdays. That’s what you hoped, anyway.

The next Saturday, though, you were proven correct.

The scene was similar to the one from last time, you, perched on the railing, sliding glass door open, curtains pushed to the side, and Izuku moaning like a slut on his bed covers.

Your feathers ruffled up in excitement, it looked as if he just came from the shower, towel discarded on the floor.

Things were going to be much different this time, unknown to you, of course.

Because this time, Izuku knew you were there.

He knew you were watching him.

And he knew it was on purpose because earlier that evening you stopped by to play video games before ‘retiring’ for the night.

Naughty girl, did you expect him to believe that when he’s been able to see through your lies ever since childhood?

He could feel your piercing gaze, and it thrilled him, making his cock slathered in lube he recently purchased twitch against his toned stomach.

Currently, he was rubbing up and down his twitching thighs, trying to calm himself down since, in his excitement at hearing you drop by, he almost came.

You eagerly watched as he did so, black eyes following his beautiful hand movements.

His thighs were so, so glorious.

Was it a bad thing to want to be trapped between them whilst you sucked his pretty dick?

To have them suffocate you was a dream. You’d give just about anything for them to squeeze your head as he came closer and closer to unraveling.

His legs were always nice, but ever since he began using them to smash incredibly large and sturdy objects, your fixation with them grew.

Hell, who were you kidding? You loved every aspect of that boy.

You wanted to lather his perfect body in searing kisses, whispering praises under every breath you took.

Your toes curled, clinging onto the raining as you leaned forward eagerly, watching as his hands traced down his inner thighs, just to drag across the underside of his dick.

He gasped once his fingers ran over his slit, head shoving itself into his pillow.

He wanted to put on a good show for you, gauge your reaction from the corner of his half-lidded eyes.

Surely you’d be too transfixed by his lower half to notice dark green eyes gazing over at you.

And he was right.

Because you couldn’t tear your attention away from his crotch, his hips lifting off the bed as he slowly thrusted into the tunnel he made with his hand.

It was as if he was teasing himself by going slow, his whines for more being a clear give away, that and the twitch of his hips as he sought a faster pace but held himself back.

“A-ahh~ (Y/N).. S-so good.. To me..”

How could he not imagine his hands as your own?

Yours were so small, too.. Could they even fully wrap around his thick length? He was all too eager to find out, but that’d have to be for a later date. Hopefully.

As time flew by, his impatience grew.

He wanted to put a good show on for you, truly, he did! But he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to cum oh-so badly.

To have that knot that was already building up in his system before you flew in to finally burst.

Sobs tore from his throat as he finally gave in, aching cock slamming into his fist with a wet squelch as his hand squeezed and twisted down on his length.

He didn’t last long, soon releasing his seed all over himself once again with a shrill cry, body arching up beautifully off the bed.

Whilst regaining his breath, he shakily looked over at you, joy sparking in his system to see you leaning forward as if you were enraptured by him.

It felt so good.

This occured more often than either of you would like to admit, but yet, there was no complaints.

Like before, life carried on normally in the light of day, but Saturday night? Showtime.

It was always something new, much to your enjoyment.

One night, which just so happened to be one where a new moon hung high in the inky black sky freckled with stars, you had the pleasure of witnessing him fuck a pillow.

So sweet. A true jackpot.

Since the tranquil, silvery beams of moonlight were absent on this particular evening, an Allmight night light of sorts illuminated the room in a yellow glow. It was brighter than the times before, ultimately giving you a better look at just what he was doing.

That wasn’t all, though.

Before, with the pale light of the moon, he was always submerged in a sinful atmosphere.

But now, you see, he looked so very soft in this light. It showered his perfectly toned, freckled and sweaty body in such a warm glow. It radiated innocence, despite his downright dirty acts of self-care.

His face was pressed to the side of the mattress, drool dripping past his parted lips as he gasped and moaned, cheeks burning red, eyes closed and brows arched upward as he chased that sweet, sweet release he so anticipated. His hips rutted into the soft pillow like a bunny in heat. Scarred hands had a death grip on it, forcing it down on his cock to provide an addicting combination of pressure and pleasure. Though you couldn’t quite see his flushed dick in action, his adorable face and moans made up for it.

Was it too bold of you to say he was imagining the pillow was you?

The way your name rolled off his tongue certainly would lead to that blissful assumption.

Another night you had gotten there early.

It was a particularly breezy night, the wind making his curtains dance and hair sway slightly. It was still hard to believe he liked having his sliding-glass door open. Did he like the fresh air when he was left gasping from his ministrations? Or did he thrive on the possibility that someone could hear him cry out?

How alluring that thought was.

But, how foolish of you to assume you were being sneaky.

To your luck, getting there early meant you got to see him set up the act, anticipate just what he was about to do. Predictions flooded your mind as you watched him with a tilted head as he poured lube onto his shaky fingers.

Whatever he was about to do, he seemed nervous. A first time thing, perhaps? Or was he shaking with desire?

You’d later come to realize you never wanted to be in front of this man more than that night.

Because, to your utmost delight, that was the night you witnessed him finger himself for no-doubt the first time.

He was cautious and tense, you could easily tell from so far away. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly, but it wasn’t too hard to put pieces of a puzzle together.

In the beginning, he was trying to ease himself into it, one hand languidly stroking his erection, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat, whilst the other seemed to tease at his opening.

He bit his bottom lip the moment he decided it was time to quit shitting around, thighs splaying wide open once again for better access - and to you, a better view. His eyes slipped closed as he tried to focus on what he was doing, momentarily stopping the strokes on his cock so his attention would be on the feeling of a single digit slipping in and out of his virgin hole. He stayed tensed for a while, obviously trying to adjust. It wasnt until a few minutes later that he started to get really into it, slipping in another finger as his hips started to rock to the slow beat set.

His weeping dick was given attention again not long after that, hips wiggling and high-pitched cries of ecstasy tears from his throat at the two hands working in unison.

You couldn’t help but hop from one foot to the other that night as you eagerly drank in the sight.

“A-ahh! O-h oh god! (Y-Y/N)! F-faster- oh! Ple-ase f-fahh! Uhn! Ha-ah- ah- ah!”

Were you fucking him in this fantasy? A strap on, maybe? You wouldnt oppose doing so, he’s so cute begging like this. Begging for a plastic cock to pound into his tight ass with each whine, whimper, and moan.

He finished quite quickly, fingers probably finally finding that sweet spot deep inside of him. His eyes shot open, going cross as he practically screamed into the night.

And most recently, you witnessed him cum so hard he passed out for a few moments.

And you knew exactly why.

Because earlier that day, your boredom once again got the best of you, and you couldnt help but notice Izuku was lost in his thoughts during a break period. So, being the cheeky shit you were, you waltzed on over to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear “Hey.”

It was funny how he had to slap a hand over his mouth, obviously hiding a whine. You knew your voice had an effect on him, especially when it was lowered an octave. Pair that with your hot breath fanning over his overly sensitive ear? The man was pudding.

“(Y-Y/N)! I-I told you to stop doing that..!” He blushed, eyes squeezing shut to avoid your smirking face.

But that wasn’t all, no. You sat in his lap after that. He almost died, face a cherry red as his hands were held up, not sure where to put them.

It was honestly a rare occasion, for Iida was out with Momo for class president and vice president duties. You had to take advantage of that.

“What? I don’t want to stand this whole time!” Came your pouty response, and he most definitely couldn’t refuse those puppy-dog eyes you used on him.

To his horror, you wiggled in your fleshy seat, trying to get ‘comfortable’ whilst pretending you had no idea what you were doing to him. You knew damn well what it was you were doing, you were grinding your ass on his crotch - just for an agonizing moment.

It was hard to get him to form a sentence that wasn’t broken with stutters the whole time you sat atop his lap. He was so cute, all blushy like that. A little strawberry.

The second Iida and Momo came back from their duties, you jumped off his lap, startling him once again. To your ‘misfortune,’ you dropped the pencil which was tucked into your shirt pocket. So, you promptly bent down to get it, giving the perverted Izuku behind you a glorious view of your round ass covered by a pair of lacy white panties.

It was a wonder how he didn’t pass out as you expected him to, honestly.

You never heard him cry out your name as much as you did that very night.

Who knew such a shy and bashful boy could be so.. Lewd?

It was a major turn on, you could only imagine what it would be like to be there with him.

Oh, how glorious that would be.

To stare into his eyes blown wide with lust and glazed over with desire, knowing full well you were the true reason behind it - and not just his hands.

You wanted to..

You wanted to do so many things to and with him.

But you couldn’t.

Because at the end of the day, you were still only best friends.

He may call your name in the dead of night, he may beg for you in his dreams, but that doesn’t make you more than what you were when the sun rises yet again over the grassy hill coated in morning dew.

Just friends.

Friends until actions occur that change the definition of the word.

‘Friends’ brought a bitter taste to your tongue when it came to describing Izuku. You wanted to be more than just…. ‘Friends.’

But that was selfish of you.

You couldnt always get what you wanted, even if both parties want the exact same thing.

You could never live with yourself if you forced yourself onto him when he wasn’t ready to accept it. You knew very well how easily overwhelmed he could get. You worried that if.. your Saturday night activities got around to him, that he’d never want anything to do with you again. You were playing a dangerous game.

It was a hard concept to grasp, really.

But little did you know, he would be perfectly okay with it. More than okay, actually.

In fact, he craved it so, so much. With each Saturday that came, with every show he put on for you, he so desperately wished you’d revert back to your human form and come join him on his messy bed. He wanted to feel your soft skin brush against his overheated body. He wanted that intimacy.

He knew you wanted it too, he’s seen you almost fly right on into his room with particular moments.

He loved being watched by you, gaining validation every week by your intense, infatuated gaze, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. It was driving him absolutely insane. He noticed himself becoming more brash and reckless during training, his frustration taking over his senses and causing absolute mayhem.

