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eligaxy · 3 years

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Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

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Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact scenario #venti x reader #venti x traveler #venti x lumine #venti x aether #el writes♡

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stoneworldsimp · 3 years

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what’s mine is not yours —a request

platonic senku x reader

warnings: swearing, anxiety, talk of insecurities and worries, gender dysphoria

your name!

YOUR NAME!

your hands slapped to your ears, eyes shut tight. i can’t take this so early in the morning.

the voices from your dream had lingered longer than you would have liked. it reminded you it was time to face another day, to endure another long long day and night of hearing the wrong things.

maybe if i went and lived on my own again…i wouldn’t have to deal with it—no. senku needs me. he needs me…what does he need me for again? you rolled onto your stomach; your pillow rustled as you flopped it on top of your head. he doesn’t need me. i’d rather be lonely than hear everyone say some bullshit about me.

everyone in the village knew you as a miss. yuzuriha made you more neutral clothes upon request, but everyone assumed you were tomboyish. luckily, no one read more into it; it was nice to dress comfortably, but it was like no one else understood. why were they still calling you a girl? and the older folks, you knew they meant well! but you couldn’t help but feel like their constant “sweet girl”s were making fun of you at this point.

i can’t do it, i can’t do it, they’re making fun of me right now, as i think. as i exist!

you felt a tear trickle down the side of your nose.

oh, you’re kidding. crying? again? is this—

a knock on your door halted your thoughts; you quickly flipped back and sat up in your bed on the ground of your hut, and wiped your face quickly. you lightly slapped your cheeks to stop yourself from continuing crying.

“yeah.”

“it’s me. can i come in?”

senku’s voice brought some sort of relief; personally you felt it was better for him to come in at such a time than anyone else.

you took a deep breath. “sure, but i just woke up. i’m staying under my blanket.”

senku laughed behind the door. a small shove was made and it opened, revealing a quite chipper senku. he liked to come early in the morning when the rest of the village was quiet.

his smirk faltered once he saw your face. you believed you hid your crying well; you didn’t think to check your red eyes or stinging cheeks.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his words much gentler than when he asked to come in.

damn. how could i not realize i was so obvious?

with a deep breath, you whispered, “senku.. we’re pretty good friends, right?”

he snickered. “of course we are, way more than that asshole gen.”

his voice was closer. you laughed as well, and wiped your eyes clear. he slowly walked over and sat down on the floor next to you. senku was looking at you, really looking at you; it was intense, almost if he was making sure his closeness or anything about his presence wasn’t bothering you.

“okay…i’m about to say a lot of stuff. let me know if you need me to explain more, or if i’m talking too much. or—“

your words halted as senku put a hand on your shoulder, a smile light on his face. “all ears.”

you smiled back softly. “okay. so—back in..our time,”you gestured between the two of you with your hands, “i told my family and friends i was, uhm… nonbinary. like i don’t feel male or female, i use they/them pronouns; all that good stuff. still feel that way now. and, for quite some time, they didn’t believe me. not in a direct ‘you’re lying’ way, but more of ‘i don’t understand it therefore you shouldn’t understand it’ type of thing. i got a lot of shit from people who weren’t my friends, too. but with my friends’ support and getting more confidence after coming out, my parents were able to kinda see it. but yeah, it took quite some time. probably like.. eight months? even then, i had to remind them constantly, ‘not a daughter. please don’t call me she or he. please don’t call me a woman.’ but we were getting there. and right when we got petrified, right when it happened, i saw the look on my mom’s face.

“we were talking about me and my identity and it was like something had clicked in her brain. like, she knew exactly what i meant and how i felt when i said what it meant to be nonbinary. i don’t even remember what i said specifically, but i remember her expression as if she were standing in front of me right now. i was so hopeful i’d see her again, her expression got me through my petrification and even helped me break out of it. but of COURSE, i didn’t ever see her again after i woke up. and then i almost lost my own sense of self after being by myself for probably a year.. i was under the assumption i’d never meet another person again, so when i did run into your village—i had this gross feeling of dread. and i realized it was the same feeling that basically lived inside of me before i came out.”

you sat up straighter and looked away from senku. “it’s like, i have to rebuild my identity all over again. people always say you shouldn’t care about what other people say, but i can’t help it. i’m a sensitive person. i get hurt easily, no matter how hard i try to thicken my skin. they all, they all just use ‘she’ and ‘her’ and ‘that girl’ so often, it feels like they’re making fun of me, like they’re constantly telling me i’m not who i say i am. and i can’t tell them senku, being nonbinary was confusing for so many people in our time, i hardly believe they’ll understand it now. sure, my parents were fine, but it took a while before they got it. i can only imagine how long it’ll take for everyone here.”

senku was quiet. have you over explained yourself? was it too overbearing? in all honesty you’d only been good friends with senku a short while; you should have waited at least a little bit longer before letting him in on something so personal—

“it all, it all kind of makes sense now.”

huh?! “what?”

“what you told me, i think i get it now.”

you gave him a look up and down. it was possible, but you didn’t think there was much of a chance that senku would be so..cool with it. not right away. you expected some form of silent treatment for at least a day or two, so he could collect his own thoughts.

“i’m gonna say something, and i need you to listen. yeah?”

you stared at him like your brain short-circuited. what the fuck is he gonna say to me.. oh god, he doesn’t wanna be friends anymore. but he’ll be too nice to kick me out of the village. but it is his village—

“hey, hey…are you with me?” you both sat facing each other now, and his hands rested on your shoulders.

just hear him out. “yeah. all ears.”

he smoothed your shoulders with his thumb. “you’re just as valid as everyone out there. i know you’re scared, but believe me when i say they will not be mocking you in any way. sure, it might take a while for them to understand, but theyre not going to give up just because they dont get something right away. it took me a few months to fully convince this village i could help them, and even then, there were still a few who didn’t fully understand the experiments and contraptions i made until a while later. i know that isn’t the same as your situation… but what i’m trying to say is that they will try their best to know you, the real you. they aren’t going to mock you; if anything, they’ll have lots of questions to ask you.

“also, you have me, you have gen to help out in case you don’t have the capacity to answer everything yourself. i’ve a few things about gender before the stone world, and gen definitely knows a lot of things that are relevant to it as well.

“everyone here… they’re all so eager to learn, i highly doubt they’ll be unaccepting. they’ll be curious. and they’ll be happy you’re letting them in on something that is so important.”

tears had made their way down your face and on your clothes halfway through his mini-monologue; you didn’t notice him continuously wiping them away until he was finished. “it’s going to be okay. trust me.”

with a quiet sob, you pushed yourself into his arms for a hug.

“thank you.”

you knew he wasn’t particularly one for any type of physical contact, but he gladly accepted. for the occasion, he thought. his arms slowly wrapped around your slightly shaking body as you tried to calm down. neither of you spoke for a few minutes; only your soft sniffles were heard in the hut.

“senku, i think that was the most i’ve heard you talk about something that wasn’t directly related to science,” you laughed into his neck.

he laughed back. “i had a lot saved, since there were moments i could tell you were kind of uncomfortable. i didn’t want to force you into talking about it either, so i just waited. tried to figure out what i was going to say. it had to be good.. you are one of my closest friends, after all.”

both of you embraced each other a little tighter. “i hope all of this helped, i want you to live here with none of those worries. especially after so many months of having it bottled inside.”

you nodded in response.

today.. today will be the day i tell everyone not to use what they used to call me; that won’t do at all anymore.

today, i’ll tell everyone my name.

#dr stone #dr stone x reader #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku #senku ishigami #dr stone imagines #dr stone scenarios #senku ishigami fluff

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #AHHH this is just over TWO THOUSAND words #i really was like for the last prompt i will not Shut Up lmao #also fun fact! part 4 was specifically designed to not be clear whether it was from jon or martins perspective

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nightfall-kachiniko · 3 years

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‘ A Broken Promise’ Mikasa x Reader Fanfiction || Angst.

||| Chapt.4 「 FINALE. 」 “The Loss of Freedom of the boy who fought for it,”

﹋「 This contains MAJOR AOT Spoilers for the manga, please proceed with caution. 」﹋

“AGH!” Shit. You felt your body falling through the air, blurred vision as You screamed. Something just- hit you, and you had not a clue what it was. Your leg felt numb, almost like it wasn’t there. “Y/N!” Jean called out to you. his voice getting closer as You felt my body hit his arms. “Shit you alright!?” He asked. Gritting your teeth as your focus came unblurred. The sight infront of you, terrifying. Dozens of titans, more than the nine shifters. So much blood everywhere. Remembering the injury, you looked down at my leg to see a big gash in it, blood falling down into the atmosphere.

“There’s- so much… screaming..” Tears fell down your cheeks. “The titan won’t stop..”

「 This is a time skip to this part. 」

Falco’s titan took you four up in the air. You , Mikasa, and Pieck who can’t turn into pure titans. The people below emerging into titans as you all soared higher. Turning around, you saw Armin fighting Eren in his titan form, his punches no avail to Eren’s.

“Mgh…f-fuck..” You jolted your head as you heard Mikasa murmur. “a-ahh..” She let out in pain. Mikasa’s hand laid rested on her head, her teeth gritted as she suffered.

Her headaches.

That’s what’s happening. Mikasa told you about them once when you both were only cadets. You often helped her through them, letting her lay on your lap as you stroked her hair, giving her comfort. But, that’s all in the past now. You guys are done. Hell, and so is the world..

“I’ll kill him, Help me.” Your Ex’s voice said. “Alright,” Your Captain said. “Y/n, Don’t let Armin accidentally hit us,” He commanded. “And Don’t get caught up with Reiner and Pieck!”

It was all chaos. The explosion of the thunder spear hitting Eren’s teeth left a ring in your ear. Everything is too much..You thought. I- I don’t know how much longer of this I’ll be able to take..

I need someone. I need something. You shut your eyes as you landed on Armins shoulder, stumbling because of your broken leg. It was a relief to be close to him. He turned his head over at you, looking at your tear stained “THEY’RE GONNA DO IT!” You screamed, telling Armin. “THEY’RE GONNA KILL EREN!” Your eyes fell saddened. Everything went blank for you. The screams of children, mothers, fathers, the elder. People who didn’t deserve it, their screams getting more and more faint with every crush. I just, want it to stop.

Eren’s colossal fist punched Armin as you saw Mikasa and Levi heading for the mouth. Bracing your self you gripped your ODM gear tight hanging on.

Please, God just make it Stop.

And then all of a sudden, you blacked out.

Opening your eyes, you saw eren standing right infront of you. He looked into your e/c eyes, guilt and regret on his face. Your eyes widened as you saw him. “Eren…” You said, “y-you… you BITCH!” You sent your hand flying across his face, every ounce of anger inside of you you let out in that one punch. He let out a groan of pain, “YOU’RE SUCH A TRAITOR! YOU’RE NOT ANY BETTER THAN ANNIE BERTOLDT OR REINER! DO YOU NOT SEE THE PEOPLE YOU’VE KILLED!” He held his cheek while after being knocked to the ground.

“ARE YOU STUPID!? DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW MUCH THIS HAS AFFECTED US!? DO YOU EVEN CARE!” Tears spilled down your cheeks like a waterfall.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE KIDS WE WERE! THE KIDS WE USED TO BE!”

“they’re gone now,” he replied, looking at your angered mess. You gritted your teeth just looking at him. “You are such a dick.” You growled at him. “Y/n, I know how you feel.”

“WHAT!? YOU KNOW HOW BAD IT HURTS SEEING MY FRIEND SINCE I WAS EIGHT KILL MILLIONS OF PEOPLE!? DO YOU EREN?!” Heavy breath as your screaming continued.

“Y/n,” Eren said. “Make sure she kills me,” His sentence caught you off guard.

“AND YOU… what..” you replied back, your eyes widening.

“Right now we are in a place called the paths,” Eren explained. “I need you to make sure Mikasa kills me,” you looked at him like he was crazy. “Eren, you’re fucking nuts.” The man infront of you eyes glimmered the same as they did as when you were a kid. “I- I don’t want you dead.” You confessed. “You deserve it like hell though! What the hell would your mother think!” You shot at him. “She’d be disappointed in me,” He looked down at the sand beneath you two. “DAMN RIGHT SHE WOULD!”

