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corkinavoid · 4 months

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DPxDC Tim Encounters a Fae at a Gala

Which may be a problem, yes, but the much more alarming part? The Fae looks like Damian.

"This is pretty boring, don't you think?"

The voice comes from behind, and Tim recognizes it instantly, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's never heard Damian talk like this, easy and a little amused, with no usual stiffness to his speech. Yet this couldn't be anyone else - being a vigilante means you can never drop your guard even in your civilian identity, and who other than Damian could have sneaked up on him?

He turns around.

It is Damian, and at the same time, it's not. The boy looks just like the demon child, the same face, same height and skin tone, the same way he puts his hair. But something is wrong. The way he holds himself, his relaxed and almost lazy posture, the absence of a usual scowl on his face, the way he feels comfortable here, in a crowd of people.

And his eyes, when he looks at Tim. Icy blue, almost translucent, like the color of icebergs and glaciers.

The not-Damian tilts his head a little and smiles just slightly. Tim blinks, realizing that there was a question, and he just stares at the boy instead of answering.

"Yeah, sure," he clears his throat and breaks the eye contact, looking away from not-Damian's eyes, his thoughts a frantic mess. Is this another clone? Or some kind of a shapeshifter? In any case, they approached Tim first, he can't lose his chance at gaining some information. So Tim smiles back, "Is it your first time? At the gala, I mean."

Now, when he looks at the boy again, the stricking resemblance doesn't hit him so hard. Instead, Tim notices something else - the boy is... eerily beautiful. He's never noticed Damian looking this nice - because that would be kind of creepy if he did, - but this not-Damian is... He can't really put it into words.

He's just beautiful.

Almost unnaturally so.

"You could say that," not-Damian answers, looking over the crowd around them, "I'm not used to so many people around, but I've seen my fair share of social gatherings."

Tim blinks. That statement compiled with his absolute lack of any kind of nervousness makes little sense.

Alright, he needs to get at least some information from the mystery twin. He is a detective, for god's sake.

"Are you here with someone?" That can be a useful question. Tim sure as hell knows that Bruce could not invite some Damian lookalike without prior warning, which means the boy had to come as someone's plus one. Or he sneaked in with no invitation, that's also a possibility.

"My godfather should be here somewhere," not-Damian nods, scanning the crowd before nodding his chin in the direction of a small cluster of people. Tim follows his gaze and finds a white-haired man in a matching white and silver suit in the middle of telling some kind of story.

"Vladimir Masters?" He questions with a noticeable amount of disbelief. The man never said a word about having a godson. Ever. And Tim did a thorough background check on the owner of DalvCo.

"Got it in one," not-Damian grins. Is it just Tim, or do his teeth really look sharper than they are supposed to?

Come to think of it, his ears are also not as round as they should be.

Unnatural beauty, sharp teeth and pointy ears, questions answered in a vague and unclear way. And Tim hadn't noticed him blink even once.

He has a guess. He doesn't like it, it's a very, very bad guess, but Tim is a Bat, a Robin, and a Detective. He knows when he needs to trust his gut even if his gut is telling him absolute nonsense.

He just needs to make sure.

Tim swallows the anxious feeling in the back of his throat and turns back to not-Damian, smiling:

"I think I didn't catch your name?" He does his best at sounding confused and not alarmed. The boy's grin widens just a bit, but Tim feels a cold shiver run down his back, and his mind is all but screaming for him to run away for this is not human, and whatever it is, it is dangerous.

"Would you give me yours in exchange?" The boy's voice is soft and easy, not a hint of mischief. Just a casual question. Maybe a little teasing.

Tim's blood runs cold as he tries to remember everything he has ever read and heard about the fair folk. Never give them your name, but there has to be a way to answer this question, right?

"You may call me Damian," he finally answers. Maybe this is a risk, calling himself his brother's name, but Tim feels like this is somehow a right thing to do since the boy - the creature - looks like him.

Not-Damian's eyebrows shoot up, and there's a hint of surprise in his eyes when he starts quietly laughing. The heavy pressure of the air around him disappears at the sound of the crystalline laughter, like it was never there. Tim feels like he had just disarmed a bomb or passed a test with his own life at stake. Maybe he actually did.

"Clever," the boy grins again and nods politely, bowing his head down like they are at a medieval ball and not a gala, "My name is Danny. It is nice to meet my brother's brother."