In the beginning, speaking to you outside of these downright shameful acts was exhilarating, but now it was simply infuriating. How could you act like nothing was happening? How could you stay so innocent whilst he was out here losing his marbles?

The rubber band holding his sanity together was stretched too thin, he had no doubt that it would snap any day now and his carnal desires will be let loose.

Such a risky thing he had willingly got himself into.

But that band snapped much sooner than he predicted, and there was no going back after that.

It’s been nearly two months since this whole act started.

It’s gotten progressively hotter outside, it was almost as if the sun itself had something personal against anyone and everyone who walked in it’s brilliant light.

The training has gotten harder thanks to the sweltering heat. Primetime to exercise until you feel like throwing up, yeah?

They were supposed to progress on their workouts throughout the year, but damn did this heat wave come at an unconventional time. Poor Tokoyami almost had a heat stroke.

The intensity of the workouts was making everyone antsy. The weekdays were hell on Earth, so the weekends became an even bigger godsend to the poor hero students working to achieve their dreams.

That being said, what better way to distress than too..?

This week was particularly stressful, and after the hell Izuku and his fellow classmates were put through, he craved that certain destresser he’s been hooked on for far too long.

It was unfortunate that he cracked a bit earlier than his scheduled 11 PM rub out, making it only to 10:41 PM before his dirty thoughts overtook his being and made his dick twitch to life in his shorts. He wanted to wait, but he became increasingly uncomfortable, hips shimmying, trying to find a comfortable position to wait around in.

After promptly giving up, he leaned back on his bed, tugging his shorts off and letting his eyes slip shut as he palmed himself through his boxers.

Things always felt better for the green-eyed boy if he took it slow, working himself up to the point of desperation.

And that’s what he did.

He knew you wouldnt be there for a while, he knew his heart wouldnt be pumping like it always did when you showed up, so he fell back onto Plan B, fully emerging himself in a fantasy.

He hadn’t done that since you first showed up. A trip on memory lane.

But now he had a chance.

Though he had to admit, he’d much prefer it if you were there..

In his mind, he wasn’t in some silly dorm.

He was a pro-hero living in a large apartment with pristine windows that reflected the night lights of the mesmerizing city below like lanterns in the sky. The interior lights were off, the room cast in a soft orange glow by a gentle flame flickering in the sandstone fireplace situated in front of the satin burgundy couch he sat upon. Soft moans filled the atmosphere, paired with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the complex.

You were in his lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you hung on for dear life. Your nails gave him an addicting sting as they dug into freckled skin, his name escaping your parted lips like a prayer, moans much louder than his own accompanying the pleas. He was in heaven, surely, for how else could there be such a beautiful angel in his lap?

You were glowing, cheeks blazing a deep maroon color, the light of the fire behind you encasing you in a soft, golden gleam.

A heavy breath blew out Izuku’s nose, closed eyes scrunching as he finally decided to rip his boxers off. His rough hand immediately wrapped itself around his cock, hissing in pleasure and thanking the heavens just this once for being such a heavy pre producer - he was far too enraptured by this fantasy to even think about trying to get his trusty bottle of lube.

Avoiding the flushed head, his hand squeezed and twisted it’s way up and down his slicked up shaft, hiding the wet noises with his pathetic whines.

He dived back into his mind.

You were kissing him fervently, tongues dancing in hot caverns as your noises of pure pleasure molded together. Though you were on top, you were far from having control. Izuku’s hands squeezed your hips in a death grip, bouncing you on his throbbing member, green sparks illuminating his body as to ensure a delicious yet inhuman pace.

He could feel you. He swore he could, even from on this bed, he could feel you. You were so warm, and so, so very tight.

He couldn’t handle it.

No.

He needed more.

He whined desperately on his bed, back arching as he chased his fantasy but soon lost it as the familiar fluttering of small wings blocked out all other sounds.

He gasped, trying to catch the breath that seemed to constantly slip past him. He was too worked up.

He was too needy. He was aching, body shaking with anticipation and eagerness.

He craved you like a man craved water after stumbling through a burning hot desert all day.

You were so close to him, he could reach out and swear he could feel your feathers beneath his fingertips.

He was past the point of no return, his fantasy just couldn’t do it for him.

He needed you, god he needed you so so bad it hurt.

Sobs tore from his throat, hands stuttering as his eyes finally flew open,

“(Y-Y/N)! Please!” He cried out with a strangled moan, vision wavering from the pain of not having you with him despite being right there.

Swallowing all of his pride, he looked towards your perched form, tears slipping from his sparkling viridescent eyes glazed over with lust.

His chest was heaving, thighs quivering and body trembling as he called out to you with a salacious plea, “I can’t..! I can’t do this anymore, please! Please, I-I need you!”

He was begging, begging for you whilst simultaneously thrusting into his hand.

Such an erotic display.

At the moment, you couldn’t even care about the fact he clearly knew it was you there. In fact, it didn’t even come to mind as a jolt of electricity coursed through your body, returning you to your human form as you eagerly jumped off the railing to him, all too willing to join his lascivious activities.

He moaned with delight the second your knee hit his bed, dipping his body towards you. His filthy hand shot off his dick, joining the other with gripping at your baggy sleepwear, pulling you towards his burning body.

You fell onto him, not given a chance to collect your thoughts before a hand buried itself in your messy hair, yanking your hair so that he could easily smash his lips against your own.

The kiss was nothing like how you pictured your first with him to be. Instead of sweet and gentle, it was downright dirty and sloppy, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. You were both clearly inexperienced, but that didn’t matter. You just wanted to feel him, same as he wanted to feel you.

Your hands, shaking with the sudden extreme boost of adrenaline, cupped his chubby cheeks as your lips met again, and again, and again, drool mingling with his own as you tried to get the hang of this.

Eventually, your lips stayed connected, tongues fighting for dominance.

You couldn’t even tell, due to the heat of the moment overtaking your senses, but the entire time you made out, Izuku’s curious hands dragged ever-so-slowly down the sides of your body, feeling those curves that drove him absolutely insane. Just as it seemed as if you’d win the short battle, his large hands came over your plump ass, squeezing the soft flesh and causing you to gasp. With your mind distracted, he quickly smooshed his lips against your own once again, tongue defeating your own and giving him complete access to your mouth.

He explored it, the tip of the wet muscle seemingly grazing over and massaging in just all the right places, drawing a little moan from you that shot straight down to his neglected cock. It twitched against his stomach, and suddenly he wasn’t interested in just making out anymore. He needed more, and he’d fucking get it.

He’s waited so long for this moment, dreamt of it so often it became normal for him to wake up covered in sweat and with a raging erection straining against his shorts.

His grip on your ass moved to your hips, dragging them down onto his member and grinding you down against him.

You both moaned, hips involuntarily jerking against one another, starting up a grinding fest.

Moans melted together as you both continued to kiss before a particularly rough thrust sent your head flinging back and a mewl spewing from you.

“A-ah.. Izuku..!” You shivered, eyes closing as you gripped at his hair. He stared up at you, eyes full of love but darkened by immense desire as you shamelessly moaned above him. His hips ground his rock-hard erection against your soaked panties, brushing roughly against your clothed clit. Your body seemed to jolt with every brush against it, your senses completely overloaded as you were driven mad with lust.

You shrieked with surprise as you were suddenly flipped over, body slamming onto the mattress as Izuku crawled over on top of you.

He continues to grind himself against you, hands moving your legs up so they could wrap around his hips. Whilst kissing at the side of your neck, his nose brushed along the skin, searching for that special spot.

Amidst your onslaught of noises, you made a sound clearly indicating he had found what he had been searching for. His hot tongue licked at the sensitive skin before he bit down on it.

You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, jumping in his arms as an intense shiver rolled down your back, hands coming up to clutch at his broad shoulders smothered in freckles and burning with a blush.

You felt so, so tingly, so good, so.. So everything.

Perhaps that’s simply because of how worked up you currently were, every single touch lit your body aflame again and again. Besides, how could you keep quiet when he was rubbing against you in just the right place?

He sucked harshly at the tender flesh before kissing it lovingly as if to apologize for the brutal treatment, licking the pain away and continuing to nibble along the area, leaving a bruise that was sure to remain in the morning.

In fact, he decided, he was going to leave many. Just..not today.

He couldn’t deny, though, it did feel pretty good that his mark was on your soft skin where all could potentially see.

But for now, you had too many layers on for his current liking.

Izuku drew back, stopping the grind sesh - much to your apparent dismay, tugging at the hem of your shirt, silently asking for permission, and you willingly lifted your arms.

Had you not been so consumed with sheer desire, you would have covered your bare chest. Instead, you nodded your head, giving the man panting as if he had just run a mile permission to kiss his way down to the soft mounds he previously couldn’t help but bashfully stare at.

His lips lavished them both in kisses, praises unknowingly slipping out between his teeth until he finally decided to take one bud into his mouth.

He was sloppy, messy, and all-around inexperienced, but you couldn’t deny the fact that it still felt good.

He spent surely less than a minute giving attention to each perky nipple, but it was made up for by a sweet kiss. You eagerly returned it, body arching as if trying to bring him closer.

It was so strange how he took control so easily, he had been begging only a few minutes ago.

Not that you minded, of course.

After all, who doesnt like being pampered by their long time crush?

“May I?” He whispered breathlessly, trembling fingers hooked around your panties, ready to pull them off.

You nodded immediately, oh-so desperate to have him actually touch you. You needed to feel him. All this grinding did was leave you with a throbbing clit, pussy so wet your juices were close to flowing down your ass, and the want for more.

He smashed his lips back against your own, practically ripping the fabric off of you and flinging it to only god knows where in this dark room.

His lips didn’t leave yours as his hands traveled down your sides again, squeezing your ass just to hear you gasp.

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you, or hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment as his fingers seemed to stutter on your thighs.

“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” You cooed against his lips, eyes opening to stare into his.

He gulped, swallowing his insecurities as he ran an index finger along your sit.