“Make sure she knows I never hated her, and that she was like family to me,” he said biting his lip. “Don’t tell her I said that, but-“ You were confused, “What are you talking about, we are in the middle of a war you created and you started! We were all at peace till you snuck off to Marley 3 years ago! You said you hated us, that we weren’t ‘free’ you called Mikasa a slave and said that that’s the only reason why she fell in love with me because she’s an Ackerman!”

“Y/n I’m going to tell you this, I did it to protect you.” You scoffed, “did it to protect us my ass, you betrayed us Eren,”

“I know you hate me, but, y/n live your life after this war.” The boy said. “Huh? The hell you getting at? You basically dropped us like flies Jeager! It’s almost like you don’t want us apart of your future”

“No! That isn’t true!” Eren looked up at you, tears flowing down his eyes with pain in his voice. “I did this all so you could have a future! I never wanted to leave you guys! Ever! I wanna be there for you and mikasas wedding! I wanna be there when you have kids! I just..” Eren gritted his teeth, ribbons of water running down his cheek “Nevermind that..”

You sighed, tears of your own forming up in your eyes, “Please, just come home.” You begged. “I can’t,” He said numbly. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“We love you Eren, we just want you back.. that’s why Mikasa fought so hard to change you..” you sniffled. “There’s nothing that can happen now, I promise, it’s none of you guys fault,” You sighed, “Eren..”

“I love you all so much, It was worth it.” He said, a small smile on his face. You pulled him into a hug as you cried. “Y/n, I’m so happy for you.. You’ve been through thick and thin and you’re still standing.”

“I just want you here.. with us,” you wiped your tears. “ I always am,” Eren put your hand to your heart, doing the salute. “Always,” his gaze more soft. “Until we meet again, Y/n L/n,” the boy said.

“ See you later, jeagerbomb.”

You were snapped back into reality only to see It ended. Everything. The screaming. The titans they just vanished. And the war. It was finally over. Oh shit is Mikasa okay?! You thought. Swinging your ODM gear over to Eren’s body you landed inside his mouth.

Mikasa stood there, her body still, as she held up the head of your childhood best friend. Eren Yeager. ‘She- finally..let go..’ she let go of the person who was her only family left. Running through the town of Shiganshina together. You four played hop scotch, fought of Armins bullies, captured butterflies and fire flies. The memories of when you all were kids was the only thing you could think of. She let go.. so it’s time for you to as-well.

Mikasa turned around slowly, her face numb, neutral. The head of Eren in her hand as she held it up to the air, frozen. You gave her a reassuring smile, “I’m.. so.. so..proud of you..” You limped, walked up to her as you cupped her cheek. Her eyes looked up at you, realization in her gaze. All of a sudden she wrapped her hands around your waist, she buried her head into your shoulder. Tears flowing down her eyes.

“You freed him baby..” Sniffling you said, “I know deep down, he thanks you.. you put him out of pain Mika…“

“I never wanted to hurt you.. I never wanted to...” Your girlfriend confessed. “I’m so..sorry..” she choked, tears building up in her eyes. “I love you mikasa,” you replied. “I love you too... “ The Raven Haired woman hugged you tighter, fighting back tears. “I just.. wanna..go home..”

“Then let’s go..” you whispered softly to her. She picked you up as she started heading for the exit of the mouth. Finally after fighting for so long, we got our freedom.

Thank you Eren Jeager, the boy who sought freedom, Goodbye. <\3

“Waffles!” The child cheered out. A small chuckle was heard from the Raven haired girl that passed out breakfast beside you, “You’re right good job!” She said congratulating the baby that sat at the high chair. It had been three years since you gave birth to (Child’s name) Ackerman. Now here you both were, your year marriage anniversary coming up and your daughters fourth birthday right around the corner, seems you both had a busy schedule for the week. “Thank you love,” you kissed the cheek of your wife as she gave you your tea, “of course,” she smiled returning the kiss.

“Mommy, ummie,” the child with Raven hair asked with curiosity, “how did you meet?” You both giggled a little bit before looking at each other, “well, it’s a long story,” you said to your daughter who’s identical to Mikasa. “How did you get that thing on your face ummie?” Your daughter asked Mikasa, “Someone’s full of questions today huh?” She teased tickling her. The cute laughs of the sweetheart you gave birth to made you smile with joy. Mikasa scruffled up their hair, “how did you meet?”

Looking at each other you both smiled.

“Well honey, it started along time ago, with a boy I knew, named Eren.” :)

Your daughters face lit up in confusion, “Who’s Eren is it one of Uncle min min’s friends?” There was a knock on your door as she asked her question, “well that’s a story for another time, and I gotta get that it’s probably Armin and Annie with Glacious,”

“ummie can you tell me?” (Childs name) asked.

“When you’re older sweetie,” Mikasa smiled.

‘Eren jeager, God, I hadn’t heard his name in a long time’you thought. ‘That boy..’ you laughed to yourself, ‘he stood out from others,’ Eren, the boy who sought freedom.

Memories of him filled your mind as all that was left was his memory, and forever that’s all that will be left. ‘Eren, I know you’re watching from up above,’ you said to yourself.

but as the days passed, his face got blurrier and blurrier, and all that was left were memories of when you all were children in Shingansia District, waiting for freedom to soar.

And Eren, that crazed man, made it soar :,)

➪ Kachiniko ||♡︎ My Blog ♥︎ || ☾What I write ☽ 08/ 01/21

Chapt.1 “Come back to me,”

Chapt.2 “The conclusion”

Chapt. 3 That promised light, the string called hope.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

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lilacmeadows · 4 years

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Made For You pt.3

I’m so sorry for the late post guys! I had the most hectic work load today. I’m taking too many goddamn classes this semester. ANYWAY here is my filthy part 3. I mean... they still haven’t fucked, but we’re getting there. I think this can be wrapped in a nice little 4 part bow, but I also kinda want 10 chapters of them together because I’m a slut for this dynamic. This is my FIRST TIME writing smut! So go easy on me. Thank you so much for reading! - Savvy

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, underage reader (nothing sexual happens underage), stockholm syndrome, mentions of family death, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, SMUT, ORAL (m receiving), FLUFF, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

Word Count: 2300

It was a short ride to the compound, and y/n had a hard time keeping up with the fast walking team as they tried to explain little things along the way.

She hadn’t been outside in a decade. The grass was green and warm where it met her bare feet as she walked behind Sam and Steve. The rest of the team immediately left the quinjet, seeking the comfort of their showers and beds. Bucky was the last to leave, not feeling right about just disappearing from her, but keeping his distance.

Y/n was still so heartbroken. Hearing about her family’s death had really stung, and she knew if she dwelled on it, she’d cry about it for days. But all she really had time to be sad about was how cold her Soldat was towards her. It seemed very much like he didn’t want her around him.

Steve and Sam brought y/n inside the residential wing of the compound. They toured the common areas, kitchen, and showed her where everyone’s bedroom was. They finally got to a guest bedroom down the hall from Natasha, and left her to get cleaned up and comfortable.

Y/n looked around her new bedroom. It was barely decorated, but she had to admit, it was still much nicer than her room with the Men. She sat her yarn and needles down on a table and sat on the large bed. Her body instantly sank into it, the plush comforter conforming to her body in a way the single sheet never did on the twin bed she slept on.

But she couldn’t enjoy her new favorite place in the world for long because not 3 minutes later, she heard a soft knock at her door. She opened it, and much to her surprise, Bucky was standing there, with 2 pairs of sweatpants, and 3 t shirts in his arms.

“I figured you’d want some fresh clothes after you’re clean.” He said sheepishly, not making eye contact with her. “You can ask Nat about undergarments.”

That made her giggle the tiniest bit. “I’m not allowed to wear any undergarments.” But he should know that. She was trained to do things to please him, so wouldn’t he like her to not have on obstructing materials?

“Oh. Well, umm… you can now… If you want to. It’s up to you.” She could see the blush rise up his neck, coloring the bits of his face that weren’t blanketed by hair. She took in his attire. He obviously changed out of his tactical mission gear, in favor of the sweatpants he wore that looked almost identical to the ones in his arms. He also appeared to be freshly showered, his hair still damp, and if she looked close enough, she could see little wet patches on his shirt from where he didn’t dry himself completely.

“Are these your clothes?” She asked, taking the bundle from his arms and opening her door wider so he could enter her room.

“Yeah, Steve went a little overboard on the shopping when I first got here. They’ll be a little big, but the pants have a drawstring, so it should work for now. Until you get something better.” He stood awkwardly in the middle of his room.

Y/n didn’t know what possessed her to put the sweatpants up to her face and inhale deeply. She just felt a primal urge to know what he smelled like. Gunpowder, wood, and something naturally male- Bucky. She couldn’t stop the moan low in her throat.

Bucky watched her as she did that. He felt his pants tighten just at the thought of her in his clothes, and the way she just smelled his pants and let out that sound of satisfaction, made him want to take her right there.

“Thank you, sir.” Y/n replied. Fully engulfed in her embarrassment.

“Y/n, you really don’t need to call me that. I’m just Bucky.” He reminded her. Honestly, he loved when she called him Sir- the authority it gave him, but it made an unholy amount of blood flow directly to his cock and he couldn’t think as clearly. Especially when she looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

“Okay, Bucky.” She said, trying the name out on her tongue. He liked the way she said it. “If that makes you happy.” She risked a step closer to him.

“You need to do what makes you happy.” He took an equally measured step back, knowing he was close to giving in to her temptation.

“I’m working on it, Bucky. But I need your permission. I just wanna be good for you.” She said, quickly taking 3 more steps until she was about 6 inches from his face.

“This isn’t right, Y/n. You don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. Hydra wanted this. You don’t have to belong to me.” She craned her neck up to be closer to his lips, but he was determined to reason with her before he does something he can’t take back.

“But I want to belong to you. I thought about you every day for 10 years years, Bucky. And I hadn’t even seen you.” Bucky tilted his head down ever so slightly, their lips were just shy of touching. “Let me be good for you, Bucky. Let me make you happy.” She repeated.

“Okay.” Was all he said. He expected their lips to touch then, but she was already down in her knees. None of her videos showed passionate kissing. She wanted to please him in the way she read about in her studies.

On her knees, Y/n was able to see the thick outline of his erect cock very easily, and couldn’t stop the involuntary moan. Just as she did with his other sweatpants, Y/n pressed her face against the bulge and inhaled deeply. Between the smell that was just so him, and the warmth of his clothed cock rubbing on her face, she was starting to go feral for the man standing in front of her in complete shock.

Bucky hadn’t been with a woman since before the war, and they definitely weren’t like this. He watched as she was damn near purring while she rubbed her face on him. She reminded him of a kitten, the way she open-mouthed kissed the line of his cock through his sweatpants. Then she pulled them down, and he felt her wet tongue roll around the fat tip.

“Shit, Y/n, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do you want me to stop, Sir?” She said, taking another lick from base to tip.

“God no. Fuck.” he groaned as she started put his balls in her mouth and sucked, hard. “But if you keep working me like that this is definitely gonna stop.”

She moaned hearing him fall apart above him- finally fulfilling her destiny. Making her Soldat happy.

“Fuck, Babydoll, you’re so good at this. Where the fuck did you learn this?” He asked, more to himself than to her, seeing as she started bobbing and swiveling her head. He wanted to put his hands in her hair, but ultimately decided not too. If he was gonna let this happen, it had to be at her pace.

She had never seen a cock in person but she knew he must be above average, her tongue counting 3 thick veins running up the sides and bottom of it. Trying to remember everything she saw the women in the videos doing and all the descriptions she read in the erotic literature, she hollowed her mouth around him and flattened her tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Fucking hell, Babydoll you’re doing so well for me. Y/n, shit.” She felt his cock touch the back of her throat and gagged around the intrusion. Spit mixed with precum rolling down her chin. When she looked up at him, her big eyes meeting his, he lost it. She could feel his cock harden just a little bit more, and his balls tightened, right before he released his heavy load into her throat. She backed up a little so it wouldn’t go straight down, she wanted to feel him on her tongue and taste him. Once she was sure she got every drop, she sat back on her heels and looked up at him. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue a little so he could see his cum sitting on it before she swallowed it all with a soft moan.

“Did I do good, Sir?” She said, still sitting in front of him, his cock softening in her face as she watched the anatomy work in fascination. She reached her hand out to touch it, really appreciating the feel and warmth of his skin. He groaned loudly at the overstimulation and the sound of her normally smooth voice, now rough from the number she did on him.

“Fuck, Y/n, you did so good, Babydoll. You’re such a good girl.”