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#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #batfam #fae rules #fae #changelings #danny x tim?#danny x tim #tim drake #danny is a fae #he just wanted to mess with bats #no ill intentions he promises #i'm obsessed with this au #feel free to add on #phanfic #story prompt #cork writes #cork prompts

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asidian · 3 months

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I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell �� and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda spoilers #edwin payne #charles rowland #meta commentary #netflix

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avocado-writing · 25 days

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Not sure if this is enough to go off of but I loved the poly!poolverine fic where they rescued the reader. I was wondering if we could get some more of them being protective of the reader 🙏🏻

The bar is pretty crowded tonight. You nurse a rum and coke and hope Logan and Wade are able to find you in the corner booth you managed to snag, because you know the second you go to order another some opportunistic patrons will take your spot - and you’ve been on your feet all day at work so there’s no way in hell you’ll let that happen.

You take a sip. It’s warm now, ice long since melted in the heat of the room. You grimace at the taste as someone slides onto the bench next to you.

It is not one of your boys.

“Hey, baby.”

He’s big. Kinda guy who goes to the gym every day big, which isn’t inherently bad - but from the way he uses his size to press up against you there’s a little bit of unease rising in your chest. He puts his elbow on the table so that he can rest his jaw in his hand, biceps flexing in the tight shirt he wears.

“I’m waiting for someone,” you say, as calmly as you can, hoping this will deter him. It does not.

“So? We can have a little talk, can’t we? Not hurting anybody.”

His hand goes to cover yours where it rests on the table. You snatch it back. He frowns.

“Dunno who you’re waiting for, but they probably shouldn’t have left you here alone. Looks like they don’t care about you, honey.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, annoyed, deciding it’s not worth it. He won’t go so you will. You slide out the free side of the booth - but you’re forced to stop when he grabs your wrist.

“I wasn’t done talking to you yet,” he says. Okay. Now you’re panicking. You manage to shake yourself free of his grasp and quickly push through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd. No such luck. He knows where you’re heading.

The air is cold on the street as you speed up; not running, never running, that might incite a chase. He’s on your heels anyway.

“Hey, are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

He grabs you again, harder this time. A grip you can’t break free from.

“You know, you should learn not to be such a bitch —”

“Oh! Isn’t this fun! Sorry to interrupt this little show of misogyny in action but it’d be great if you could let go of our pookie.”

You’ve never been more relieved to hear Wade’s voice. Suddenly you’ve got someone either side of you: the brick which is Logan on your left, and the snark which is Wade on your right.

The guy who’s holding you does not drop your arm. He frowns.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“They’re who I was waiting for,” you say quickly, as if this will deter him. The man laughs, loudly, cruelly.

“Sorry, you’re in some kinda threesome with this old fucker and whatever this dude is? Fuck, honey, you really need someone to show you what a real man—”

He does not get a chance to finish. Logan’s fist has collided with his face with such ferocity you can hear his nose break. The man yelps and staggers backwards, you bring your hand to your chest for safety.

“Should’ve let go, bub,” he mutters, massaging his knuckles. Wade deflates.

“Aw, I wanted to get the first hit in!” He peers over at where the guy is laid out flat. “Go on, get back up. If I don’t throw a punch it emasculates me, and I’m very sensitive about it.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his sleeve.

“Let’s just go, guys. I don’t think he’s gonna follow us.”

“One sec.”

Wade strolls over and puts his boot on the guy’s chest, pushing down until he’s wheezing.

“You wanna apologise?”

The guy groans out a sorry, and you give a curt nod when Wade turns to see if you’ve accepted it.

“Don’t do this bullshit again, with anyone, or I’m gonna find you, rip your dick off, then feed it to my adorable, hideous dog.”

They cage in around you as your turn, two loyal hounds at your beck and call. You throw a couple of glances over your shoulder as you leave but it’s as you suspected: the guy remains on the cold concrete. When you’re far enough away to feel safe they slow to a stop.

“You okay?” Logan asks, lifting your chin with a finger so that he can get a good look at you. You nod.

“Yeah. Thanks for being there in time.”

“I’m sorry baby, we should have got here earlier, but peanut here tore a guy’s arm off so we had to go and clean up first—”

“Oh god, stop,” you say, pulling a face. You don’t want to know about their line of work, very happy for the business and personal life gulf to be a wide one. “Let’s go get some pizza and head home.”