You bit your lip, eyes slipping closed once more and hips twitching forward at the foreign touch against heated flesh.

Izuku took this as a sign to go further, so he did.

Staring at your face, he pushed the finger past your lower lips, ignoring the intense throbbing of his dick as he felt how wet you were. The digit trailed down, searching for your clenching hole. When he found it, he couldnt help but teasingly trace around it, adoring the scrunch of your flushed face and the whine that followed suit.

“Please, Izuku..” You whimpered, and how could he say no to that?

He slowly pushed his finger in, nearly cumming on the spot from just how tight and warm you were. He openly moaned, watching as he sunk the finger all the way down to his knuckle.

Clouded eyes flickered back up to your face, noting how you didn’t seem to be in pain.

Licking his lips in anticipation, he pulled the finger out, then pushed it back in, over and over and over again as your thighs twitched around him, mouth falling open as you breathed heavily, moaning ever so softly.

His heart pounded in his chest as he added another finger, continuing the motions for before.

Your hips shimmied at the stretch, his fingers much larger than your own slim once, but so much nicer, because it was him, and not you. Your hips involuntarily chased the rhythm he set.

“Ahh.. haa..h.. Oh! Ah! Ahhhghh!” your eyes shot open as his fingers curled inside you, brushing against that spongey spot in your clenching walls. “Oh! T-There Iz-Izuku~!” You moaned out his name, and it was as if his body got put on autopilot, fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping heat, curly against that spot that had you moaning.

A particularly loud squeal left your parted lips, and he snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you so bad it hurt. Watching your body react violently around only his fingers? The cherry on the cake!

He needed his dick in you, to feel those soft walls clenching around him, to hear you cry out his name more as he brought you to the peak of madness.

But he was worried about how long he’d last.

He was so close before, what if he came nearly immediately?

Pulling his fingers out fully, which drew your attention back to him, he lifted them to his mouth, shoving them in and putting on a sinful display of licking them clean for you

He smiled at you with half-lidded eyes as you stared at him with astonishment. Lurching forward, you took him by surprise by gripping his sweaty hair and pulling him down for another passionate kiss, moaning around his tongue as you tasted your essence on him.

Keeping his focus on the kiss, Izuku’s hand blindly felt around his bedside table, opening the drawer and somehow managing to find the single condom he kept in there.

You noticed it from the corner of your eye, the moonlight reflecting on the silver wrapper.

“When did you get that?” You pulled away from the kiss, indulging in your curiosity as you stared at the condom between his fingers.

He chuckled nervously, looking to the side in embarrassment, “I- I got a pack from the corner store.. Not long ago..”

He left out the motivation behind it, not ready to reveal he knew you were watching him the entire time - thus bringing forth his precautious side as he fumbled with measuring himself and getting the right size.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait any longer, princess..” He whispered under a heavy breath, ripping open the packaging, grabbing the latex and rolling it on himself, ignoring your eyes practically burning holes into his heated skin as they watched with eagerness.

Now that it was on, he looked back up to you, hand coming to gently caress your face, thumb smoothing over your blushing cheek as he leaned down to kiss you once more.

Yes, he wanted to pound you into next tomorrow right this instant, be he couldnt ignore the fact that this was your first time together. He wanted it to be.. Sweet.

As sweet as he could make it, anyway.

He jumped in his own skin when he felt your cold fingers wrap around his cock, bringing his oozing head towards your entrance. He was quick to replace them, though, just so he could rub himself between your folds and teasingly against your clit.

“..ready?” He asked nearly impatiently as he guided his tip to your entrance once more.

He slowly pushed in the moment you nodded your head.

Oh god! He thought to himself as he moaned loudly. He was only in by an inch and already it felt like his world was spinning! You were so damn tight!

He nearly collapsed on top of you, bringing his hands up just to hold your own against the bedsheets.

He was being much too slow for your liking. You were so aroused on, so ready for him that, though you appreciated him going slow for you, you couldn’t handle another second with this agonizing pace.. So, without warning, your legs, which were still wrapped around his hips, tightened, and you forcefully drove his hips forward, fully sheathing him inside you.

He screamed in pleasure, head involuntarily being thrown back as his eyes rolled back. You moaned along with him, the feeling of being full outweighing the slight stinging pain that it brought with it.

His fingernails dug into your hips as he tried to control himself, his body vibrating from how much he was shaking. You held him flushed against you, eyes squeezing shut as you fought to relax around him and get used to his length. Which was pretty damn big! Perhaps you bit off more than you could chew..

But it didn’t take long for the pain to slowly subside, and you were back in business. Meanwhile, Izuku was staring cross-eyed up at the ceiling, holding himself back from exploding.

“Izu-”

“I-I Don-t think I c-can last long, (Y/N)...” he whimpered out, chest heaving and heart hammering.

You nodded in understanding, he was quite busy with himself before you showed up anyway.

And now all this? It certainly must be sudden.

Plus, Izuku has always been a sensitive boy, so no doubt his nerves were on fire.

Nonetheless, he was quick to catch on to your ‘okay’ for him to move.

So, he pulled himself out halfway, nearly sobbing as he thrusts back in.

You felt so good.. So good.. sogood- “So good.. Ahh! A-ahh nnghjnn S-so go-goo- gahn! Hahhh!” The sheer velocity of his moans overpowered your own as he soon found himself uncontrollably drilling his cock into your pussy, absorbed by the feeling of you sucking him back in like a black hole just to squeeze the life out of him.

That hot coil that had been winding up in his stomach all this time was soon to burst, he could feel himself getting closer and closer with every slap of skin against skin, edged on by your beautiful moans.

“(Y-Y/N)!! I-I’m gonna! I-!” He could barely form any sentences, all that spilled out of that drooling mouth were moans and mindless babbles and praises.

You were just as close, but you wanted more.. So, you ripped one hand free from his grip, licking a digit before thrusting it down just to furiously rub at your puffy clit aching for attention.

You both moaned simultaneously, him at the sight, and you at the combined stimulation.

He was about to break, about to hit the point of no return when he found your G spot. You cried out in ecstasy, body practically arching of the mattress as he focused deep, powerful thrusts on that area.

And by some miracle, you reached your high before he did.

A wave of electrifying pleasure washed over you as your body tensed beneath him, back arching impossibly high off the mattress as your walls seemed to clamp down on his cock like a vice just as that burning hot coil wound tight in your belly burst. Stars bloomed in your eyes as your vision went black, Izuku’s name tearing from your throat.

Your hot, wet walls clamping down on him threw him into his own long-awaited and intense orgasm. His thighs tensed as he cried out in ecstasy into the night air, hips slamming into your fluttering cunt once more before thick, hot cum shot from his dick, filling up the condom deep inside of you.

You both stayed like that for a moment, basking in the afterglow of something you both waited weeks for.

He inhaled shakily before pulling his softening member out, rolling the condom off in a sleepy haze before tying it off and throwing it into the trash bin.

He flopped down beside you, far too sleepy to even think about getting up.

You were already fast asleep, and he couldn’t wait to join you. Wrapping his scarred arm around your waist, he pulled your warm body to his chest, tangling his legs with yours and falling asleep within moments to your soft breaths and the crickets singing outside his glass door.

There was a lot to talk about tomorrow morning.

You’d both have to explain yourselves, talk about what happened, what was next, and confirm feelings for each other. That this wasn’t just a ‘one night stand’ between friends.

And, of course, you’d be hit with a truck of pain between your legs, rendering you unable to walk properly. At least Izuku is there to take care of you, and that it was a Sunday.

Until you both come to the horrifying realization that Izuku, in the heat of the moment, accidentally flung your panties out the open window, which was then miraculously carried by a stray gust of wind just for Kaminari to find in a bush by the side of the building the following morning when taking the trash out.

Thank god nobody recognized them, but you could only hope you’d get the chance to get that back before he, along with Mineta, no doubt do something with them.

2K notes · View notes

sebbytrash · 4 years

Text

Through His Eyes - Part Twenty (The End)

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - The end.

A/N - Gah. I’m literally at a loss for words. This is almost 3 years in the making. My life has changed drastically since I started this. (I’m a mom, yikes.) I can’t thank you enough for all the wonderful support on this one. It was truly a piece of my heart in words. So yes, the end is here and it’s a little bitter sweet but I might visit these two again one day. I hope this is everything you have been waiting for. <3

HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat for her exceptional Betaing as always

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bucky asks, not for the first time, glancing worriedly down at your forearm.

“The surest.” You reassure him, fix him with your best full wattage smile and roll your sleeve up the rest of the way. The skin tingles in anticipation, or dread, and your heart thumps readily in your chest. It’s time, it says with each beat.

At your nod, the needle descends and the first painful line of change begins. Bucky shudders at the noise and keeps his eyes on yours, or more accurately, keeps them anywhere but on that needle.

“You know, for an Avenger, you sure are squeamish,” you joke, grab his hand and give it a squeeze when he doesn’t smile back. “It’s just a tattoo, Bucky. Barely even registers.” The tattoo artist catches your eye with a soft smile and you roll your eyes in a playful isn’t-my-boyfriend-cute kinda way. Boyfriend, yeah, it still feels weird to think it, let alone say it. Truthfully, the word doesn’t even come close to what he is to you. The word simply doesn’t exist.

“I know, I know,” the boyfriend in question says, “I just hate the look of it, s’all.” His mouth twists in that way that tells you he's still concerned and is probably going to be the entire time so you should just let him.

This moment was a long time coming. You had thought and thought about getting your scars covered, these ones in particular that made wearing short sleeves a nightmare unless you wanted to flash an unintentional Nazi neon to anyone in a 2 metre radius. At first, you held on to them as a reminder, something to keep your heart cold and cruel, and then you held onto them as a shield, something to keep you from growing and forgetting, to keep you from leaving that part of you behind and finding out what was left without it. Now, you ache to transform, to strip away the last of the darkness and move forward with the growing light. That light that Bucky has shined into your life with that stubborn heart and those same unrelenting eyes that warily watch you close this chapter of your life. It will always be with you, be a part of you, but you no longer want it to be you.