And in that moment he felt like he could pass out. He wanted to vomit because he looked down at her face and saw the innocence still in her eyes. Good girl. He remembered saying those words to her before. So long ago. He saw a flash of a memory of rubbing a little girl’s head before knocking her out. Carrying her to her house and tucking her in her bed, before stroking her face one last time and leaving. He remembered how Hydra fried him so hard after that mission, they were afraid they killed him. She looked different, older, but it was the same eyes. Definitely her. And there that same girl was, on her knees for him, and just gave him the best blowjob of his life.

He tucked himself back into his sweatpants. Part of him wanted to run away. He was ashamed of himself. He knew that he should have turned her down and left before anything could happen. He took advantage of her. But he also knew that if he just left now with no explanation, he would be an even bigger asshole. Times like that made him miss the simplicity of not having control over his life.

“Y/n, you did such a good job for me.” He stood her up, pulling her in for a bone crushing hug. This confused her, because she never saw the aftermath in her videos. It was always brutal and then the woman was just left there. But he was so gentle with her as he tenderly stroked her hair and lowered his lips to hers for a kiss.

It was the absolute least he could do. He wanted to kiss her- he wanted to reciprocate and make her see stars, but his mind was racing. Debating if it was a good time to tell her about their previous encounter, wondering if she remembered him and was acting, or if she had no idea that he’s the reason she was kidnapped. And even though he didn’t kill them, the reason her family is dead. Selfishly, he decided that it would be best if he told her another time. He hadn’t experienced intimacy like this in so long, and Y/n’s lips felt amazing on his.

He finally broke the kiss to give her air, knowing she doesn’t have the lung capacity he has. “Do you want to have dinner with me?” He asked, not wanting to rush her into anything else. He knew he’d be going to hell for it, but he needed to be around her.

“I would love to, Sir.” She said with the biggest smile her face could muster. He swore he’d never get tired of seeing that smile. Feeling her tits press against his chest through the thin cotton layers of both of their clothes. Hearing how she moaned just a little when he stroked her jaw. He could feel his brain going fuzzy from just the intoxicating proximity of their embrace as they hugged, swaying slightly and exchanging sweet kisses in between longing looks.

“Call me, Bucky.” He gently reminded her. For his sake, really- his self control couldn’t handle her constant submissive nature. “I’m gonna let you take that shower, and in the meantime, I’ll go order some take out. Do you like chinese?” He asked, putting some distance between them, to prevent her from noticing how he was getting hard all over again and dropping to her knees for round two.

“Chinese people? I don’t know any, but I’m sure they’re lovely.” She replied, a little confused by his strange question.

Part of him liked that he wasn’t the most clueless person in the compound anymore. When it came to texting and pop culture, he was useless, but Y/n was held in captivity. She didn’t have takeout, or dinner dates, or freedom to shower with nobody watching her. He would be able to teach her those things, and he liked that. Someone needing him for more than violence. Someone to take care of.

“I’ll just go order the food. I’ll be back soon, Babydoll. There should be shampoo and conditioner in the shower with towels and all types of other stuff. Just look around a bit.” He said before he walked out of her room. She had never experienced moisture between her thighs like she was in that moment, so a shower was probably a good idea.

Part 4

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#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #stucky #the avengers #the avengers smut #steve rodgers smut #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #dark!bucky barnes #bucky fluff #chubby!bucky #winter soldier smut #winter solider x reader

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dameronology · 4 years

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best friend {javier pena x reader}

summary: after finally calling it a day on a bad relationship, you turn to javier for comfort

warnings: mentions of alcohol + smoking, swearing

i was listening to best friend by rex orange county when i was writing this so i guess it’s loosely based on it? it’s definitely where the title came from. i hope you enjoy!

- jazz

Javier hated pulling all nighters - he especially hated them when it was Friday. Everyone else at the office was either going out to drink or going home to spend the evening with their families. The sounds of music and laughter that surrounded the outside of the DEA offices only acted as a reminder of how lonely he’d become; because, even if Colombia was the source of much of his grief, for others, it was their home. Their happiness and their life. Both of which, these days, seemed to be things he struggled to find

That wasn’t to say that his life completely lacked enrichment. Between the antics of you and Murphy, and the progress you were all making towards capturing Escobar, things weren’t all that bad. Especially you. He didn’t entirely know what your presence in his life meant, but it was a hell of lot. It felt like he’d finally started to see his life in colour when you were assigned the desk beside his. Your energy and your wit enriched everything, even if 99% of your relationship consisted of taking swipes at one another,

If there was one thing he was grateful on nights like these, it was that the DEA apartment building wasn’t too far from the office. Murphy had clearly gotten home hours ago, because his car was in his spot and the lights to his unit at the front of the complex were dimmed. Your own vehicle was a few spaces over from Javi’s, terribly parked (as per usual) and barely between the white lines. At least he could take comfort in the fact that both his friends had made it home safe.

Or, you’d at least made it the front steps of the building.

Javier almost did a double take when he saw you, a half-burnt cigarette in one hand and a completely empty bottle of wine in the other. You were slumped against the railings, eyes glued to the floor in front of you. He knew had it been a rough week - there had been a lot of bloodshed and not a lot of progress - but he hadn’t realised it had been that bad. And you would have told him, right? You told him everything. Literally everything. Probably more than you told your own damn boyfriend (who he hated - not that it was important).

‘Jesus.’ Javi didn’t bother to offer you a greeting.

You looked up at a him, a hazy smile playing on your face when your eyes met. ‘Agent Pena! How are you doing?’

‘You never call me that. I hate it.’ He muttered, dropping onto the stairs beside you. ‘Please don’t tell me you drove home like this.’

‘God, no.’ You snorted. ‘I drove home then went to a bar with Tom.’

‘How is he?’

‘Him? Yeah, we broke up.’ You casually shrugged. ‘So then I brought some wine and realise I left my keys.’

‘Oh, honey.’ Javi murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t give me that, Jav.’ You elbowed him slightly. ‘I know you hated him.’

‘Guilty as charged.’

Javier stood up, moving the bottle aside and sticking his hand out to you. He didn’t exactly relate to what you were going through. Mostly because he didn’t get into relationships, or that he was always the one to end them. He hadn’t really known heartbreak in the conventional sense. Sure, he’d felt a pang in his chest when you first introduced him to your now ex just over a year ago, but that wasn’t loss. It was just..something he didn’t want to think about. It was a can of worms he’d been pretty good at keeping shut, and he was not going to start sorting through it at 1AM. He was far from drunk (unlike some people) but hours and hours of paperwork and chain smoking had fogged his brain. Right then, you needed a friend, and that was something he could be. Though you hadn’t shared all that much emotion together - mostly just careless banter and harmless teasing - your jobs had bonded you for life. You’d certainly witnessed a lot of twisted things, and it meant that you and Murphy were the only two people in the world who truly understood the kind of thing he dealt with. And, with all due respect to Murphy, you got on Javi’s nerves a fuck ton less.

You tangled your fingers with his, letting him drag you up off the steps. Stumbling for a moment, you gripped onto his shirt for balance. It felt like somebody had taken a baseball bat to your head and to your stomach. Whether you wanted to chunder or faint first, you didn’t know. The only thing you could think about was the warm arms wrapping around your waist, and the feeling of Javier’s body being flush against yours as he pulled you against his side and guided you into the building.

‘Where do you think you left your keys?’ He gently asked. He didn’t say anything when you slumped further against him, all your energy staying solely on walking and not falling.

‘Thabar.’ You murmured.

‘Huh?’

‘The bar.’ You repeated. ‘I’ll go back in the morning. It’s fine.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be awake before midday.’ Javi chided.

He held you there for a moment, fumbling about for his own keys, before kicking open the apartment door.

His place wasn’t bad, but it didn’t feel that far off of a show apartment, or the window of an Ikea. It was identical to yours, except you’d actually made yours homier. Javi’s, meanwhile, looked exactly as it had the day he’d moved in. None of the furniture had moved, and the television had probably been turned on a total of twice. Whilst your place was covered in photos and personally belongings, his was filled with bottles of whiskey and strewn leather jackets. He did have one photo hanging on his fridge; it was a Polaroid of him, you and Murphy, chilling out at your favourite bar. You were in the middle of them, practically hanging off their arms with a grin on your face. Javier would never let either of you actually know how much you meant to him. He couldn’t deal with the teasing.

The next few moments were a blur of you dropping onto his sofa, hitting the leather with a thump. He tossed a warm blanket over you, before helping you kick off your shoes and taking a seat beside you. With the alcohol making you more brazen than usual, you didn’t think twice about curling against his side, and Javier didn’t think twice about letting you. He knew better than anyone that sometimes, a hug was the best medicine - so, he tossed an arm over your shoulders, pulling you towards him in a similar manner to how he had done in the hallway. The smell of his aftershave was gentle, mixed with a faint smell of cigarettes and the mint hand cream he insisted he didn’t use. It was just...Javi. And you loved it.

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ Javi gently asked, thumb rubbing circles over the bare skin on your arm.

‘I dunno what there is to say.’ You murmured. ‘I saw it coming. I definitely saw it coming but I just...I thought he was it you know. I mean, you probably don’t know because the one for you is whiskey and cigarettes-’

‘- is this an attack on me or your ex?’ He joked.

‘Right, sorry.’ You peered up at him through hooded eyes. ‘Just hurts, y’know? Because for all his flaws, he’s probably as good as I’m ever gonna get.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ He reminded you. ‘That man never deserved you.’

‘He wasn’t that bad, Jav.’

‘Remember all the times you were in a bad mood because he was late, or because he didn’t turn up to a date?’ His brown eyes flickered, staring at the blank wall ahead. He didn’t mean to overstep, or to be protective, but it was just that it you. And that was reason enough.

‘He was trying his best.’

‘If that’s his best, then he’s in trouble.’ He snorted.

You groaned, flopping further down into his chest. ‘It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. I don’t need a man to survive but maybe thats why I get through them so quickly.’

‘You’re not the problem.’ Javi said.

‘My mum always said I was too much to handle-’

‘- you’re not.’ He cut you off. ‘If they think you’re too much, then they’re not worth your time.’

‘There’s seven billion people on the planet. There must be someone, right?’

‘You don’t need to find somebody. You’re more than enough on your own.’ He said. (What he meant to say was: you don’t need to find somebody, but it’s okay if you want me).

‘I know.’ You murmured.

A silence fell over you. Javier wasn’t entirely sure what to say, because every time he tried to go over the possibilities, it kept ending with him declaring that he was the one you should be with. It made sense logistically.

You didn’t like to be looked after, but you always let him. You both had the same job, so you both understood the struggle. The spark between you two was fucking immense and there was always something to talk about. It was hard to find a single reason not to be together - except for timing. And timing was kind of everything, especially when there was so much at stake. How much of it you needed, he didn’t know. That wasn’t even calculating in the fact that it would take Javier at least thirty more cycles of convincing himself to tell you before he finally took the plunge.

‘Thank you for helping me tonight.’ You sleepily mumbled.

‘Always.’ Javier replied.

‘I’m trying not to fall asleep on you-’

‘- go ahead.’ He cut you off with a soft chuckle.

‘I appreciate you.’

That was the last thing you managed, before sleep completely overtook you. This was new ground for your friendship - physical touch, deep conversations, Javi teetering dangerously close on the precipice of enlightening you with his feelings. The bottom could even have the best landing ever, or the worst. Was it worth the risk?

Javi peered down at you, completely enamoured at the sight of you quietly snoozy, hand splayed out on his chest and eyes screwed shut. This could be an everyday thing. Domesticity and closeness and you. He could feel his chest physically hurting at the feeling; at the prospect of having you. Like, actually having you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, brown eyes flickering up to the ceiling. That was when he knew in his very soul, the answer to that question.

You were worth every risk.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena imagine #javier pena fluff #javier pena x you #javier pena blurb #pedro pascal characters

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hopelesshawks · 4 years

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History of Us Part 3- Introductions

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You trudge downstairs already dreading meeting new people. Aizawa had assured you your last name would be kept under wraps but it still feels like it’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out who you really are. There’s a reason you dye your hair, your natural coloring is too recognizable and it’s a bitter reminder of a man you actively wish to forget. For years you hated looking in the mirror until you finally convinced your mom to let you dye it. Kirishima had been kind even after finding out but Kirishima is kind to everyone. You seriously doubt everyone is as much of a cinnamon roll as he is, especially if he-who-shall-not-be-named recognizes you and blabs to everyone like the little bitch he is.