“Anything you want,” says Logan, squeezing your hand.

Anything where you’re between them is what you want. Safe and happy, they’ll make sure you’re both.

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader x wolverine #wolverine x reader x deadpool

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 8 months

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shoto’s been staring at you for a good 5 minutes now.

you’d figured he was zoning out about three minutes in but then you looked up from your homework at him and he smiled at you, that cute little loverboy smile he does that have your legs feeling like jelly and has your heart push against your chest like it wants to escape.

okay so he wasn’t zoning out. then what is it ? did you have something on your face ? was he waiting for you to say something ?

"is there something on my face ?" you blurt out, already wiping at your chin and around your mouth

he blinks, registering your question and his eyebrows furrow lightly “no, there isn’t.” he answers curtly. reaching his colder hand up to pull your hand away from your face. you’re so much more confused now that you fail to realize he held onto your hand for a moment longer than necessary.

“so then why are you staring at me ?”

he lightly tilts his head to side at that, looking at you questioningly “ why should i not be looking at you ? does it bother you ?”

“wh—no no !” you sputter, he’s flipped the tables on you now “ i was just wondering what was up because you’ve been staring for..a while now” you trail off, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. his eyes widen just a fraction and you think maybe you got it all wrong somehow and he was zoning out, but then he’s lowering his head in shame “i’m sorry, yn. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my staring..” he apologizes.

you’re frantic, shaking your head so hard you fear you’ll twist your neck and waving your hands hurriedly “ no, no, no ! it’s okay, sho ! you didn’t make me uncomfortable or anything !” you feel relieved when the tension on his face dissolves the slightest bit “ i was just curious, that’s all” you sigh, your arms fly back next to you because you feel like your sweating buckets and you really don’t want him seeing pit stains.

he hums like he’s thinking about something then suddenly a small smile breaks onto his face and you feel like you’ve been hit dead on by a semi truck. shoto todoroki’s ability to be so effortlessly pretty is and will forever be an enigma to you. “ i like looking at you” he starts “ whenever you do mundane things like studying, you always have this look on your face. i like it, i think it’s cute.”

okay, so turns he was out to kill you.

“ i-i do ?” he responds with a simple “mhm”. you feel like you’re sweating a lot more.

“oh.” is all you say. it’s all you can say because what the hell were you supposed to say ?!

shoto doesn’t look all that bothered by it, cool as usual, simply opting to keep staring at you. you fiddle with your fingers for a bit before you lift your head up to meet his unwavering stare “ i—uhm—thank you.” you whisper. he shakes his head “don’t thank me, you don’t have to. if you want me to stop, i can try to.”

he can try to. you feel like you’re losing your mind.

you’re way beyond flustered now. todoroki’s not a man of many words but when he does use them it throws you for a complete loop, you feel like you’re on a rollercoaster. “no that’s fine.” you answer meekly.

“you’re sure ?” you nod and he hums. “okay then, if you don’t mind.”

“it’s fine” you confirm, feeling your face heat up. “i like looking at you, too.”

you definitely like looking at the handsome smile that forms on his face from your words.

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ratioaven · 6 months

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spoilers for 2.1 !!!!!!!

aventurine rant, please keep in my mind that these are my own thoughts and interpretations. im extremely sleep deprived lol so im sorry if i got anything wrong

something thats been on my mind since yesterday are these lines.

from the start to me, it was very clear aventurine had self esteem/worth issues because of how he treats his own life, but the line that says “the other hand is below the table, clutching your chips for dear life” stuck out to me.

i always assumed aventurine was so incredibly confident in his luck but in reality he is afraid. he’s terrified that he’ll lose. it’s an act. he convinces himself, he fools himself, he forces himself to act like he’s confident he’ll win, when in reality even if he does win, he’s still clutching his chips under the table for dear life because of how terrified he is of losing.

that really messed with me to be honest. i feel tricked and what’s ironic is that he tricks his opponents into thinking he’s confident, and he also tricked ME the player but really, this made my heart break in two because i had absolutely no clue up until now.

so why does he act this way

all throughout his life, aventurine has had his pride stripped away. just try to imagine being in his shoes. i myself do not think i could deal with the situations he was put in. i cannot stress this enough, aventurine has a mark on his neck that screams to him that he has once belonged to someone. he has had his pride stripped away from him countless times. but it’s ironic because aventurine is introduced as a very prideful and flashy man. you start to realize the front aventurine puts on is his own way of protecting himself. it’s how he’s able to live basically. i wanna go into more detail but i will later.