The tattoo itself, flowers chosen for their meaning, would now flow up your forearm with a soft wind replacing the haphazardly cruel branding you endured. Daffodils, meaning rebirth or new beginnings, and Irises for hope. Steve and Wanda had helped you with the design, the former brushing off his old drawing skills to do so and Tony had acquired the artist. Lee, a tall, severe looking man with the softest smile you’d ever seen on someone with a shaved head and ear gauges. He was kind and funny, and everything you needed to put yourself entirely in his hands with this precious piece of your history.

It takes roughly four hours and Bucky is tense for every single minute of them. Lee spends half his time smirking at you when Bucky starts pacing again or sighs a little too deeply, his intense discomfort is nothing short of hilarious in the end. The finished piece is breathtaking, Lee has taken Steve’s sketch and created something so incredible, you feel the breath forcibly taken from your lungs and words from your mouth.

“Wow. It’s perfect, Lee.” You stare at it unblinking before glancing at him. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He nods with quiet understanding and busies himself tidying his workstation. You turn to Bucky, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes and you try haplessly to blink them away, a few escape and Bucky steps up close to catch them with his thumb. His eyes reflect yours, and you wonder if it feels as significant to him as it does to you, looking at your arm and seeing that journey etched in colour, bright and beautiful and on display.

Bucky lets out a breath so large, it’s like he's held it the entire day. "It's beautiful," he says, after a long minute, "It's you."

It's still dark when you are catapulted from sleep, your sweet dreams stolen from underneath you in a swift movement just like the blanket so often is by your bedmate. It takes a second for the sound to match what you see, for you put the pieces of your reality together like a puzzle. He's dreaming again, Bucky, a bad one from the sounds being torn from his throat.

He's rigid beside you, muscles and ligaments all turned to stone despite his obvious turmoil. You suspect that it's a part of him that holds on to a sliver of reality, that fights to ensure he doesn't harm you, even now, when he's asleep. It doesn't shock you to discover that even unconscious, he's the best man you know.

"No. Stop. I can't." He says and the words curdle in the air. You wondered if this would happen, after today and his reaction to the tattoo. His need to protect you runs bone deep and so it’s impossible to run from the dreams on the days he considers you hurt, or hurting.

You smooth a hand over his face, gently and coaxing, "Shhh, Bucky. I'm right here. I'm with you, I'm safe." The magic words, you'd discovered, were less about his own safety and more about yours. Buttery promises that melt right through the brickhouse dream and pull him back to you.

He wakes slowly, blinks up at you with those sea storm eyes, rides the crest of a wave in between realities and then blinks again and lets the waters crease and slow, settle into a soft hum. You place a kiss to his brow and leave to grab him a glass of water, giving him a minute to settle so that he isn’t forced to look at you before he’s ready. When you return he's sitting up against the headboard with his body tilted like he's waiting for you to slot right in. He downs the whole glass quickly and then grants you a smile, the smile, the one that makes electricity wake up in the morning.

"Do you need anything?" You ask, like you always do, letting your fingers lace with his.

"Just you," he answers, pulls you gently to him so he can tuck your head under his chin and his fingers slot against your ribs, let's his breathing slow to match yours and his heartbeat to follow suit.

It's what you do for each other, when the need arises. Just quiet understanding and quiet support. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, you no longer feel like it's going to strip the skin from your bones or send you plunging into the dark. Now it feels like stitching a wound shut, or rubbing an aching muscle, leaning on each other in a truly honest way despite everything, or maybe because of everything, and it's...nice. There’s not a single part of you that you have to hide from him, or him from you, and that feeling is measureless. There were stars living inside your chest, burning furious and bright, a sunshine heart and a moonlit soul.

You stay that way long after sleep steals you both back, tangled limbs and tangled scars, and tangled hearts.

In the morning, his tired eyes are not weary, as they once might have been after such a night. Instead, they hold a promise of a smile inside, the saltwater seas are waveless. His smile comes easily, harbouring a quiet joy he has not yet shared and so you're helpless, swept away in it as his lips take your reason captive. He stops to look at you and you look back at this resilient, gentle man who didn’t try to hide or reconcile all the complex truths inside himself, just simply existed exactly as he was.

“What’s got your face looking like that?” You ask, letting your fingers slide along his jaw in a lazy, familiar way.

“Just realised somethin’” He smiles like he has the answer to a question you forgot to ask, continues when you raise your brows at him, “Bob isn’t sharing the bed anymore.”

Oh.

It’s true, you’d finally found yourself ready to put your gun into an actual gun safe and not within 2 metres of you at all times. Since the great revelation, as you so often thought of it as, you’d taken Sam up on his offer to join him down at the VA for the group sessions, finally unburdening yourself in a more controlled and productive way, taking your own small steps to recovery. It’s not a journey, the voice of Sam scolds, it’s a state of being. One you need to work on every day.

You make a noise of agreement. “Yeah. Didn’t really need him there anymore.” You admit, press a quick kiss to his lips and say, “Besides, they would need to get through you first. That’s why you sleep closest to the door.”

He laughs and smiles sheepishly, the admission dies on his tongue when you hush it with yours, the curve of his mouth when it smiles simply too tempting not to taste.

“There you go,” Wanda says as she zips your dress. “You’re ready.”

And you were ready. It was a date, a real date in a real restaurant with real people around you. You and Bucky had lived inside a bubble, protected and cosy, all bed covers and armchairs, netflix and books. He decided, or was reminded, that there were other ways to spend his time with you and tonight was to be the first. The first official date. It was exciting, and nerve wracking, and you tried not to hang your fate against the success of one night.

“Yeah,” you agree, let the hum of unreleased adrenaline settle over your bones in anticipation, “I’m ready.”

You're halfway to the door when you stop, sudden, and hastily turn back to your dresser, rummaging around with abandon until you find it. You gasp in triumph, clutch the glass bottle in hand and show it to Wanda.

“I haven’t worn it yet,” you explain when she casts you a confused glance. “I guess I was saving it.”

Hope. The scent you’d purchased all those months ago when Bucky had first arrived, when you’d felt the very first flutterings of it within your chest before you even recognised what it was. It feels apt to wear it tonight when all that hope has become reality.

“Hmm, well now does seem perfect, right?” She looks at you that way she sometimes does when her face turns into a mirror for your own feelings. It still makes you blink a few times, even now, when the feelings are joyful.

When you make it to the door this time, you hesitate, hand gripping the cold handle long enough for Wanda to softly clear her throat. She doesn’t ask, but then again she probably already knows. It’s been a while since you’ve worn anything this nice, the dress is really nothing fancy, it’s flattering and comfortable, but still entirely different to your usual workout clothes and lounge wear that Bucky usually sees you in. It still makes your hands clench and your heart flutter with nerves, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of feeling self-conscious. The same man has seen your very soul, after all.

He’s waiting for you with Steve, his back to you as you approach and so you have a few sweet seconds to admire the sturdiness of his shoulders in the shirt, how the fabric stretches and clings to his broad back and thick arms. Steve smiles when he sees you coming, gives Bucky a nudge and then watches him turn to you with barely contained glee.

When Bucky finally sees you, he looks at you with such fierce want, and love, that you nearly buckle at the sight of it. He smiles the smile that carves roots in your bones and stars in your heart. It’s only when you draw closer that you see your own eyes reflected in his, see yourself looking at him the way he’s looking at you.

“You look beautiful.” He says, quietly and just for you.

“Thank you.” You finally tear your eyes from his long enough to do a leisurely sweep of him, taking in that shirt and dress pants combo that somehow looks like it was how he looked all along, made for it. “You do, too.”

He laughs, like you intended, reaches out to clasp your hand in his without thought and those two actions combined are threatening to let too much of that feeling leak out of your chest, the one that reminds you that you need him too much, love him too much. It’s still terrifying, this kind of love.

You hate it. You don’t.

The restaurant is small, a quiet but cosy kinda place that has more candles than menus and serves things called “Mom’s soup special”. Its soft lighting combines spectacularly with the coved tables, each individual one a private getaway that’s filled with fluttering lashes and toothy smiles. Bucky ushers you forward and tucks your seat behind you as you sit, the gesture all too natural for him and not all like the forced way you’ve witnessed so many people do it before.

“This place is amazing,” you say, still glancing around with wonder hanging off your eyelashes, “how did you find it?”

“Oh, uh, Sam suggested it, actually.” He admits, tucks his chin a little before adding, “Haven’t actually been out to eat since, you know, melting.”

You blink at him stupidly, eyebrows gathering up into a frown. “But, didn’t you live in Europe? And Wakanda?”

“Yeah. Romania. Well, I was on the run so it was mostly tins of beans and whatever fruit I could find,” he explains, nothing of the painful memories showing on his face, even if they show on yours, “Wakanda was different. I spent a lot of time in the lab, and when I wasn’t, I didn’t exactly socialise. I wasn’t what you would call, fit for the public eye.”

You reach across the table to take his hand in yours, try not to squeeze it as tight as your chest is squeezing your heart. “I’m glad you're here,” you say, still marvelling at the ease at which he now opens up to you, how these things don’t drag you both down into the dark. “I’m glad I get to share this with you.”

He smiles, soft and pleased, “There’s no one I’d rather share it with, sweetheart.”

The pet name, or perhaps the casualness in the way he says it, makes your heart stumble in your chest. Once, a gesture like that would have felt entirely foreign to you, probably even a little pointless, but when it rolls off his tongue with such tenderness you find yourself with sudden understanding that no amount of Hollywood movies could ever show you.

If he notices your reaction, he doesn’t say anything. The rest of the meal is spent with easy laughter and enthusiastic eating, the staff leave you mostly alone but you catch more than one with a small, knowing smile on their face when they do approach. Caught in the feeling between you, your happiness that bubbles over and spills into every passing person so that their smiles mirror your own.