As you walk into the lounge area it’s just your luck that you spot him first. It’s like a hit to the chest, physically stopping you in your tracks. Suddenly you’re that sobbing, confused eight year old all over again, just wanting to understand how her best friend in the whole wide world could turn his back on her when she needed him most. Kirishima calling your name snaps you out of it as you roll your eyes and make your way over. If Shoto doesn’t recognize you then fine, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it’s upsetting you. You drop onto the couch unceremoniously in the small space between Kirishima and Bakugo, causing the blonde to shoot you a glare and huff as he and Kiri are forced to adjust themselves to make space for you. You give him a satisfied grin once you’re comfortable, which only causes his scowl to deepen more, before suddenly multiple unfamiliar faces are hovering right in your field of vision.

“Have none of you fucking heard of personal space?” you snap instinctively, feeling closed in. They seem unperturbed by your temper, instead a boy with long black hair and a wide toothy grin comments “You really are like Bakugo!” “Don’t compare me to that angry Pomeranian,” you scoff. “Hah!? The fuck you just call me half and half?” Bakugo immediately retorts, crimson eyes glaring you down as his palms spark in warning. “I called you an angry Pomeranian. You deaf or something? That why you fucking yell all the time?” you fire back as black shadows start to curl off your right hand like smoke. “You little-“ Bakugo starts to threaten, looking like he’s seconds away from launching into you and starting a proper fight, but both of you are distracted by the delighted laughter of the others. “I love you already! Name’s Mina Ashido,” the pink girl, Mina apparently, introduces herself. “Glad we’ve finally got someone who can keep Bakugo in check. I’m Kyoka Jiro,” another girl introduces. Your mind whirs as you process more and more new names. Denki Kaminari is the other blonde. The boy with the long black hair is apparently Hanta Sero. All of them introduce themselves with both their first and last names. You will not be following suit. “I’m (y/n),” you reply simply. “No surname?” the eager blonde, Denki you remind yourself, asks with a tilt of his head. The gesture reminds you of an overexcited puppy. “Nope,” is your simple reply. “Why not?” he presses. “Because I said so,” you shoot back, raising one eyebrow. To your surprise he immediately drops the subject and moves on. “So why’d you transfer?” he asks. “Moved too far from my old school,” is your quick reply. “How d’you know Kiri?” “Fatgum’s agency.” “What’s your quirk?” “Jesus Denki it’s not an interrogation. Let the girl breathe,” Sero cuts him off with a laugh, shoving Denki to the side a bit so that Sero becomes front and center in your line of vision. He openly gives you an appraising look from head to toe before saying “Don’t mind him he’s a little nosy. The better question is: are you single?” You can’t help but bark out a startled laugh at the boldness of the question. “Your laugh, while beautiful, is not an answer,” he grins. “God you guys are the worst,” Jiro groans with a roll of her eyes, “you don’t have to answer that.” “Thanks,” you laugh before turning back to Sero to say “but for the record I am single,” with a wink. Your laugh turns into a full on cackle at the way his face goes bright red. “Don’t tell me you can dish it and not take it,” you tease him. “Oh he definitely can’t take it,” Mina giggles before launching into a story to prove her point, much to Sero’s chagrin. A small part of you starts to hope that maybe this year won’t be so bad.

The sound of your laughter draws Shoto’s eyes to you. It’s such a stark contrast between how you’d looked when he last saw you. Guilt crawls up his throat like bile, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. You’re different from when the two of you were little. Harsher. More acerbic. He’s not entirely surprised but it still saddens him. He wonders if things would’ve been different had he ignored his father’s warnings about you. He wants to ignore his father’s warning now. He wants to march right up to you and apologize for everything, lay himself out bare to prove to you he never wanted to abandon you, but something holds him back. He thinks it might be cowardice. God, how would he even begin to apologize? You were having such a bad time you moved to an entirely different prefecture and he did nothing. Of course you hate him.

Shoto is brought out of his musings by Midoriya nudging him, a questioning look in his green eyes. Midoriya would know how to right the wrongs of the past. Or at the very least would probably be able to give him some ideas. But to fully explain what had happened he’d also have to explain your father and reveal your identity. Judging by the fact your last name wasn’t even given on the list of students Aizawa gave Iida, you must be trying very hard to keep that information confidential. It’s really not his place to share and he’s hurt you quite enough already. Maybe he can talk around it a little bit though. “Midoriya, hypothetically, if you had hurt someone greatly many years ago and now had no idea how to start apologizing. What would you do?” Shoto finally asks after thinking carefully over how to phrase his question. “Hypothetically?” Midoriya asks skeptically. “Yes. Hypothetically,” Todoroki confirms. “Well I guess it depends how bad what I did was,” Midoriya hedges. “It was bad,” Shoto replies immediately, face darkening at the admission. “In this completely hypothetical scenario,” Midoriya replies with a knowing smile. “Yes exactly,” Todoroki says as he clears his throat. “Well I guess I’d start by just doing little things to show I’m sorry until we were both ready to talk and I could apologize properly,” Midoriya offers. Shoto nods thoughtfully as he mulls over Izuku’s words. Small things. He could do small things. “Hey, Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya prompts causing Shoto to return his attention to his friend. “Whatever you did to (y/n), I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think. She’ll forgive you eventually,” Midoriya assures him.

A loud boom causes both of them to jump in their seats, eyes seeking out the source only to land on you and Bakugo almost literally at each other’s throats as the two of you tumble over each other, the crowd around you still laughing at whatever had incited the tussle in the first place. Both of you look damn near feral, causing Midoriya to gulp. “Probably,” he amends, “she’ll probably forgive you eventually.” Todoroki nods almost solemnly. You may just kill him before he gets a chance to apologize. That doesn’t mean he can’t at least try though.

A/N: Am I back to daily updates on a fic again?? Maybe??? We’ll see lmao. It was fun to write more of the class and their dynamics but omg there’s so goddamn many students in class 1A idk how Horikoshi keeps up with them all 😩 also M*neta got kicked out for sexual harassment in this version of events, I refuse to write that little nightmare lol

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso

#hopelesshou #todoroki smau #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #shoto smau #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n

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lokust · 3 years

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Lore Olympus Tickle Headcanons!

I’m going to start with some side characters and then go into Hades and Persephone so enjoy this.

Eros

May come as a shock but I think Eros would be a true switch.

Loves being the lee or the ler in really any situation.

Absolutely loves to get Psyche all giggly, but he will not try to run away from retribution in the slightest.

As far as teasing when he’s in a ler mood, prefers the casual teases.

“Oh is this a bad spot? I didn’t notice?”

“No? What do you mean, no? You’re having a blast! You’re laughing like a maniac, you must be having a great time!”

Shockingly enough, casual teases don’t work on him.

But any like… baby talk teases?

Already on the floor, rolling around in a giggly puddle before he’s even touched.

Never been a fan of the tickle monster, as a lee or a ler.

Tickle monster teases just don’t get to him, and he doesn’t like to take on the “monster” role anyway.

Prefers to get straight to the point on either end of the tickling.

Anticipation does nothing but get him all frustrated and huffy.

Completely unashamed about his enjoyment of tickling.

He can be made to blush a bit if you talk about his little squeaks he tends to let out.

Or the faces he makes when he’s tickled.

His worst spot is on his right side, just above his hip.

With the right method, that spot will make him literally scream before he just breaks down into a pile of unhinged cackles and squeaks.

His favorite spot to have tickled is his shoulder blades. It gets him all giggly and squirmy but it makes him so happy.

His favorite spot to tickle is ribs. He absolutely loves ticklish ribs because he likes how many different tickly methods he can use on someone’s ribs.

50% lee/50% ler.

He’s the definition of a switch.

When he’s in a ler mood, he’s anything but subtle about it.

The first lee he can find is immediately turned into his victim (so long as they are okay with it of course).

His fingers literally start twitching, he gets absolutely restless.

His lee moods are almost identical.

He goes out searching for someone, and he isn’t above taking on a ler role for a moment to get someone to take revenge and satiate his mood.

Usually that’s not necessary as everyone can usually tell when he’s in a lee mood.

Gets all fidgety and excited.

No problem saying the t-word.

He doesn’t particularly like straight up asking for tickles, but he will if it’s absolutely necessary.

Loves gentle or rough tickles, it sometimes depends on his mood as to which one he wants but it usually doesn’t make a damn as long as someone is tickling him.

In that same sense, he always asks whether his lee prefers to be absolutely wrecked or if they want him to be gentle before he starts tickling them.

Hermes

Oh my God, can you say lee?

He literally will try to be a ler, but he just ends up flustering himself and curling up in a ball.

Secret little crush on Artemis.

While he usually ends up having to go to Eros or Persephone for his lee moods, the few times that Artemis has truly wrecked him gives her the spot as his favorite ler.

His laugh is loud and boyish and full of squeals. Literally cannot contain his laughter in the slightest.

His worst spot is his ribs, lucky for Eros.

His favorite spot is his sides, simply because they’re not as bad as his ribs, but they are almost as bad.

Any kind of teasing will literally kill him.

Sue me for this one but I think he’s a sucker for gentle tickles.

They get him all giggly and fidgety and he just curls up in a ball.

Though, he does love to be absolutely wrecked sometimes.

Absolutely loves raspberries, especially around his neck and ears.

Gentle kisses or nuzzles on any of his tickle spots make him absolutely forget how to function.

Give him nice raspberries on his tummy and sides and he will love you for the rest of eternity.

Be warned, he does kick. Completely unintentionally, but he can’t control it in the slightest.

Would rather choke on a lemon than say the t-word.

Asking for tickles? Sorry, he’s just going to bother everyone and their mothers until someone finally wrecks him.

And if that doesn’t work, he’s going to sulk under a pile of blankets until someone notices something is wrong, and he’ll do that for days if necessary.

Another quick warning, he is a cuddler. He’s going to want tons of cuddles afterwards and maybe even during if the tickles are gentle enough.

The worst best way to tease him is to talk about how much he loves it.

The tickle monster is his worst nightmare and he loves it.

Artemis

Not really much of a lee, but she doesn’t mind it from time to time.

Very brutal ler.

She’s not super ticklish, but she’s got a bad spot right under her kneecaps.

Remember how I said Hermes has a little crush?

Artemis is anything but dumb and she definitely knows.

Secretly has a soft spot for Hermes because he’s incredibly respectful, and he’s a very gentle soul.

Her teases are always absolutely evil.

Will chase her lee down.

Is absolutely not above cheap shots, she’ll go for a death spot immediately.

Like I said, she doesn’t much care to be a lee, but if she is feeling tickly, she’s going to want relaxing tickles, preferably on her back.

I don’t have much to say about Artemis.

One of the few times she tickled Hermes was when he fell asleep on her couch and he absolutely refused to get up.

She told him he had five seconds to get up and run because the tickle monster was coming after him.

When she caught him, she pinned one of his arms up and immediately started scratching and clawing at his ribs.

Loves to hear her lee laugh all helplessly.

Also gets a big head about making her lee all flustered so Hermes is a good match for her ego.

Her laugh is rich, it’s not too high pitched, or too low. It’s really consistent.

Her favorite spot to tickle is her lee’s hips.

Likes doing the thing where she digs her thumbs into their hipbones and wiggles the rest of her fingers on the back of their hips.

Can be gentle if her lee wants that.

Hecate

A ler. 100%

Never really tickled anyone until she and Hades got close, and then she turned into the ultimate tickle monster.

She literally is not ticklish. Any attempt at tickling her would be both useless and fatal.

Can recognize lee moods in an instant.

When she met Hermes, she was literally taken aback because she could just tell.

Her ler moods are not constant but they are consistent.

Would absolutely be Artemis’s partner in crime.

But Hecate is much more versatile when it comes to the type of ler she tends to be.

She’s either a seemingly merciless monster of a ler, or she’s a very nurturing, motherly ler.

It depends not only on her lee’s mood, but her own mood as well.

If her lee is having a bad day? Go get a hug from Hecate and let her give you the nicest tickles and teases you’ll ever get in your life.

Her lee is feeling playful and restless? Better watch out, she’s gonna have a blast destroying you.

Her favorite spot to tickle is her lee’s neck and ears, because they’re usually either just sensitive enough to get some giggles, or they’re an absolute death spot.

Her teasing is based on anticipation; Wiggling fingers and whispered teases about how bad it’s gonna tickle.