as it was said before, aventurine is an uptight person who worries. he is extremely afraid of losing and he has a massive inferiority complex. aventurine may seem like a go lucky person on the outside, but in actuality he is not. he is not happy. he has no self worth, he believes he has nothing to live for, and he has no problem with throwing his life away. aventurine believes the only good thing he brings to the table is his luck.

but this brings me to my next point.

aventurine may not realize it, but he is so much more than his luck. he has so many good qualities and he doesn’t seem to realize it. even if some of it may be an act, he’s still able to pull it off. he’s still an intelligent business man who is both charming and cunning EVEN if it may be an act, those are still amazing qualities to have in his line of work.

but more importantly, aventurine chose to live. despite witnessing his family die, being a slave, and tortured, he chose to live. he chooses to. i cannot stress this enough. this man has gone through hell and back. he truly has had an incredibly difficult life to the point where my heart hurts so so badly for him. he made the decision to stay alive.

that says more than enough about his character.

and last but not least, aventurine wants one thing, and that is to be with his family. he’s witnessed horrible things in his life that no one should ever go through. he lost everyone close to him, he lost his people. he has nothing to live for and he values his life so little to the point where he has no problem with dying. the only real thing that he wants is just to see his family.

and he will one day, but in the meantime, i genuinely hope this man can find a reason to live, and ratio already gave him one just by that note. i just truly wish aventurine happiness while he lives the rest of his life.

i guess this is a topic that really hits me hard because i know all too well that choosing to live life isn’t easy sometimes and i just love aventurine.

let’s all appreciate how truly amazing his character is.

#i didnt proof read this #aventurine thoughts #aventurine #hsr #hsr 2.1 #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 month

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Thinking about…

Alastor and Bill Cipher after the same s/o (headcannons)

Hazbin Masterlist // Disney Masterlist // Navigation

Warnings: Obsessive behavior! Alastor being sadistic, Bill being a bit weird because duh, wrote this with Human form Bill Cipher in mind, mentions of death

A/N: I really like this dynamic, even though it’s kind of crazy and a lose lose situation for the reader, but it’s still interesting to write about. I hope you all enjoy!!

Alastor

• Alastor isn’t just charming; he’s obsessed with making you see him as the ultimate catch. He meticulously plans every interaction, ensuring that you are always impressed and feel valued. Every compliment and gesture is calculated to win your heart.

“Why there’s that smile I love to see my dear! Ever the beauty!”

Alastor can’t stand the thought of you being attracted to anyone else, especially Bill. He tries to mask his jealousy with his usual grace and horribly timed jokes, but it’s evident in the subtle digs he takes at Bill whenever you mention him.

When Alastor is alone with you he’s not above grand, romantic gestures. Picture him serenading you with an old-fashioned love song or setting up a beautiful, intimate dinner where he pours out his feelings and tries to convince you that he’s the best choice for a partner and way better than bill in all aspects of the word.

Alastor’s affection for you is deeply strategic. He genuinely cares, but he’s also careful in how he shows it. He’ll often try to subtly make you see how a relationship with him would be beneficial, not just for personal pleasure but for gaining power and influence. He’s a very strong man and his image is important, what’s not to want about him?

“Don’t you love this view dear? We could be here all the time, if you wished.”

Alastor envisions a future where you are by his side, helping him dominate Hell. His feelings are not just about the present but about creating a powerful, enduring relationship. He dreams of ruling Hell together, and he’s willing to go to great lengths to make that vision a reality.

But not all things with Alastor are good, you know how much he HATESSSS modern technology and well, it’s how the world runs now. this is something Bill definitely used against him

“Don’t get intimated by a big screen deer man!”

Though he hates how Bills joke makes you laugh, his smile tightens nonetheless

Alastor will often put doubts into your mind about Bill. He is partially right, so it does make you wonder…

“What if he were to suddenly get tired of you? My dear, he’s traveled galaxies and destroyed universes. You wouldn’t want to be subject to that would you?”

or maybe something like,

“That little shape is no better than a toddler. He can’t even take proper care of his toys, breaking them when he gets bored. How pitiful.”