You had spent so long denying yourself, and Bucky, these feelings that the now freely given love is pouring, uncontainable, from you both with such force that you can barely stand it. All that effort that went into holding back, denying, did not transfer because in truth, loving Bucky was no effort at all.

You share a dessert, Bucky coming round the table to join you in what was surely just an excuse to be close, arm draped along the back of your chair, touching from knee to hip. You lean into him, letting his body heat soak into yours and his metal fingers dance along your shoulder. It’s quietly euphoric, and you know he feels it, too.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this.” You admit, turning so you can see his eyes when the words take shape, watching as those seas rumble against your meaning.

“Me neither.” He admits right back, turning to look at you the way he so often does, captures your mouth in a kiss, a lifetime's worth of affection hidden in the curve of his mouth.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, not really, but as you lay back against his chest and feel his heartbeat on your back, feel the way the beats of his match the beats of yours so precisely, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might.

Or perhaps, Fate saw the damage you’d both done to each other and decided to forcibly fuse those souls together. That those matching scars would fit perfectly together and prevent you both from spilling out onto any of her other plans or people.

As someone once said, “May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispers I love you in your ear and you think that you don’t care if it’s soul mates or fated or not. You know that you’d choose him every time. A fate selected by your own hand, or heart, and worth far more than dreams of paths forged for you.

TAGS: @manawhaat @theashhole @captainrogerss @higherfurtherfasterbby @peculiar-persephone @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv @angelicthor @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @mysweetcookie99

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

312 notes · View notes

happyandticklish · 4 years

Text

Grub Scars

Dave discovers something knew about Karkat and Karkat doesn’t entirely hate him for it.

The roar of the TV was muffled in the ears of the two teenagers sprawled on the tiny couch, their limbs entangled in messy disarray. Karkat grunted as two hands slid up his back, pulling him in tighter against Dave. His lips murmured breathily against Dave’s neck.

“You’re missing the movie.” He gently bit at the tender skin of his throat, a tiny thrill coursing through him at the noise Dave made.

“Fuck the movie,” was the casual reply and Dave pulled back momentarily to grin at him, shades askew from the impromptu make out session. He ran his hands contemplatively over Karkat’s torso, deciding a new target for his affections. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, silently asking permission. Karkat didn’t reply, turning to face the TV though it was obvious he wasn’t taking in anything the show was saying. Dave rolled his eyes at his stubbornness and slipped his hands under his sweater anyway.

Karkat hissed sharply at cold fingers but didn’t move away. Dave traced his hands over the soft skin of his abdomen, noticing something odd as he did.

“Karkat?” he asked.

“Mmm?”

“What are these lines on your ribs?”

Karkat’s eyes opened briefly, annoyed at being interrupted. “They’re my grub scars. All trolls have them.”

Dave sat back, all thoughts of making out momentarily flung from his brain as he studied this new anomaly. “Grub scars… like from when you were a baby? Or a larvae, I guess. I always forgot you guys are part insect too. Dude, that’s so weird.”

Karkat attempted to sit up, glaring at Dave, but was stopped by a hand pushing him back down. “We are not, part insect, as you say. If anything your insects are half-troll as they came second. And grub scars are a completely normal thing. They are no different than your ‘bellybuttons’ or whatever the fuck you call them.”

Dave wasn’t listening, poking the lines experimentally. They were raised in slight bumps atop the troll’s ribs and were of a ruddy complexion. There were three on either side and Dave traced his thumb over one curiously.

He didn’t miss the way Karkat jumped, nor the faint shade of red his face had turned. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, you useless excuse for a human being, and I would appreciate it if you would remove your filthy human appendages from my—ah!”

Karkat was cut off mid-rant as Dave curled his fingers, watching his boyfriend’s reaction. A knowing grin was forming on Dave’s face and Karkat winced in preparation for the coming attack. But instead of launching into a vicious, one-sided tickle fight, Dave continued to gently trace over the scars, his fingers ghosting the skin and sending shudders scurrying down Karkat’s spine. He watched Karkat all the while, checking for a reaction, and that was when Karkat knew he was trapped.

“You okay there, Karkat?” Dave asked, stone-faced as usual. Karkat gripped his hands tight in the cushions of the couch, trying to focus on the TV and failing miserably. “You seem kind of tense.”

“I’m f-fine,” Karkat replied snarkily, ignoring the stutter in his voice. “Now will you shut your incessant blabbering and let me enjoy the show we were originally watching before you decided it was time to board the train to make-out station.”

Dave snorted at the word usage, digging his nails in gently at the very edges of the scars and grinning as Karkat choked back a whine. “Like you weren’t enjoying yourself. And I believe it’s called make-out central.”

“I thought I told you to be quiet, so how is it I can still see your mouth moving and hear the irritating tenor of your hormonal voice cracks?”

“Point taken. I guess we’ll just continue in silence then.”

Karkat grunted.

The movie displayed two men shouting passionately at each other while another one nervously tried to console the both of them. It was inevitably leading to either homicide or filthy love making, either one disgustingly graphic in nature; it was difficult to tell with troll romance. However, neither of the two boys were paying any attention to the movie, nor had they been paying any attention since the moment the title screen rolled across the TV.

Dave was having a field day with the new discovery of grub scars, much to Karkat’s chagrin. At first it was just tracing, light and easy to deal with. After a while it almost began to feel good, and Karkat felt his eyelids fluttering sleepily and his breathing evening out into a relaxed hum of contentment.

At first.

Karkat jerked awake again as nails suddenly dug into his sides, a surprised squeak of laughter betraying him. Dave smirked triumphantly, having gotten the reaction he’s wanted.

“What the fuck Strider?” Karkat growled, his hands now clamped around Dave’s wrists in a vise-like grip. Dave’s fingers were still touching his skin, unfortunately, and they continued to wiggle gently which was succeeding at slowly driving the troll insane.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.” He curled his fingers in a devastating claw motion and Karkat’s eyes snapped shut again, hissing anxiously. “How come I didn’t know this?”

“I’m not ticklish,” Karkat denied immediately, but stuttered giggles were slipping past his lips as he squirmed under Dave’s touch. “You’re ticklish.”

It was a moronic comeback, but Karkat couldn’t think while his body was racked with the tortuous sensations. Dave’s cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink and he rolled his eyes. “Dude, lame. You totally are. You’re laughing right now.”

He was and he hated it. “S-Shut uhup. Just st-stohop.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Dahave, I s-swehear to gog—”

“Do the grub scars make it more ticklish or less ticklish?” Dave asked, ignoring him completely. His eyes gleamed with genuine interest while he waited for an answer.

“Y-Yehehes, you fuhuhucktard!” Karkat threw his head back as Dave’s gentle scratches turned into rough poking and prodding. “Gahaha, whahahat the fuhuhuck?”

“This is great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.” His fingers moved up just slightly, teasing at the barest edges of underarms, and Karkat lost it, kicking the back of the couch in frantic pleas. “I’m barely even touching you. This is kind of sad actually.”

“Fuhuhuck y-y-yohou, ehehe, nohoho, gog!” Karkat’s laughter had transformed into a storm of hiccupy giggles, an odd change from his usual gravelly grumbling. He had released Dave’s wrists and was now flailing his hands around uselessly, occasionally shoving at Dave’s arms to no avail. He jumped as the fingers found their destination in his armpits, slamming his arms down and subsequently trapping Dave’s hands there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, nohohohoho!” Karkat curled up into the couch, trying to dislodge the hands and only getting them more stuck in the process. “Stohohohop!”

“I can’t. You’ve got to lift your arms dude.”

“I hahahate y-yohohou!”

“Careful Karkat, I might start thinking you’re feeling black for me.”

“Fuhuhuck yohohou!”

After another valiant attempt to get away without lifting his arms, Karkat decided he had no choice but to retaliate. Having no plan of action aside from getting those damn fingers off of him, he reached out blindly and clamped his hands around Dave’s sides, squeezing harshly.

Dave let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter, jerking back immediately. Having accomplished his goal, Karkat decided revenge was due. He quickly tackled Dave, pinning his hands above his head with one hand and raising the other one in a menacing gesture over his stomach.

“So Dave…” he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead as he grinned. “Now that you’ve had your fun I think it’s time you face a taste of your own medicine.”

Dave squirmed underneath him, eyeing the hovering hand apprehensively. “Look, I’m sorry man, but think about what you’re doing.”

Karkat raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you ticklish?”

Dave flushed, an odd look to see on the normally stoic Strider. Karkat decided he liked the look. “No. I mean, a little. But so is everyone else. Look, the point is I’m sorry. Can we please just go back to making out?”

“Maybe later,” Karkat promised, lowering his hand. “But right now I think I have some well-earned revenge to dish out.”

The second his hand made contact Dave burst into laughter. His laugh was boisterous and carefree, nothing like the boy who it came from. He giggled uncontrollably as Karkat scribbled fingers all over his stomach, the sensitive skin jumping under the touch.

“Ahahaha! Fuhhuhuck, yohohour w-weird troholl nahails tickle, gohohod!” He arched up against the bed, arms tugging uselessly against Karkat’s hold, squealing when Karkat pinched his hips. “Gah! Nohoho, nohohot thehehere!”

“What’s wrong Strider? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Karkat was ecstatic. Here was Dave, master of cool, giggling like a wriggler under him at a little tickling. He tried not to focus on the fact that just seconds ago he too had been the dumb wriggler helpless to Dave’s fingers, and decided to move up to the ribs, seeing as that had been the start of all this trouble.

Dave jerked away, tugging desperately at his trapped arms. “Duhuhude, sohoho nohohot cohohohool!”

“You know, while we’re here I think it would be a good time to learn more about your species. Tell me Dave, how many ribs does a human have?”

Dave spluttered incredulously, struggling to focus. “Whahahat? Ihihi dohohon’t knohohow! twehehenty-fohohour?”