Loves to see her lee blush, but also loves to hear her lee scream when she gets to a particular ticklish spot.

Will start on a bad spot and pretend to move on from it before going right back to it.

Her favorite method is claws and spiders.

Like Artemis, she will absolutely chase her lee down, yelling out teases until she catches them.

And if you do run from her? It’s gonna be 100 times worse.

Running from Hecate is like poking a bear. It makes things worse for you, and much more fun for her.

Um aftercare? Yes. She’s gonna give you a blanket and some juice and she’s gonna make sure you’re all happy and tickled out before she gives you the biggest hug and tells you she’ll get you absolutely anything you need.

10/10. The best. Would absolutely poke this particular bear.

Persephone

Okay, Persephone is a very affectionate character.

So this is going to be a controversial take.

I feel like tickling happened so often when she was being raised in the mortal realm, that she got a little tired of being on the receiving end.

That’s not to say she absolutely hates tickles, but I do think she likes being a ler.

She does get occasional lee moods, but she doesn’t really like to be fully wrecked.

She wants cuddles and relaxing tickles while snuggled up under a blanket.

She’ll only tickle people if she knows for a fact that they’re absolutely, entirely comfortable with it.

If she does find out someone likes it, she will make sure they’re always receiving tickles when they want them.

Absolutely uses her magical flower goddess powers to tickle her lee, why would you even need to ask?

Teasing doesn’t really work on her because it’s just a part of the process in her mind.

Again, I feel like she went through a lot of tickles and teasing when she was growing up, so it was normal to her and none of it really affects her.

Her thighs and knees are her worst spot and I will die on that hill.

Doesn’t particularly care for her worst spots being tickled.

She likes her back being tickled because it’s relaxing.

Come on now, y’all know who her favorite lee is. Poor Hades.

Loves giving tummy tickles. It just makes her heart happy.

She is a master at teasing because she went through so much of it. She just knows what to say and do.

Her teasing is similar to Hecate’s. It’s all about anticipation.

She’ll claw her hands and wiggle her fingers above a bad spot and slowly get closer and closer to it until she finally starts tickling.

And the whole time she’s gonna be whispering teases.

“Uh oh… here it comes. Are you ready? I’m gonna tickle you!”

It literally doesn’t matter how badly she’s wrecking her lee, she always seems so sweet about it.

Could literally be killing them with tickles and she’d still be cooing about how sweet they are and how wonderful they’re doing.

Raspberries and tickly kisses are her specialty.

Definitely the type to laugh with her lee.

Literally can’t control it, she loves to see people happy and smiling.

No trouble saying the t-word or talking about tickle related things.

It’s a normal thing to her. It makes her happy and she knows it makes other people happy so she sees no reason to be ashamed of it.

Her laugh is light and bubbly.

If you do manage to wreck her, it turns shrill and high pitched, but that’s not really her cup of tea.

Hades

A bigger lee than Hermes.

The t-word makes him literally flinch in any context or situation.

So ashamed of it.

Would rather forget tickling even exists, but Hecate would never allow that and OH BOY PERSEPHONE WON’T EITHER.

Lee mood is his state of being.

Gets all huffy and embarrassed and mopes around hoping nobody notices and they all forget he exists.

Will not ask for it, will not provoke it, won’t even hint at it.

He literally always talks about wanting to feel safe and loved with someone, and wanting to be cared for.

Lee energy.

Cannot even begin to try to tickle someone because tickling in itself makes him want to hide under a rock.

Severely ticklish. Like, horrendously. He is a walking tickle spot, but his worst spot is his stomach.

Oh my God, he absolutely loves being tickled, it’s ridiculous.

Unlike the rest of them, his worst spot is his favorite spot.

His favorite ler will always be Persephone.

Likes to think nobody knows he’s a lee, but literally everyone knows.

Persephone tried to convince him that he doesn’t have to be so ashamed of it, but that just embarrassed him and he hid in his room for the rest of the day.

He warms up to it eventually but only a bit.

Will lay across Persephone’s lap like fuckin Cerberus and do his best to let her tickle him.

His favorite tease is definitely the tickle monster.

“Claws” wiggling towards his tickle spots and coming to attack while his ler (Persephone) coos those stupid little “I’m gonna get you~” teases.

Hades was deprived of all things affectionate and loving for the majority of his childhood, I can’t help but think he’d have a soft spot for the more childish side of tickling.

His laugh is full of snorts and hiccups, and any sort of tickling around his belly will make him lose his mind.

He is rather feather ticklish, which Persephone loves.

Is not opposed to Persephone using vines as… *cough cough* restraints.

Would rather choke than admit it but he usually does need to be pinned down or restrained in some way because it sends him into fight or flight and he cannot control anything he does.

He’s also enormously fuckin tall so it’s safer for Persephone if he’s held down properly.

Tried to gain more control over his reactions and squirming because he elbowed Persephone in the face once. (He begged for her forgiveness and apologized profusely. She laughed and assured him he was fine, but he was literally about to cry he was so upset with himself).

Lighter touches work way better on him.

Likes raspberries and kisses on his belly so much.

Only problem is that he is so wildly ticklish that any tickling will immediately tire him out.

He’s going to wrap himself around Persephone and fall asleep instantly, and she won’t be able to go anywhere until he either wakes up or, by some miracle, moves.

Not tickle related but he’s a clingy sleeper and I live by that.

Mushroom and Big John used to sleep in his bed but he would snuggle them in his sleep and he wouldn’t let them go for hours, so they started sleeping on the floor to escape their father’s cuddly habits.

I think when he starts accepting his lee moods and stops being so ashamed of it, he gets a little whiteboard and an expo marker and draws sad faces on the whiteboard for Persephone to see when he’s a lee mood.

Sometimes he forgets about it and goes about his day, and then when Persephone brings it up, it’s already too late for him.

#tickling #tickle community #sfw tickles #sfw tickling community #AHHHHHH LORE OLYMPUS #Lore Olympus tickle #Lee!Hades #ticklish hades

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hauntedfalcon · 3 years

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living in midnight

for day four of Nile Freeman Week: "Nile & Struggle" plus a fantasy AU in which superheroes exist, Nile isn't one of them, and she doesn't let that stop her. 1700 words, rated M for swearing. content warning for wounds and needles because it's Nile's turn for sapphic patching up, as a treat

the title is from Lianne La Havas’s “Midnight”. many thanks to @flightsofwonder for beta reading <3

read on AO3 or below

Nile opens her eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling. There is an unfamiliar pillow under her head, and she is recumbent on an unfamiliar sofa. Above it is a window, where streetlights reflect in the sinuous trails of raindrops.

Rain. Knives. Three attackers. She fought like hell, might have broken someone’s arm, but they landed one good hit. They left her for dead in an alley. She watched her own blood run into a puddle.

She bolts upright--and hisses when a wave of agony breaks over her, starting in her abdomen and shooting everywhere.

“Please don’t move,” says a softly accented voice. “You’re safe here. I haven’t seen your face.”

Nile collapses back down to the pillow and touches her face, just to be sure. Her mask is still in place. She drops her hand and forces one eye open, blurry with pained tears, to get a look at whoever dragged her in from the alley.

A white woman. Dark shoulder-length hair. Youngish, maybe Nile’s age. Dressed all in black, much like her--not for stealth but for soft goth vibes. Cute, if she’s honest, but this isn’t the fucking singles bar, get it together Freeman.

“I staunched the bleeding,” her rescuer says, “but I was waiting until you were conscious to do the stitches.”

“Do we have to?” Nile groans before she can stop herself.

A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. “I’m afraid so. Would you like some fortitude?” The amateur surgeon holds out a bottle of Everclear.

Ugh. Nile takes the cap off and drinks deep, leaving enough in the bottle to sterilize whatever needs to be sterilized. It tastes like ass and lingers at the back of her throat.

Before the alcohol can set in and obliterate her senses, she says, “Can I borrow your phone?”

The woman hesitates. Very wise of her.

“Listen,” Nile says. “We had two leads come in at the same time. Al-Tayyib took one and I took the other, and mine was a decoy, which means...” She can’t, won’t, say it aloud. She hates how feeble she sounds. “I just have to check in with him. Please.”

The woman hands her a smartphone, unlocked. Nile hits the keycode to make the call anonymous, then dials Joe’s shitty flip phone from memory. He keeps it on silent when he’s on the rounds, and he’ll only answer if he’s safe.

Pick up, she wills him, because if she has to hear his stupid cheerful voicemail greeting now of all times, she’s going to scream right in front of this poor woman who didn’t ask for any of this drama in her life. Pick up, pick up, pick--

“Pronto.”

Nile’s gut tightens (painfully, but that’s not what matters right now) at the sound of another unfamiliar voice. The assassin. Joe walked into a trap.

“Where is he?” she demands, trying to sound hard and not like she’s lying on a stranger’s couch with an open wound.

A gust in the speaker. Is he laughing at her? She strains to hear anything that would give away their location: traffic, a clock tower, machinery, anything. There’s nothing else. No hint of Joe yelling in the background, either.

“I will return him to you presently,” says the asshole. Very formal.

“What, after you shank him like your goons did to me?”

“They were instructed not to kill you,” he says in a voice that wouldn’t fog a window in January. “Did you die?”

White-hot rage flares out of her with no place to go. “Where is he, you son of a--” But he has already hung up on her.

Nile resists the urge to growl. If this was her phone she would throw it against the wall. Instead she quickly deletes the record of the outgoing call, and hands the phone back to the woman, who pockets it. “Thank you,” she says tightly.

“I’m sorry to say so,” says the woman as she holds the tip of a curved needle in a candle flame, “but you are in no condition to save anyone right now.”

She blows out a sigh in answer. When she pulls the hem of her shirt up and peels away the medical tape and bandage pad, she discovers that the woman is absolutely right. This isn’t the worst Nile has been hurt and still fought, but it is pretty bad.

And it’s one thing to trash a gang of traffickers while she’s actively bleeding. It’s something totally different to track down a guy who has been three steps ahead of them this whole time, and seems to have removed his sense of morals with an ice cream scoop.

There’s only one thing left to do: say a silent prayer. The way she learned to pray feels insufficiently casual for the circumstances; she wishes she knew more about the format of the rakat. All she remembers is, “God hears the one who praises him,” so she starts on the Lord’s Prayer because praise comes before petition.

In place of, “Give us this day our daily bread,” she substitutes, “Get Joe out of this with his head,” and then she has to hold back a giggle at the rhyme. She must have lost a lot of blood.

The woman wipes the needle down with Everclear. “You know, I met the old Guardian too.”

Nile eyes her carefully. She won’t say Andy’s name in this woman’s presence. She won’t say Joe’s name either, much less her own. She won’t slip no matter how much blood she’s lost or how strong the alcohol is or how fundamentally good and trustworthy this woman seems or how much this is going to hurt. “Not under the same conditions,” she presumes.

“Very similar,” the woman says with another fleeting smile. “I hope she’s well?”

“She’s good,” Nile hastens to reassure her. “She retired.” And she left Nile her nom de guerre and all the weight that went with it.

“I’m glad she made it that long.”

“Probably thanks to you,” Nile says, and she gets a longer smile for it.

Then the needle bites into her skin and Nile whimpers softly and throws an arm over her eyes. She’s hard. She’s tough. This is what she does.

The woman’s gloved hand pinches the wound closed as she stitches. She works quickly, professionally. “I’m really glad you found me,” Nile manages. “I can’t exactly go to a hospital.”

“I think you would be surprised,” the woman says. “You are well loved in this city. People would protect your identity.”

That’s not it. Nile can’t go to hospital because there’s a chance her mom would be on shift, and the only thing worse than keeping her alter ego secret from her mom is the idea that she would find out because Nile came in on a gurney. She can’t do that to her.

A tug, as she ties the thread off, and then a snip of the shears. Nile lifts her head and looks down at a slightly puckered, neatly stitched, no longer bleeding knife wound.

Her laugh sounds brittle, just this side of hysterical. The woman glances at her. “I have work tomorrow,” Nile says weakly.

The woman tapes a fresh bandage over the wound. “Me too.”

No rest for the righteous. “The struggle is real, huh? Sorry for keeping you up late.”

“I will call in if you do,” the woman offers.

But going into the office in the morning might be the soonest opportunity to make sure Joe is okay. Nile pulls her shirt down and zips her bomber jacket over it. “I should go.”

The woman sets one hand on Nile’s arm. “Please stay. You shouldn’t be out alone tonight.”

“They might have been watching when you brought me inside,” Nile warns.

“Then I will need your protection, won’t I?” the woman says without blinking, as if she’s not the one that just saved Nile’s whole life.

Nile cracks an incredulous smile but the woman just gazes at her solemnly.

“Okay,” she says at last. “Okay, I’ll stay. Thank you. And I’m sorry for bleeding on your couch.”

It’s not enough, but the woman just sets about cleaning up her supplies. Nile settles back against the pillow and wills her muscles to unclench.

“May I ask,” the woman asks as she washes her hands, “why you do this? You don’t have superpowers.”

No, and none of the people who do have taken this city under their protection. Flippant, lazy answers parade through Nile’s mind, because she’s not in a charitable mood. Anger issues. No one else is gonna do it. I’m a giant masochist, actually.

But when she opens her mouth, the first thing that comes out is Andy’s answer, from when Nile asked her years ago. “Because there are people worth fighting for.”

Then Joe’s answer: “People who won’t get justice any other way.”

And, finally, one that’s all hers. “I have a responsibility. This is my city”

She’s going to pass out any minute, but beneath her fatigue there’s still a live coal of the feelings that made her put this mask on in the first place. This is her damn city. She spends so much time in the guts of its shitty justice system, and the rest of the time punching assholes, that she sometimes forgets her city is full of ordinary, decent people. Good people. People who will bring someone in from the rain. People like…

“What’s your name?” Nile asks, and then catches herself. “I can’t--give you mine. Sorry. It might be safer if I don’t know yours.”

“Celeste,” says the woman.

Good people like Celeste. How comforting that is.

Her pain is down to an ache instead of a burn, and her eyes drift closed. In the morning, she’ll be out of Celeste’s hair. She’ll shower at her apartment, carefully, and she’ll go into Legal Aid, and Joe will be there, a little banged up but alive. He’ll hug her, quick and tight, and they’ll loiter by the coffee maker and speak in low voices and sort out their next play. And when the work day is over, they’ll go with Andy and Quỳnh down to Booker’s for drinks and darts, and Nile will order a bouquet of flowers sent to Celeste’s apartment in thanks. Everything, for given quantities of everything, will be fine.

Confident in her safety, secure in her purpose, Nile rests.

#The Old Guard #Nile Freeman #nileweek2021

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thejollyroger-writer · 3 years

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THE WASTELAND - HOME (15/15)

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

A/N: Can you believe it? This story is COMPLETE, which feels surreal and ethereal in unexplainable ways. I've literally been writing this story longer than it took me to write my masters' thesis -- though, needing to write my masters' thesis is most of the reason it has taken me this long. Thank you all for sticking around through it all, if you've been here since the beginning -- and if you've hopped on somewhere along the way, you're just as important to me. Thank you, all. Enjoy the last chapter.

Start from the Beginning // Also on AO3!

For a long, drawn-out moment, nothing happens. Emma can feel the beating of her heart in her stomach and fears that something has gone wrong, attempting to use her unhoned magic for too big a task too quickly.

And then, she feels her feet shift on uneven ground and she dares to open her eyes.

Sand.

They're on the shore. Everyone is on the shore, Belle still tending to Will's wounded shoulder and Mary Margaret comforting David, his pain obvious on his face. Killian releases her hand, rushing to the prince's side with his canteen at the ready. The water doesn't heal David as quickly as it did Killian, but as he swallows the few sips he was given, his expression grows relieved and the tendrils of poison retract across his exposed chest before disappearing from the site of the wound. It's not nearly as climactic as Killian's healing was (Emma refuses to think about why that might be) but she still feels a weight lifted from her chest as all traces of the poison disappear, leaving only a small cut on his side where the arrow nicked him.

Killian and Mary Margaret simultaneously sigh an audible breath of relief, her petite form almost comically small as she leans into Killian's shoulder.

"Let's get off this bloody island," Killian says, allowing only a moment's pause before he helps Dave to his feet — though his words are practically forgotten as the forest begins to groan and grumble, trees snapping, cracking, falling to the ground behind them.

And they watch as four, five, six boys move through the treeline, all dressed in rags and covered in dirt.

"The Lost Boys!" Wendy cries, rushing towards them.

"Please take us home with you, Wendy," the one who looks to be the oldest begs, terror obvious on his face, as on all of their faces.

She turns to look at David. "Without Pan's magic, the island will disappear, and the boys will die."

David shakes his head. "I have no argument."

"What about what Pan told your brothers? That only the amount who arrived can leave?" Regina's voice is heavy with worry. None of them want to leave the boys behind, but if it means that no one will make it home, it's a much heavier question.

But Belle is the one to answer. "With Pan defeated, the island holds no power. Even if it wanted to stop us from leaving, it is no longer able."

The oldest boy knits his eyebrows. "Does that mean—" he starts, but is silenced by a deafening thump as another large tree hits the ground, this one not far from the shore and sending a tremor under their feet.

"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," Killian says with a smile, gesturing for the boys to lead the way to the waterline and aboard the ship.

"Rufio, where's Felix?" Wendy asks, walking beside the oldest of the boys.

But the boy shakes his head. "He's always been the most dedicated to Pan and here longer than the rest of us, you know that. He said he would rather die here with Neverland than become a traitor."

"Oh, Felix," she breathes, but it does not keep her or the other boys from boarding.

As the rest of them move towards the ship, Emma moves to stand beside Killian, who is waiting to go last as the captain does. He pats Robin on the shoulder, the pain of losing Graham sinking in once more as his body is carried onto the ship. “Take him below decks. Merlin can show you where to find what you’ll need to wrap him.” Robin just nods.

"We did it, Swan," he breathes, reaching down to squeeze her hand. "How do you feel?"

"It's almost surreal," she replies, lifting his hand so she can look at his arm. She still barely believes it, would not have believed the way the water healed him if she hadn't seen it herself — and she still had trouble understanding how easily he was healed by her magic, even after learning of their connection, their destiny.

She still doesn't want to believe it, really. Everyone is so sure that it's about them, that they were prophesied ages ago to go on this journey, to save each other. She's not denying their connection, not anymore, but she still struggles to believe that they were destined to be together because some ancient seer decided it was supposed to be so.

"Let's go home," he says finally, gesturing for Emma to follow Robin and Regina onto the Jolly Roger.

Home. He's not even sure where home is anymore. For years, it was in the Northern Mountains, then with Dave and his band of followers after returning from Neverland. He's been ready for a new home for a while, he realizes, following Emma onto his ship. With her, he hopes. Hell, he's never wanted anything as much as he has wanted to be with her. They're destined to be together, but all he wants to do is kiss her, find all the things that make her happy and never stop giving them to her. He wants to wake up beside her, learn the way her golden waves look in the morning sun, the way she takes her coffee. If it means working beside her in the hospital, doing everything he can to help her while hopefully keeping them from harm — hell, he'll work in a maternity hospital. For her. He would do anything for her.

They leave the island behind quickly, the Lost Boys, Wendy, and a fully-healed Will watching it crumble, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and a cloud of dirt that covers the horizon.

Killian doesn't turn back. Some of the others peer over their shoulders but Killian seems to be the only one fully content leaving the island behind without a second thought — but, then again, he is the only one among them to have experienced it twice, to have it take multiple people he loves from him, even if it brought others together.

He thinks of Graham, being prepared belowdecks for burial at sea once they're out of the wretched Neverland waters; he thinks of Milah, who sacrificed so much, who hid her true identity from a world she felt so unsafe in, gone forever in the pile of rubble and debris.

Liam. He thinks of his brother, releasing the helm to feel the large ring hanging from his neck between his fingers. He left Liam behind in Neverland twice, never able to give him the burial at sea he always wanted. Well, he thinks, turning his head to glance behind him, if the entire island crumbles into the sea, then Liam is finally laid to rest as he would have wanted.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to look back," Merlin says from the spot he has found against the railing, only using the basest of his powers to move the ship along the waters until they take to the sky.

"I wasn't going to," he confesses, looking down at the ring once more. "But then I thought of Liam, and the burial at sea he deserved and never got."

"Well, the whole damned island got a burial at sea, and that sure as hell included him."

Killian nods, managing a smile. "That's what I thought, too."

They travel along the water for a few hours, pausing around dusk to bid their final farewells to Graham before taking to the sky. The sun sinks below the horizon, and Killian turns to the same star charts they used on the journey there to guide them home, though this time Emma takes part in all of it: helping Merlin and Belle fly the ship, learning the stars that they use to guide them back to the Northern Mountains. He has always felt at peace behind the helm of this ship, even when it was his brother's; having Emma beside him, his chest pressed against her back as he points over her shoulder towards the stars, is the most at home he has ever felt, and he wishes — on the stars that guide them home, on any good luck charm he has ever known, praying to the gods who have seemed to answer him a lot lately — that it's not a feeling that disappears.

The journey back isn’t as celebratory as expected from a group of people who have evaded what they all believed would be certain death. David and Mary Margaret spend most of the trip in the lieutenant’s quarters, Mary Margaret finding the sleep that evaded her the last few days, the two of them taking turns caring for the other. Merlin and Belle spend the return trip just as they did the journey there, guiding the ship through the air, though when Emma is feeling at her strongest, she attempts to assist them. (The rest of the crew does not fail to notice how Will spends much of his time sitting against the railing near wherever Belle has stationed herself, eating what seems to be a never ending supply of apples and chocolate and other types of random snacks and reading the books spread across his lap, even though he was never known to be a voracious reader before.) Similarly, after being comforted by her after Graham’s burial, Robin and Regina spend most of their time together, a pairing of sensible pantsuits and olive green attire that none of them saw coming.

Wendy and the Lost Boys spend most of their time gaping at the views over the railing, trying their hardest not to get airsick to avoid ridicule, filling their stomachs with each of Merlin and Belle’s smorgasbords as if they have never seen that much food in their life — Killian doesn’t let himself think about how long they may have been in Neverland, just how long it has been since their last decent meal, and he is happy to be the one to offer it to them.

"What are we going to do with them?" Mary Margaret asks Emma one night as she sits with her on the deck, picking at the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in her lap.

"With who?"

She points to the boys, throwing small rocks and food scraps off the deck of the ship and laughing as they disappear into the clouds below them.

"I guess we're going to—" she starts, but then realizes that she has no idea how to finish the sentence and leans closer to her friend. "What are we going to do with them?"

It's a thought that never even crossed her mind. She's been so worried about returning to the life she had, possibly even learning to include Killian in the chaos of running the hospital, that she never stopped to think about the people whose lives have been upended because of their trip. Who knows how long the boys have been stuck on Neverland, how long it has been since they were taken from their families — if they ever had them in the first place. Emma remembers the long nights on the streets of the Gale when she wished she were anywhere else,praying to whichever of the gods was listening to give her a place to belong. That's what Pan did for these boys in his own wretched way, she realizes.

“Who knows how long they were stuck on that island. I doubt many of them have thought about what they would do if they ever returned.”

But Emma shakes her head, remembering the nights she stared up at the stars and wondered what her life could be like if she were in any other situation. “I can assure you that some of them have thought about it.” She doesn’t mean for her voice to be that soft, to make the hurt so apparent in her words. She tries not to play the orphan card, especially around Mary Margaret, whose empathy is so strong Emma sometimes thinks she fully understands the heartbreak she tries her hardest to hide even though she only recently lost her father and sees her mother as often as her and David’s schedule allows.

Mary Margaret just nods, taking a bite of her sandwich. “I suppose we could start by talking to them.”

Emma can’t help but laugh, thinking of how she would have responded in their place — which, she supposes, is exactly what David did, granting her a new life in the infirmary. She wonders if any of them have discovered their powers, or if they would simply hide, dormant, for the years they spend without aging in Neverland. “We should wait until morning, though,” she comments, watching as one of the younger boys lets out a big yawn across the deck. When she turns back to Mary Margaret, she is stifling a yawn of her own. “Looks like it’s your bedtime, too,” she adds with a soft laugh.

“I’m just so tired all the time. Is this all that pregnancy is?”

“I have no firsthand experience to share, but from what I’ve heard, yeah, that’s a big part of it.”

“Someday, Emma,” Mary Margaret comments, and it’s a thought that hits her like a truck. Sure, she’s spent years in the maternity hospital, helping other women bring babies into this world, but having one of her own was never a thought that crossed her mind. Is that what she wants? Could she even bring a child into a world so full of violence and terror and the exact things they’ve been battling for the last few weeks, not to mention the War that has affected every facet of the world for longer than anyone can remember.