Karkat tapped his nails against the blond boy’s sides, shaking his head. “You don’t sound too sure, Dave. I think I may have to figure out for myself.”

“Whahahat—gahaha!”

Dave snorted as Karkat dug his nails in-between his upper ribs, counting as he went. “Let’s see. One, two, three, four—quit moving, asshole. Now I have to start over.”

“Karkahahahat!” Dave whined and fell back into squeaky giggles as the process repeated.

This was surprisingly fun. Karkat had never seen Dave laugh with such abandon before. He was always so obsessed with being cool or ironic or whatever dumb concept he was into at the time, and it felt nice to break him out of his shell.

As it turned out, Dave was even more ticklish than Karkat. Every spot produced more of that squeaky, high-pitched laughter, and Dave seemed unable to control himself as he squirmed helplessly underneath him, protests and pleas spilling out amidst the laughter. Finally Karkat decided to give him a break and backed off, releasing his grip on Dave’s wrists.

Dave was a mess. His shirt was mussed up all the way to his chest and he was breathing heavily, cheeks bright red from laughing. Somewhere in the process his shades had been knocked askew and they lay haphazardly on one side of his head, held on by one ear. Karkat’s own eyes widened as he took in the other boy’s eyes.

Red, bright red from mirth and accusations as they turned a betrayed glare on Karkat.

“Rude. I did not tickle you for that long.”

“Your shades.”

Dave blinked, realizing their absence. “Fuck.” He quickly grabbed them, shoving them firmly back over his eyes. “You didn’t see anything.”

Karkat grinned, already missing their presence. “You looked adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up man.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Dave tried to get up but found that Karkat was still firmly planted on his waist. He frowned, trying again. Nothing.

“Uh, you mind moving?”

Karkat shook his head. “I’m good. I quite like where I am right now.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“Yeah.” Karkat crossed his arms, taking in the sight of the helpless Strider before him. “I think I’ll have to have you like this more often.”

Dave snorted at the corniness of it, ignoring the flush of his cheeks. “Okay, whatever. Get down here and kiss me already.”

Karkat did, but mere minutes later his fingers found themselves tracing up the boy’s sides yet again and they found themselves emerged in a second round of ridiculousness that neither was entirely angry about.

#karkat strider #tickling #dave strider #homestuck #tickle fic #fanfic #davekat

59 notes · View notes

thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 4 years

Text

Picrew Rabbit Hole Part 2: THIS ONE THO

It's so goood!! It has so many options~~

Made some of my babies: Emmeline, Liv, Arinn, Alex, Daero, Myla and Gali.

Eventually I'll do a second round with Blue, Shae, Rhyss, and any others I forgot.

I did these on my phone but am posting from my laptop and of course on a different screen the colors look different..oh well, yolo.

Images and notes under the cut! Content warning for blood, scars and implied nudity in some of the images.

Emmeline

Pretty close!! I'm happy they had her beauty mark and some nice soft loose clothes for her.

Liv

This one might be my favorite out of the whole batch. She's so fucking Done and I just love her.

Arinn

Got as close as I could. There wasn't a lighter lip option, the freckles are a little too dark (or possibly the skin is too light now that I’m looking at it on my laptop, gah. It’s so hard to tell how these are going to look on different screens) and too many freckles, and his horns are much smaller. Still, I think his little attitude shines through.

Alex

He's just chopping veggies, nothing to see here.

Oof, this one was tough. While this picrew is very gender neutral overall, many of the options leaned more feminine, so getting him to look how I imagine was a challenge. None of the hair quite worked but this is the right length at least. And they have 3 body size options so I got to give him nice broad shoulders~

Daero (with bonus!whump version)

Close???? They didn't have lavender skin so I went with gray. I forgot his freckles in the first one. His horns are smaller than this but they do curve back. His hair is a darker purple but this was closest. Gave my boi some jewelry bc he likes shiny things. Then took it all away and beat him up.

Myla

Implying "mermaid" without a tail visible was easier than I thought. They have gills and ear fins!! The colors are all a tad off but close enough, I'm very pleased with this one overall. Don't let that soft look fool you, she's a fighter.

Gali

Same deal, had to rely on fins and gills, but I'm happy with her. :) Her hair is a little darker and fuller than this and the face shape and body type are a little off as well but again, pretty close. Doing this made me want to write more of her and Myla~

#long post #picrew #my ocs #emmeline #liv #alex and arinn #daero #myla #gali

12 notes · View notes

azuchifairy · 4 years

Text

The Corpse Bride

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13672392/3/The-Corpse-Bride

“Big blue eyes, captivating, enticing, yet strange..”

this chapter is dedicated to @unvalley

Chapter 3: His Mother’s Ring

Gray was steaming with anger, “I can’t believe his nerve. Why can’t he ask me what I want?!”

He kicked the ground watching the stones roll over and the leaves rustle. Shoving his hands down into his pockets he continued into the forest. He tried to clear his head but it was inevitable that when he went back he was going to meet a potentially worse fate. It had finally dawned on him, how he was supposed to live his own life when he was just playing along with his father’s wishes? Gray wasn’t looking for a wife, he just wanted her to come along when it was supposed to happen. What he really wanted to pursue was his immense talent in magic, like his mother. When Ur tried to show his father Gray’s skills, he waved it off regardless of her opinion.

His fit of rage had him distracted until he noticed something about his surroundings. With nothing but the sound of the rain in his ears he looked through the trees. There was a sensation that someone was watching him, and it was completely undeniable. His shoulders tensed and he tried to look through the trees and the rain. There was nothing to catch the rain above so it was hard to make out exactly what he was seeing, but it looked like a dark shadow floating above the ground only a few feet away. It took him by surprise when it’s red eyes glowed in the coming darkness that he jumped back. When his foot landed, it crunched something instantly.

He looked down to his foot and saw a bone cracked in half that looked too large to be that of an animal. Taking his foot off and rotating to his left he saw where the bone had originated and thought for a moment that he was dreaming. Only inches away sticking out of the ground was a human skeleton with many of the bones cracked and eroding away. Gray gasped in horror and stepped back quickly, almost losing his balance.

“No way..that can’t be..” He said in disbelief. Intertwined with the sound of the rain were the cawing of crows that landed on the thicker branches of the bare trees. Their black eyes bore down into him as lightning flashed overhead. Gray shook his head vigorously, still convinced he could be dreaming, but when he looked back down to check if the skeleton was still there more had appeared.

“Gah!” He shouted with his whole body now on high alert for escaping. Being amongst the dead was not a good omen, it was one of the number one rules amongst magic users. Do not tamper with the dead. Chills ran down his spine from the rain drenching his suit and the temperature dropping. He never felt bothered by the cold, but this was different from cold.

He spun around trying to remember which way he had entered the forest, yet received no sign of where it was. All he could think of is trying to get out before he ended up like one of the skeletons in the ground. Then out of nowhere he felt a pressure on his shoulder that felt like someone had their hand there, however from his peripheral vision he saw no such thing. An eerie laugh could be heard resonating through the forest, definitely from a woman. His heart was beating loudly in his ears and his throat felt so dry. The only thing he could think of was breaking into a sprint.

He hoped that the forest would break and he could get the hell out. Of course he didn’t want to be around his parents, but he preferred them to skeletons and shadows. The rain seemed to let up slightly and Gray heaved out another breath from how hard he was running. The suit was clinging to his body making it even harder to move in that he needed to take a breather before continuing. He leaned against a tree trunk and turned around to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Then it appeared again, the butterfly from the entrance. It floated around him leaving a trail of frost in its wake giving him the instant fact that it had to be his mother. He lifted his finger out watching its wings flap through the air towards him. The butterfly landed on him, twitching its antenna slightly when it perched comfortably.

Gray whispered to it as he panted, “C’mon mom, help me out a little, just here. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll get me out of this place.” He always believed that his mother was listening and watching for when he needed help.

Just as he was going to turn around again to check he saw something curious on the forest floor. The butterfly flew off his finger in that moment and dipped down towards the object before it fluttered away. As he bent down to get a closer look he noticed it was a ring. It had a brilliant blue gemstone and a silver band that looked very familiar. It was gorgeous and his curiosity got the better of him when he realized it looked similar to his mother’s wedding ring. Gray picked up the ring and held it up to see it better. The rain washed off any dirt that was on it, but it was in perfect condition, like time hadn’t touched it. All fear left his mind from the notion that something was connected to his mom.

Suddenly the gem on the ring began to glow and shine beams of blue light through the trees and rain. Gray cried out and dropped the ring while trying to cover his eyes from the blinding light. As he backed away he tripped over a tree root and fell backwards into the dirt. He groaned in the mudd shaking his head from the residual light that had bothered his eyes. Oddly enough the rain subsided as if someone turned it off and the clouds lifted to reveal the full moon overhead. The feeling that someone was watching him had left as well and it was replaced with a gentle presence. Gray lay there gazing up at the moon when he heard a soft sound and pressure over his heart. As he sat up further, there was a woman slowly lifting her head off his chest with groggy eyes.

She held her head for a moment, as if she was in pain and then raised her head slowly to see Gray and her eyes grew wide instantly. She took in a small gasp and looked around as Gray stared at her gazing downwards to her hands on his chest and her body placed between his legs. She appeared strange, her skin was slightly grey in color and her hair was a delicate periwinkle shade with deep blue eyes to match. She was in a white dress as well that looked a bit tattered at the end but seemed to resemble a night gown.

When she looked back to him and their eyes connected, he felt a blush on his cheeks. Not only could it have been from her chest touching his and the pressure of her body on him, but she was beautiful despite her strange appearance. She was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, he couldn’t pin why he felt so breathless. Her eyes were so big and curious as she looked at him yet also bashful as if she didn’t know what to say. He was frozen in his place only holding up his body from his elbows.

“Who are you..? Where did you come from?” He asked finally.

“Juvia is...” She glanced down shyly, “you are.. Juvia’s fiancee.” She picked up her ghostly pale hand to show him the blue gemmed ring on her finger. He was certain it was his mother’s, but he had absolutely not a clue what it was doing on her.

“Fiancée?! What? Wait, I don’t even know you?” Gray exclaimed in fear noticing her inch closer. She stopped abruptly, “But our souls connected, so now we are to be connected through marriage as well.”

“But I don’t-!“

“Oh! Your ring fell off!” She said and suddenly she reached behind him to pick up his ring in her fingertips. He watched her take his hand with a sweet smile, not even knowing he had dropped the ring. Gray didn’t stop her as she slid the ring on his finger and an ethereal blue glow radiated around both their rings.

“With this ring, Juvia makes you hers..” she said in a soft tone. At first it sounded like she was joking and he was just stunned in place.

Suddenly the glowing got brighter and then stopped all together. The silver band felt like it was glued to his finger and before the panic settled in he tried to pull it off. No luck, it really was stuck on him. Gray thought he was losing his mind. He thought he was dreaming, like his father caught up to him and knocked him over the head. That’s what he was seeing, she wasn’t really there, neither were those skeletons earlier. She couldn’t be. It just had to be some kind of dream. He tried to keep himself calm, if she really was there it had to be the work of magic so magic could make it right again.

“Oh..” she said breaking him from his thoughts. She was gazing down at him thoughtfully, “Juvia spent so long in the dark.. that Juvia forgot how beautiful the moonlight is.”

The soft light on his face captured all his features, including a small scar above his brow. His dark eyes reflected the glow of the moon and doing so captured her heart entirely. She felt like all that time she had missed him so much.

“In the dark..? Hold on just wait one second. What are you talking about?! Who are you? And why is this stuck on me?!” He persisted in frustration.

She laughed and his heart skipped a beat, “Juvia told you already, silly. Oh! But what should she call you?”

“G-Gray.. just Gray is fine.” He said bashfully looking away even though she didn’t answer his other questions.

“Well, of course. ” She gushed in a dreamy voice. She noticed that he couldn’t get up because of her, “Oof, sorry, couldn’t help myself..”

As she sat up and she rested her hands on her knees and watched him get up onto his feet and brush off his now muddy suit.

“Gray-sama, you already look dressed for a wedding! So you did come for Juvia after all!” She cheered holding her face. “How soon can we get married?”

He tried his hardest not to groan while he wiped his face in exasperation. It seemed like the topic of marriage just continued to follow him everywhere and his day just got even harder. In his foul mood he would've been faster to show attitude, but he already knew he would feel bad if he snapped at her. The only thing truly protecting her was her connection to his mother. With a sigh Gray ruffled his damp hair back into its normal style, “Keep dreaming, come on get up.” He said holding his hand out to her, “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Her eyes twinkled at him as she took his hand and he helped lift her up from the ground. She stumbled forward like a fawn however, and he caught her against his chest making him blush.

“Juvia’s sorry, Gray-sama. My legs, they hurt a little..” She said with her eyes lulling slightly. Leaning her head into his chest Juvia was instantly calmed by his warmth and scent alone.

“Juvia?” He asked as she tried to push herself up. He heard her wince softly and before he could take another breath he was catching her in his arms. Her body was limp and she was excessively cold, in a way he had never felt before.

“Juvia!” Gray shouted, “Damnit, she fainted..!” Now he had an entirely other problem on his hands as he lifted her up in his arms like a bride. It was then he realized she didn’t appear to be breathing. Gray swallowed hard fearing there was much more to this than meets the eye. The entrance of the forest was suddenly visible again and the trail of the butterfly was seen leaving the trees.

***

After Gray went through the painful stealth mission of getting Juvia into his estate without anyone seeing him, he laid her in his bed. She looked so peaceful, like she was dreaming. He moved the blanket up over her and paused for a moment noticing the ring on her finger looked different from before. The gemstone no longer shimmered like it did when he first picked it up, it was still pretty nonetheless but it lacked the brilliance he remembered.

A knock on the door startled him, “Is that you young master?” the voice of a servant said.

“U-Uh, yes it’s me. I’m just about to change!” He yelled over his shoulder running towards the door before it could open. He cracked it slightly and smiled awkwardly at the servant.

“I’ll let your father know you’ve arrived safely once he returns, is there anything I can do for you?” The servant asked looking rather skeptically at Gray. He had to have noticed that he was full of mud and soaked.

He swallowed hard, “Just make sure no one comes in here for the moment. I need to be alone. That’s all.”

The servant nodded, “Whatever you wish.”

Gray closed the door as the servant walked away and sighed in relief. Leaning up against the door he checked on Juvia again to see her curled up on the bed still fast asleep.

He knew he needed to consult his mother’s journals and some books she kept that might help him understand what Juvia was before she woke up. They were up in the attic where many of his mother’s possessions were stored. As he left his room closing the door very carefully he was greeted by the person he wanted to see the least at the moment.

“Going somewhere, Gray?” they asked with a smirk in his tone. Gray sighed heavily and turned around to see his step brother, Lyon Vastia.

“None of your business. I’m in the middle of something that I have to fix.” Gray said pointedly and noticed a pink haired girl next to Lyon who stood innocently by.

“Oh come now Gray. I bring my fiancée here for you to meet and you can’t spare a second? This is Meredy, and this is the Gray I’ve told you about.” Lyon said.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Lyon always has a lot to say about you.” Meredy giggled.

“Whatever he says isn't true. Sorry, I’m just caught up at the moment. Nice to meet you but I really have to go.” Gray responded curtly.

He pushed past both of them and headed up the stairs to the third floor of the house. It was rarely visited by anyone unless they were adding to it so Gray would be able to privately search.

Lyon and Meredy watched as he rushed off and shrugged to each other, “Gray usually likes to get himself mixed up in impossible situations.”

As they were about to pass his door they heard a soft yawn and the pair looked at each other curiously.

***

#gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gray x juvia #fanfiction #anime #anime otp #corpse bride #azuchifairy #fairy tail

50 notes · View notes

kaahaani · 4 years

Note

3. I love how easily he gets jealous LMAO boy is so in love and such an idiot about Shin-Jae, it warms my heart 😂😂😂 and I loved just how much Tae-Eul was pushing his buttons in this one 😂 4. LG PINNING HER DOWN IS MY WEAK SPOT YESSS 😩😩❤️ 5. - “The change from comfortable to aroused always seemed to happen very quickly when she was around him.” I love our thirsty queen!!!

I am guessing Tumblr ate #1 and #2 because I don’t see them. *creys because tumblr is robbing me*

First of all, YOU ARE AN AMAZING HUMAN BEING. Your reviews and fangirling literally give me life, I just can’t!

#3: I LIVE FOR JEALOUS LEE GON! Tae-Eul was so oblivious the first time, and you know she’s going to tease him like she did to lighten the mood when she saw his scars. I had to have her push his buttons. #4: same girl sameeee, I have a thing for him pinning her down too...there’s something very sexy about it?! #5: I mean anyone would be thirsty if their man looked like THAT. *fans self*

#6. GAHHHHHH, I love how you notice all the little things I am giddy about when I write. Hahaha. OMG YESSSS, I should add a chapter in the smut series about the jersey, I forgot all about it hahahahaha! YOU’RE SO CUTE?!

I LOVE THESE SOFT IDIOTS TOO! I need to go write more smut after reading this.

#8: He missed the whole “hickeys” phase teenagers go through so he’s making up for it hahahaha. HE DOES IT A LOT?! Her stylist has to get super creative and change her outfits around whenever she notices a new hickey (I think I referenced it during the Chapter 6 of TPC as part of Tae-Eul’s dream hahahaha). #9: I feel like she was always “one of the guys”, she says most of her friends are men, I feel like she thought she was too cool for relationships growing up?! But I believe she dated casually but was never invested enough to take it the distance (like 2-3 dates max). And then she’s always at work it seems, and doesn’t seem to have friends prospects outside of her friend group? SHE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE HER LITERAL BEST FRIEND IS IN LOVE WITH HER?! He asks her and is very jealous of all the men she’s gone out with, she calls him silly.

I KNOW HE’S A DORK AND SHE LOVES IT AND WE LOVE IT AND THEY LOVE EACH OTHER THERE IS SO MUCH LOVE. Gah. Tae-Eul is probably like “I can’t believe I am like this, I am enjoying this man being possessive”. Hahaha.

Hahaha, I wanted to end on a cute note and I love their banter. The initial episodes where she’s always talking down to him and yelling at him are so entertaining! I love both jealous and possessive LG as well!

Oooooh, I am really interested in their dynamic, Tae-Eul can totally also be the “dominant one” but I feel like LG would take the lead initially. I MEAN THE BEHEADING KISS?! She looked so taken aback and he just attacked her? Also, he has control issues with people touching him and Episode 11/12 where he’s kinda dark has me feeling ALL KINDS OF WAYS. It balances him out I think?

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU FOR MAKING MY DAY 100 TIMES BETTER! You are the sweetest human being ever and it’s really kind of you to take so much time to tell me what you like. It makes me so emotional omg, I feel like I have second-hand hormonal problems from writing about pregnant JTE LOL.

#replies #tkem #anastasiaromanovas #hypewoman #fanfic: a series of wicked events

51 notes · View notes

tfw-no-tennis · 4 years

Text

mtmte liveblog issue 36

time travel arccccccccccccc yessssssssss

I have been waiting SO LONG to reread this arc hhhhh yessss

starting off strong with the sexy roller cover. nice

I love the disconnect of ‘orion pax: outlaw’ compared to the last time we saw him in shadowplay where he was orion pax: supercop

he’s still punching people for JUSTICE or whatever so I guess not much has changed

oh my god this is the issue with the many many two-page spreads...the first time I read this issue I didn't realize that was a thing and GOD I was SO fucking confused. there's already a lot going on in this issue/arc but this made things so much worse hvbhjkdfbsk. I powered thru and still managed to understand most of the arc despite reading half this issue out of order (essentially) bc the website I read it on split the pages up and I couldn't tell they were supposed to be doubled (and also I'm dumb so I didn't figure it out)

anyways, the actual issue...windcharger is out here using his powers to rip a dudes arms clean off. wow!

and there's skids getting punched in the face. Ls

and glitch! a totally minor character of course...