It’s at least not a thought that she needs to focus on right now.

“Hey, love,” Killian says, thankfully pulling her out of the depths of her own mind as he approaches them from across the deck. “We’re going to begin the descent back to the water soon. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks, Killian,” she replies, offering him a soft smile, which he answers with a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’m going to bed, then,” Mary Margaret says, one hand on her stomach as she reaches out to squeeze Emma’s hand with the other, then moves across the deck to the stairs.

“I can’t wait to be on the water again,” Killian says after a moment of silence, leaning back against the railing, and she steps into his arms.

“Why is that?”

“There’s just something calming about it, something that’s not there in the sky or even on the land. The moment the hull hits the water, I just feel… peace.” She hums, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s not just the ocean, either, though. Graham always laughed at me when I would go stand in the rain, or sometimes stay in the shower for longer than I meant to.”

Emma leans back to look up at him, gears turning in her head. Rain. Showers. The ocean. The way his body reacted to the pool on Dead Man’s Peak. Water. “Killian,” she whispers, then cups her hand between them, creating a small pool of water in her palm. “Can you… move this?”

He looks first at her, then at her hands, his dark brows furrowed low on his forehead. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, love.”

“Was your mother one of the merfolk?”

This makes his eyebrows jump towards his hairline, bright eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“Your mother,” she repeats. “I know she passed when you were young, but what do you know about her? Was she a mermaid?”

“No. No, that’s… that’s crazy,” he whispers, staring down at the water in her palm, slowly dripping through her fingers onto the deck between his worn boots.

“Can you just try? For me?” Remembering how her magic reacted to his touch, she reaches her free hand out and rests it on his hip.

He nods, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “What do I need to do?”

“Think about what you want it to do. Close your eyes. Feel it.”

“What do I want it to do?”

With a soft chuckle, she turns her eyes up to his, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just… anything.”

He nods, but stays silent, holding up his hand in the space between them as he squeezes his eyes shut. Somehow, Emma can feel what he’s thinking, imagines the small sphere of water rising above her hand before it happens — but then it’s there, right before her eyes, hovering above her palm.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles, his eyes darting to meet hers for a moment instead of staring at the sphere. "And you're… this isn't you?"

"No," she whispers, picturing it falling back to her hand just to make sure — but it stays there, hovering a few inches above her palm.

“Of the merfolk,” he whispers, the sphere splashing back down into Emma’s hands. “I never even imagined.”

“I’ve known for a very long time,” Merlin quips from behind them, his eyes closed but obviously paying attention to them.

“For real? And you never thought to tell me?”

He shrugs. “It was not my secret to share.”

“Why did I not learn about it sooner?”

Emma gasps, pulling Killian’s gaze back to her, and Merlin laughs, finally opening his eyes. “So you figured it out, then?”

“The Prophecy,” she whispers, barely believing the words as she says them. “Their strengths will finally be revealed. That’s the line, right?”

Merlin nods.

“Not just my strength, but both of ours. He needed… me. Us.”

It’s another piece of the puzzle that fits a little too well, that makes it hard to deny that they are the ones from the prophecy, brought together by destiny. A chill runs down her spine as Killian’s jaw drops, realizing exactly what her words meant.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles. “I need… sorry, love,” he mumbles, backing away from her to go and stand by himself, looking out over the moonlit water as the ship makes its descent.

Emma’s heart drops and she crosses her arms, leaning back until her hips hit the railing behind her. Is it too much for him, now? The man that confessed his love for her in a cave, who has believed in their connection since the first he heard of it? She understands needing space — she would be a hypocrite if she claimed she didn’t — but she still feels a heaviness in her chest, and icy pain in her heart as she thinks of the worst-case scenario: Killian turning away from her just as she realizes she is ready to be with him. When she feels her lip quiver, she pulls it up between her teeth, turning her back to where Killian is standing and taking a few steps away from him. Part of her wants to disappear belowdecks, curl up in her hammock and hide from her feelings, as alone as she has ever been. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to take herself somewhere else: counting the supplies in the basement of her hospital, walking along the well-known trails by her house — the very house that she dreamt of sharing with Killian not too long ago. She shakes that thought away and tries again, this time in the palace gardens where she learned most of what she knows about plants, about healing. Then she’s in the hallway, aiding David in a meeting with his advisors, focusing on the echoing of her boots on the stone floors and not the fears running through her mind.

Across the deck, Killian turns to look at her, trying to organize the thoughts jumbled in his brain. A merfolk. He has learned so much over the last few weeks, about the world, his friends, his enemies — himself, more than anything else. He has tasted death and felt true grief, witnessed unexplainable things, traveled to places he has spent more than a decade trying to forget. Every step was harder than the previous, pushing himself harder and farther than he thought he was capable — and for every step, she has been there, healing him inside and out, stitching together his wounds and piecing together the remains of his broken heart. Why is this so difficult for him to grasp, given all of the other impossible things he has witnessed since Emma Swan entered his life? Water has always calmed him, healed him, given him a sanctuary in times when he had no others, the same way Emma became his sanctuary.

He loves her, he realizes, not for the first time, though the thought still threatens to knock him off his feet. He loves her in ways he never knew were possible, more than he ever imagined being able to love someone, loves her in a way that fills the deepest parts of him, dark spaces that hold his regrets and his fears and the few things he has allowed himself to dream about. And there is nothing, no feeling that can compare to the warmth that washes over him when she holds his hand, when she smiles at him. His mind separated the two, his powers and his love for Emma, but he realizes now, in this moment, turning away from the water to find her, that they are not two separate things. His powers only exist because of his love for her, and though the time they have spent together is only the first drop in the ocean of the rest of their lives, he wants to look back on his life overwhelmed by the memories they create together, better because of the other.

Then, he notices the pain on her face, her eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and her arms wrapped around her knees as she sits alone by the railing — alone, exactly where he left her. He crosses quickly, his footsteps hard against the wooden planks, and kneels in front of her, carefully reaching out to brush his fingers against her hand.

“Emma?” he whispers, but it is not loud enough to break through the wall that has formed around her, protecting her from whatever kind of hurt she feared he was leaving her with. Leaving her, he realizes. That’s what she fears, more than anything else. Is that what she thinks he is doing? “Emma, love, I’m sorry.” This time, his voice is a bit louder, his fingers a bit firmer on her hand, and her eyes open, a runaway tear falling down her cheek.

“What?” She raises her hand to wipe her cheek, but Killian beats her to it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, covering her hand with his once more. “I shouldn’t have — walking away from you like that, it was unfair. I don’t want you to think…” he clears his throat, trying his best to smile at her through his stuttering before starting again. “I’m here, love. With you. That’s not going to change.”

“Promise?” she whispers, unable to control the quivering of her lip, and he learns more about her with that single word than the rest of their journey. The both have dark pasts, Emma’s even more than his own, and the traumas that they have endured have left pieces of them broken, pieces that may never be fixed, but pieces that perhaps can be soothed, especially when the darkness rears its head.

None of the words that come to mind are good enough. He nods. Laughs, thankfully answered with a smile of her own. And then leans into her, holding himself up against the railing to keep from crashing into her as he finds her lips with his own. It’s the best promise he can give her, and when she reaches up and slides her fingers through his hair, her other hand tightening around the collar of his jacket, he can’t help but laugh against her lips, mumbling the words that have been waiting on the tip of his tongue for the right moment.

“I love you, Emma,” he says, and she resituates them so they are laying beside each other on the deck, pulling herself into him in ways his previous wounds never would have allowed.

“I love you,” she repeats with a giggle of her own, her lips finding his again as the ship touches down on the water, lurching against the surface.

They’re back. The real world — Nephylisis, the Gale, the War. The Wasteland. But they have each other.

Anything is possible.

TAGS: @shireness-says @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiganasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @killian-whump @officerrogers @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @captainkillianswanjones – want to be added or removed? let me know!

#the wasteland #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cssns #cssns 2020 #my fic #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat ff #fantasy au #if you made it this far and found yourself in the tags please know there is a secret epilogue #but i'm not changing the chapter count #its already written in my head it just needs to come out

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starlightxsvt · 4 years

Text

Hellion

pairing: Jeonghan x female reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, idk what this is

warnings: cursing

word count: around 1.5k

A/N: Firstly, happy birthday to the Jeonghan, our con man. I know I'm a day late so forgive me for that. Secondly, I've no idea what the hell I wrote. I've cancelled two other drafts I wrote for his birthday cause none of them were coming together and in the end I've decided to post this shit. Anyway, your feedback would be really appreciated in this mess of a story :').

"What's Jeonghan doing here?" You hiss to Mingyu who has a hard time prying his eyes off of Chaeyeon. "I invited him. I never thought he'd actually come. I'm surprised too." He replies.

"Wha- why would you invite Jeonghan to my birthday party!" You glare at him to which he rolls his eyes, "Come on now, he's in our friend group. And college is almost over. You don't know when you'll see him again. Ogle him while he's still here." He smirks.

"What did you just s-"

"Oh come on, don't act like I don't know that he's your secret crush. Maybe make up with him and if you're lucky you'll get some good dick as a birthday present." Mingyu chuckles at your open mouth before scurrying away to avoid your wrath. You glare at his retreating figure before inhaling sharply. And before you can stop yourself, you start to look for him.

You spot Jeonghan at the large porch in the back of Mingyu's house, sitting in one of the porch seats while sipping beer. He looks dashing as always, his black hair messy, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, his cheekbones getting a prominent shine. You sigh.

Jeonghan was an exhausting person to be around and maybe, he'd say the same for you. You've known him since highschool and after a particular incident of him spilling his banana milk all over your brand new scarf, you decided to call it war. To this day you believe that he did it on purpose because you told your homeroom teacher that he slept during his class.

After that it was like an unspoken rule- you two would bicker whenever you were in the same space. It only infuriated you that he was so good looking, smart, famous and the fact that you had some feelings developing for him. Each time you saw him with a girl you'd feel a bitter feeling all over and you could only hope that those feelings would pass over time. But no they didn't, they only grew- the small branches had formed a tree now, the roots planted deep in your heart.

"How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?" Jeonghan calls, without turning behind. You clear your throat before walking to him, "Didn't expect to see you here, fuck face."

"Can you not call me names for a day please? You're just jealous I'm good looking." He remarks drowning the can of beer.

You snort, "Haha. You wish, loser." You plop down beside him. "I see you've finished quite a few cans. What's up? Got ditched?" You poke him.

"What do you care?"

"You're ruining the mood here with all these sad aura around you. Go drink your sorrows away somewhere else, this is my party."

"Yet you are sitting with me and my sad auras."

"I came to tell you that," you scoff, crossing your arms over.

"Parties are not your thing, I know. And Mingyu wasn't shy on inviting people. It feels more like his birthday than yours." Jeonghan comments, still staring ahead. His words are true and they infuriate you. You can't help but get defensive, "What do you know, sad boy? I'm enjoying myself just fine."

"And yet you are sitting with me and-"

"Stop saying that, will you!" You snap. Jeonghan chuckles before looking at you. He unabashedly eyes you up and down, heating your cheeks up in the process.

"Nice dress," he murmurs. His words catch you off guard and you glare at him, "Stop staring at me, pervert."

"You were staring at me earlier."

"Seriously? Can you stop for one goddamn second?"

"You're the one who started it."

"That's it. I shouldn't have come here," you stand up to leave but to your utter surprise Jeonghan grabs your hand, sending your heart to a frenzy. "Wait."

You swallow nervously, heart thudding loudly in your chest as Jeonghan lets go of your hand and meets your eyes, "Sit down, I've a gift for you."

You frown, "You have a gift for me?" Jeonghan nods before sitting straight, setting down his can. "Before that, I need you to know something."

"W-what?"

"I really didn't spill my milk all over you intentionally that day." He meets your eyes.

You can't help but laugh out loud partially because he's still concerned about that and partially because you believe he's lying.

"Listen here, sad boy, I've put that well past me. And I know for a fact you did it on purpose so don't-"

"You didn't, ___. We've been fighting over that for our whole goddamn lives. And no, I'm not lying. I've no reason to. I never cared if you told our teacher shit or not." His chocolate orbs bore into yours and you swallow. The air surrounding you suddenly becomes thick and you start to feel jittery and maybe a slight amount of guilt. Is he really speaking the truth?

"W-whatever, I don't care anymore." You say, sitting down gently beside him.

"And yet you still hold a grudge against me," Jeonghan sighs. "Besides you're not even fun to fight with."

"What did you say?"

He laughs, his eyes forming crescents and the sweet melody echoing in the air. You quickly look away before he catches you staring, "I don't have all day. Where's my gift?"

"Yeah, right." From beside him he produces a bag that you didn't notice before. He hands it to you and you tentatively peek in, half expecting a bug to jump out.

To your utter surprise, a scarf that looks identical to the one he ruined lies there. A small gasp leaves your mouth.

"I bought it that day after I stained yours. I was going to give this to you as an apology but dear lord, you were on my ass the second I got to class next day." Jeonghan speaks and a blush coats your cheek leaving you feel vulnerable all of a sudden.

"I don't know what to say," You whisper more to yourself. Jeonghan chuckles, "I know, you're touched. It's okay, we're even finally."

You bite your lip and exhale loudly before meeting his eyes, "Thanks." Jeonghan moves his hand in a dismissive wave. "I thought I'd finally give it you, call it a truce. We'll probably never see each other again after this month and I wanted to depart on good terms."

Your throat constricts, an overwhelming sadness enveloping you. He's right, you two would probably never see each other again. His dad owns a huge business and he'd probably go abroad to manage it.

"You're right, let's call it a truce," you whisper staring at the scarf in your lap.

"Come on now, don't look so sad, sad girl," Jeonghan teases you and you roll your eyes. He's still the same.

He hands you a beer, "Have a drink with me to sign the truce." You quietly laugh, taking the can from him. You two share a comfortable silence, staring at the night sky, the music from the party fading into the background until Jeonghan decides to break it.

"I know you like me, ___." The words slip past his lips like it's the most casual thing ever. You choke on your beer before looking at him eyes wide like saucers, "W-what!"

Jeonghan slightly turns to face you, his features calm, "You don't have to act. I've known all along."

Oh. My. God.

Heat spreads all over your face like wildfire. Your first thought is that Mingyu told him. You chew your lip as you see no way out. "W-who told you?" You squeak.

"I've figured it out myself," He says nonchalantly, resting his head on his hand as you stares at you.

"You-you did?"

"Mhmm."

You fumble with the hem of your dress before murmuring out, "I-I should get going." You need to escape him. Forever.

But Jeonghan isn't done. He casually goes on, "I've always thought you were pretty. Even when you get red after losing an argument." You blush furiously as your palms sweat.

"You know I really had no intention of picking a fight with you but you...you were so desperate to bring me down. You always speak too much and I often think about the many ways I could shut your loud mouth. Such a shame, we would've made a great couple."

Your face feels like it's on fire by now. You swallow before nervously laughing, "I s-see what you're doing here...You're trying to p-prank me, asshole."

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, sighing, "See? There you go again, running that damn mouth." Your lips press together as you clench your fists, thinking of a way out. In the blink of an eye Jeonghan scoots closer to you and leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.

A squeak leaves your mouth as Jeonghan tilts your head, cupping your cheek. You want to pull back, smack him, call him names but you can only moan as his mouth slots against yours perfectly. Your tongues clash as you grab a fistful of Jeonghan's shirt, moaning.

When you pull back for air, you're mortified, wanting to be swallowed up by the ground. Jeonghan is totally calm as he takes in your messy state licking his lips.

"Do you want to continue?"

"W-wh-what?"

"I said do you want to continue this? If you don't want to I'll leave. If you do then you're coming home with me. Which one is it gonna be, ___?"

You bite your lip. Oh my God. This can't be happening.

You grit your teeth as every ounce of your resolve disappears, "I...I want you."

The smile on Jeonghan's face is victorious, a smile you've seen million times before, a smile that makes you week in the knees. "Good girl." He says encasing your lips in another kiss before standing up holding out his hand. "Come along, sweetheart. I'm gonna ruin you for any other man. Even when it's morning you'll only be thinking about me," he whispers in your ear before tugging you out of the porch- your heart hammering in your chest as you squeeze the scarf on your hand.

Fuck, you owe Mingyu a fruit basket or some shit now.

A/N 2: Also, that video of Jeonghan exercising made me 🥵🥵 this man is so infurating. I was literally dehydrated from watching that video.

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dramatic-squirrel · 4 years

Text

Damianette December Day 9- book

It may be confusing when the boys are speaking English and when they’re speaking French but, generally, they are speaking English unless they are addressing Marinette directly.

@daminette-december2019-2020

Considering how awful it had gone the last time the class had done this, it was surprising that Ms. Bustier’s class was once again at the Grand Paris to try the various jobs around the hotel. True to her previous actions, Chloe still did her utmost to drag Marinette down, this time, she was stuck cleaning the lobby.

The joke was on Chloe though, because Marinette wasn’t so spoiled that she didn’t appreciate what janitors and cleaning maids did. It was just cleaning, not like it was going to hurt her.

As she was vacuuming the couch, she found something between the cushions, a book. “Hey Tikki, what do you think this is?” she opened it up a bit and saw a sketch of a city skyline. The city was unfamiliar to her but it definitely helped her figure out that she was holding a sketchbook.

“D.a. G.W.,” that was the only thing that indicated who it might belong to. “Should we give this to the front desk, right Tikki? It’s probably a hotel guest’s if it was in the lobby, they’d probably be able to find them based on the initials or at least hold it until they came back.” She looked back to where Chloe was sitting, filing her nails, and groaned slightly. “Or maybe we try to find them ourselves?”

“Marinette. You know the right thing to do here would be to give Chloe the sketchbook and leave it to the lobby clerk.” the kwami understood Marinette’s frustration but, was also dedicated to guiding her partner on the right path.

“Yeah, I know you’re right. I just wish you weren’t,” she made her way to the front desk. “Someone left this behind Chloe.”

The blond glanced at her. “And? What do you want me to do about it? Just throw that dirty book away and be done with it. Do your job properly, Dupain-Cheng.” That was about how well Marinette expected the conversation to go. Instead of talking back and making the situation worse, she held herself back, Chloe would just make some snide comment or complain to her father.

Turning around, she decided to finish the job she had been given and then asked Ms. Bustier if she could try to find the owner of the sketchbook. As someone who frequently used one herself, she knew how important sketchbooks were to an artist, and based on the details of the first sketch she saw, the owner of the book was definitely an artist.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s great that you got permission Marinette.”

“It is Tikki. Now we just need to get Chloe away from the computer. Luckily she’s easy to read.” Marinette walked up to the lobby desk again after she was sure the Lobby Clerk was still gone. “Hey, Chloe. Did you see all of those fans fawning over Adrien on the Hotel’s rooftop. He’s practically surrounded by them.” Rage instantly filled Chloe’s face when she heard those words.

“No one’s allowed close to my Adrikins except me.” And voila, the front desk was missing one Chloe Bourgeois. Marinette slipped behind the desk, once Chloe was safely in the elevator and went to search up the guest in the database.

She looked up last names beginning with W first, to see if any fit the initials she found in the book. Unfortunately, she was out of luck there. On the bright side, it wasn’t a long list to go through, so she managed to finish quickly.

It then occurred to her that perhaps, like her last name, this person also had two last names, so she looked through the names that began with A next. She still didn’t find anything. Checking the time, she noticed that Chloe might be back soon so she had to come up with a new plan.

“What if you looked for the person based on where they live?” It was Tikki’s suggestion.

“That might work but, I don’t know where they’re from.”

“But, perhaps the sketchbook might give you some clues as to where they may be from. The cityscape at the beginning could be where this person lives, they may find inspiration from the things around them, kind of like you.”

“It’s worth a shot,” she hesitated a bit before she started turning the pages of the book. It felt kind of invasive to go through someone’s sketches without their permission but there was no telling if they would ever find their sketchbook otherwise.

“Oh, wow,” the pictures were genuinely breathtaking. It was like Tikki thought, most of the pictures were of a city, and based on the architecture, it seemed like it was the same city. A few pictures of animals appeared, and one of a fantasy creature but, mostly it was a city.

It seemed that the owner liked to sketch more secluded or lesser-known spots since none of the places had any distinguishing features, especially none she could recognize, until she turned the page, and saw a building with the words “Wayne Enterprise” on the side of the building. There was no mistaking where that building was. “Gotham! Tikki, they’re from Gotham!”

She hurriedly looked up the location on the computer and saw a booking by a Richard Grayson for three rooms on the 5th floor. And they were still there, which was a relief because she wasn’t sure what she would do if they had left Paris already.

The name didn’t match the sketchbook, but it occurred to her just then, that perhaps the owner themselves didn’t make the booking and was traveling with friends or family. Slipping from behind the desk she made her way to the elevator just as it arrived. Out of it, Chloe dragging a reluctant Adrien exited. Adrien caught her eye and winked at her.

Being her superhero partner for the past 3 years, he knew when she was scheming something, and he knew just how to go along with her crazy plans. Sending him a grateful smile, she entered the elevator and made her way to the room number she had found.

Standing in front of the hotel room, she began to second guess herself. They might not even be there right now, or maybe she got the wrong room. Just as she was determined to leave and find one of the actual employees to take care of the situation, the door in front of her opened. She came face to face with a man, black hair and insanely blue eyes, who stared at her just as she stared at him.

“Oh god, Bruce found another one, didn’t he. Dick! Can you please tell Bruce to stop adopting children?” The man spoke in English so she couldn’t quite follow along with what he said only something about children and the fact that he was addressing someone else.

“Excuse me?” she hoped he understood French. “I found this sketchbook in the lobby and I think it might belong to someone staying in this hotel room.” The man’s eyes finally saw the book in her hands just as another almost identically looking man came to the door.

He seemed half asleep as he stood in the threshold holding a cup of coffee in his hand. “What’re going on about Jason. Bruce didn’t adopt anyone recently, Alfred already asked me to keep an eye on any adoption papers that might be processing with his name on it. I’d know if he was adopting someone.” the sleepy man’s eyes landed on her and the cup in his hand fell to the floor with a crash. “Shit. I didn’t think about foreign countries. I’ve got to go tell Alfred.”

The first man grabbed the other one before he could leave. “Relax, it was a false alarm, she’s just returning something for Damian.” He turned to her, “I’ll take it, I know who it belongs to.” Up to that point, Marinette didn’t quite get what was going on, but she was sure that she didn’t entirely trust these people. It was hard to follow their English but their actions were weird.

“I’m sorry Monsieur, but I would feel more comfortable if I gave it to the actual owner of the book, instead of… his acquaintance.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet the brat. He’ll probably accuse you of stealing. It would be better to give it one of us to pass along.” The skepticism remained on her face. That was when a voice came from behind the two men in the doorway.

“Get out of the damn way, you morons. I can’t leave the room with you blocking the entrance.”

The first man sighed in resignation when the voice came through and stepped aside. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped now. It’s this demon spawn’s sketchbook.” she turned to see the artist that she had been looking for.

He was about average height, although compared to the person who had initially opened the door, he was small. His skin was also more tanned than his acquaintances, and although they share the same black hair, his eyes were a brilliant green, more vibrant than even Adrien’s.

“Excuse me, Monsieur,” she called out to him. “I seemed to have found your sketchbook in the hotel lobby. Is this your book?” he stopped in his tracks when she started talking.

Numbly, he nodded his head. Recognizing that he hadn’t properly answered, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Yes, that’s my book.” his responses, while curt were far from insulting as the other man had suggested. Holding the book out to him, their fingers touched as he grabbed the book.

His touch was warm and gentle and it startled her enough that she accidentally let go of the book. Apparently, he was also startled for he too, let go of the sketchbook, and it fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to let go so soon,” Marinette bent down to pick up the book.

“It’s okay. I’m at fault as well.” He took the book from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, for finding my sketchbook and returning it to me.”

“No problem. I understand how devastating it might be to lose a sketchbook, I’m happy I could bring it back to you.” she smiled at him and then checked the watch she was wearing. It was almost time for her class to leave. “I need to head back but, it was wonderful meeting you.” she waved and turned around towards the elevator.

Damian stared at her back as she left. Only, when she had already been gone for a few minutes did he notice a book on the ground. Picking it up, he saw the name Marinette Dupain-Cheng written on the front, and, opening up the front page he saw that it was her sketchbook.

It seemed that this time he was going to have to find her.

#Damianette December #Damianette #Maribat

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cargopantsman · 3 years

Text

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper... I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

#personal bs #vince rising #dan falling #don't try this at home kids

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