MANNNNN I SO adore the panel of all the lost lighters appearing in a cloud of purple smoke, all posing epically....SO fucking good, peak sci-fi coolness vibes, A++

as usual jro killing it w/the titles, ‘elegant chaos’ is such a great name for a time travel arc

also reading the tfwiki has shown me that many of jros titles are song or album titles, to which I say - that's epic and I love it. with jro doing it, I feel like it straddles the line between referencing music and the very fanfic-esque ‘title things after music’ vibe. I love it

oh god I forgot they use bs cybertronian time units in this sometimes lmao...I mean of course they do but still like, what the fuck is a cycle. is that a day. I feel like these words all have no meaning/the meanings change drastically depending on continuity. I cant keep up and also I'm lazy and don't care enough to try

I love rodimus did u know

poor riptide looks so confused lmao

IS....IS REWIND PIGGYBACKING TAILGATE...THATS SO FUCKING CUTE....I cant fully tell bc of the page layout but ooomg so precious. minibot buddies

whirl saying ‘chuff’ just reminded me how british jro is hvbhakjhdsfbs sometimes it just Jumps Out in mtmte and I'm like Oh God Britain Is Real

I really like the mtmte approach to time travel and paradoxes and whatnot. its just complex enough to be interesting but not too convoluted that it bogs down the story. perfect sci-fi fun!

mannnn chromedome talking abt brainstorm :( I'm sad abt those two hhhhh

and I love how at this point, nobody in the cast ACTUALLY knows brainstorm well enough to know what he’s really doing - including chromedome, who’s ostensibly his closest friend, somebody he’s known for a while - and even the readers don't really know what he’s up to...I like the mystery tbh

cant believe rewind wrote orion pax’s biography, omg. completely forgot abt that detail

cd saying ‘I love it when he talks history’ about rewind....hhhh I love cdrw so muuuuch

godddd the line rodimus says abt whirl - how they need people like whirl around who are ‘happy to get in the way’ of danger and death - that shit haunts me man like...rodimus is basically saying that he’s bringing whirl along to potentially die in place of someone like orion pax (nevermind the fact that whirl dying would ALSO fuck up the timeline)...like, how deep does it go?? is he saying that bc he knows whirl has been trying to get himself killed for a while now, or just bc whirl likes violence? mannn I cant...the character intricacies...man

anyways...I love rodimus he’s such an interesting character. you have that fucked up moment and then in the next panel he’s saying ‘if you want to call it a time phone, I wont stop you’ about the quantum walkie-talkie. he has the RANGE

oh and then rodimus casually volunteering chromedome to do mnemosurgery on anyone who might accidentally find out about them time traveling, which is again fucked up on multiple levels. the raaaaange

vjaksbhdhfusajbfdjk that panel of the lost light squad just standing there like idiots reminds me of that post where someone said abt that panel ‘these characters have a collective 3 brain cells’ or something hvbjadkfnksfdl

rodimus IMMEDIATELY breaking his own rules by trying to reassure pax that they're good guys by pointing at his autobot badge, even tho the autobots DONT EVEN EXIST YET at this point...my boy PLEASE go purchase some brain cells from the store

and the fact that rodimus introduced himself to pax w/his real name...shouldn't he go by an alias or st??? that seems like a good time travel rule since optimus and rodimus definitely know each other later

and like, did they not anticipate that some of the people in the past would recognize some of the lost lighters hgbajkhdjfnjksf like cd and whirl get Instantly recognized...great job guys

they are all SO bad at this hvbahskjdhfbasjkf I cantttt luckily for them the orion crew is handing them easy alibis

‘the dugout’ is that a baseball reference????

also I love the scenery here, the bg looks like rock but there's metal piping and stuff running thru it, its so cool...really adds to the whole ‘cybertron biomes are made of metal’ thing

‘ancient history’ rodimus are you KIDDING ME-

cyclonus time travels to the past and IMMEDIATELY finds a window to stare broodingly out of. icon

tailgate thinking orion pax is SUPER COOL continues here from shadowplay and I love it...tailgate is so cute

and the tg saying ‘don't you think that's awesome, cyclonus?’ hhhhh so cute

one reason I love this arc so much is that this is the arc where the gay Really amps up

TRAILBREAKER.... oh man ;_;

are you telling me that this outlaw base they're in has ONE bed for all of these people. what the hell vhbaksjhfnsal

cant believe rung sampled roller’s steroid juice box

also cant believe robot steroids exist. except yes I can and I love it

oooh roller’s a 0/1%er? I forgot abt that

cant believe orion pax just grabs some random phone that belongs to these weird new people and answers it. WHO does that

goddddd megatron and orion’s conversation....destroy me

HHHHHH like...the HISTORY....the regret...the missed opportunities...its all so palpable....goddddddd

and of COURSE, the whole thing is steeped in tragedy...the ideological differences that will become the foundation for a 4 million year long war...megatron, who believes that you need to burn things down and start again to really make change stick, and then orion, who says ‘reform is the answer, not revolution’....AUGHHH the intricacies. mannnn

‘you sound lost’ 😭😭😭

‘its tragic.’ yeah, that about sums up their relationship, especially at this stage and in this continuity

anyways. [cries about old man megatron talking to young naïve orion pax] goodbye

AUGHHH and then we jump to rodimus ONCE AGAIN breaking his own rules and trying to save trailbreaker...IT HURTS MAN...god I love rodimus, I feel like him being broken up about crewmembers like trailbreaker dying is one part regular sadness over people he knows dying for tragic reasons, and one part personal guilt at someone under his command dying, even if he’s not involved/at fault. I love the dichotomy of this emotional reaction that comes only partially from empathy/emotion, but also comes from a kinda self-centered need for success as measured by people under your command staying alive. and taking into account rodimus’s life it totally makes sense that he’d act like that...GAH I love it. the complexity of it all!

orion pax saying ‘you should read [megatron]. it’s powerful stuff’ I'm screaming, so many LAYERSSSSS

I fucking love time travel AHHHHHHHHH like the opportunity for interactions like these....chefs kiss

‘hey, best friend! miss you!’ rodimus is such a shit hvbdajkfksjhfd

‘very sus’ rodimus ahead of his time w/the among us lingo

oooh and then they realize that the senate is trying to kill the sparks...gotta save the babies!

tailgate scolding cyclonus for bluntly stating that you'd wanna be subtle when killing newborns...hhhvbhsdfhhhhhh I love them sm

ooooh and rewind has an interesting suggestion - that the senate is actually trying to irradiate the sparks into being outliers...rewind is so smart I love him

and the fact that he’s using history from his database...love it

rodimus sending cyclonus and whirl out like pokemon

ROLLER NOOOO DONT GO OUT THERE

also wow this is literally the 5th (I think) double page spread in this issue...the confusion I felt the first time I read this...lmao

and now this is literally one of my favorite issues so I'm glad I know what's going on lmao

oh man rodimus telling cd not to erase trailbreakers memory even tho that could jeopardize the entire timeline... :(

oh man I didn't even notice but roller getting debris blasted into his face like that makes the whole ‘roller is tarn’ theory even more legit considering tarn’s face scars....

‘tighter the better’ hhh don't say that orion. but also, that’s the companion phrase to megatron saying ‘the deeper the better’ hvbhasjkhdfbaksjlf

I do love the semi-campy action hero antics that orion pax gets up to. its just so fun, even when the stakes are high and things are serious

‘this is the greatest thing I have ever seen’ tg ily

THE REVEAL THAT THE SPARKS WENT TO NYON...so rodimus just saved himself, basically...time travel is so trippy

GODDDD ND THEN TRAILBREAKER...HVHHHHHh 😭😭😭 THATS SO CRUEL MAN

oh man that last panel of trailbreaker holding up roller’s juice box...iirc the first time I read this I thought that was roller (cause of the juice box I guess? idk I'm an idiot) so I was like oh ok he must've come back or something. very much related but I didn't really think about tarn being a particular pre-established character and totally didn't read the whole ‘roller is tarn’ thing that was going on

which in my defense ruth also didn't pick up on any of that while reading this and eventually like 2 issues before the reveal I had to prompt her like ‘you should maybe be wondering WHO tarn is’ vhbahjksdfbaksjdf

so! issue 37! this issue is a solid favorite of mine, id say definitely top 5 or even 3. I'm super biased bc I fucking LOVE time travel, it’s seriously one of my favorite tropes ever, and this issue hits all the time travel beats I love. characters traveling to the past and interacting with people they know! conversations that have multiple meanings bc of TIME TRAVEL! trying to save someone who meets a terrible fate in your future! fun time travel action! the time traveling characters being generally terrible at hiding the fact that they're time travelers! ITS SO GOOD.

and I love the clever way everything is tied together here - where we get a nice continuation of shadowplay, with this taking place shortly after that with a lot of the same cast, and time travel classics like the good ole ‘if we hadn't travelled back in time and done what we did, the future we came from wouldn't have existed at all,’ in the flavor of ‘rodimus saving his baby self’ and ‘rodimus NOT saving trailbreaker’ and ‘everyone forgot about roller :(’

ok but like, did the lost lighters just go ‘oh well, guess rollers gone now.’ like they DID realize that the outlaw crew would have no idea what happened to him if they got their memories erased, right?? did the lost lighters figure that since roller never reappeared after this time period, that was how history was ‘supposed’ to go and they shouldn't mess with it? am I overthinking it? as usual: yes, probably. I love overthinking about comics, in case that wasn't obvious

basically...I love this issue soooo much. so so good and a bunch of fun tropes that I love. I mean the whole arc is like that for me since I love time travel so much. so I cant wait to (re)read more!!

#lj rereads mtmte

6 notes · View notes