Bill Cipher

Bill is intensely infatuated with you. His feelings might come across as chaotic and erratic, per usual, but underneath, he’s deeply drawn to your spirit and individuality. He finds your uniqueness thrilling and wants to be the one to make your life as unpredictable and exciting as possible.

“ Wanna see this guy dance with his eyes hanging out of his sockets? Gotta tell ya’ you’ll never see anything like it ever!”

Bill’s way of showing affection is through wild and flirtatious chaos. He might sweep you into a whirlwind of bizarre, fantastical experiences, always with an underlying flirtation that makes it clear he’s very interested in you.

Bill knows how to push Alastor’s buttons. He often uses his chaotic antics to draw your attention away from Alastor, playfully teasing him and making a show of his own appeal. For Bill, it’s not just about romance; it’s about proving he’s the more exciting option, you’ll never be bored of him!

Despite his chaotic nature, Bill genuinely wants a deep connection with you, even if he does have a weird way of being about it. He’s drawn to your complexity and wants to show you that his brand of chaos can be both thrilling and deeply meaningful. He might surprise you with moments of surprising sincerity.

Bill is not afraid to take big risks to win you over. He’s willing to gamble with the very fabric of reality just to create memorable moments. His love is unpredictable and intense, and he hopes you will find that thrilling rather than overwhelming.

Bill is the type of guy to take you to a different reality for a date, wanna go watch marshans fight? no problem! upset about something? let’s go to this dimension where you can blow anything up!

He’s definitely got jokes though, and he’s good at them too

“Hey furry, why don’t you cut that loose part of your hair? OH wait, it’s your EARS!”

Bill is no fool though, he sees EVERYTHING, so it’s really difficult to hide things from him, which means being with him also means you losing your privacy.

“He’s a sociopath dove, you can’t really believe that radio freak actually likes you right?”

He isn’t wrong, Alastor has proven multiple times he keeps people around because he needs them for something, and Bill loves this

“What if you don’t satisfy him? What if he decides you’re not worth being with?”

or maybe he’ll say

“ You never know dove, what if he’s just after your soul? Maybe he likes the fact you put up a good fight, eh?”

Both demons have their crazies to them. Picking Alastor means Bill might destroy your dimension and maybe rearrange his molecules. But picking Bill means watching Alastor rip hell to shreds at your expense, hurting anyone and everyone to get you, maybe even threatening whoever you love.

Dating Alastor means you can kind of live a normal-ish life

Dating Bill means you keep your dimension

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 2 months

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Can you do a Bucky x hydra oc fic

They were engaged in the forties but out of the blue hydra agents kidnapped her and conditioned her to be a winter soldier with powers like Wanda but her powers are purple

Years go by the avengers break into a hydra base and run into y/n Bucky recognizes her immediately however y/n doesn’t both soldiers go head to head until Bucky sedates her and then brings her back to the tower.

Weeks go by with Bucky trying to get her to remember one day he loses his tags she comes across it and suddenly she gets her memory back and runs through the facility looking for him and tells him that she remembers him and them and tells him she still wants to marry him and it ends in smut

Found My Way Back To You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Fiancée/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Fiancée/Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky were engaged in the 1940s and finds you’re alive and he gets you back to the Avengers Compound safe and sound and does everything he can to get you to remember him and you eventually find your way back to him.

Warnings: Fluff, little bit of Angst, Smut ending (18+), language, HYDRA, flashbacks, crying, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

A/N #2: The reader is another Winter Soldier and she has powers like Wanda. Flashbacks are in italic text.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

1945

You woke up to the sound of movement. You got out of bed to check it out. You opened the bedroom door and stepped out in the hallway, cautiously walking towards the living room. You poked your head around the corner to see men dressed in black looking for something. You quickly went back to your bedroom and hid in the closet and put your hand over your mouth. They must’ve heard you somehow, because they made their way to your bedroom and broke down the door. They looked around the room and under the bed. One of the men stopped in front of the closet door and pressed his ear against it, hearing the sound of whimpers. He opened it and pulled you out of the closet. You kicked and screamed, doing everything you could to get away from them. You yelped when a needle pricked your neck. Within a few seconds, your eyes fluttered shut and your body went limp.

A few hours later, you woke up strapped to a chair in what it seems to be some kind of lab. One of the guards noticed and alerted everyone else in Russian. A man approached you and crouched down in front of you.

“Welcome to HYDRA.” The man said in Russian. “You’re going to be our newest experiment.” He says.

Before you could kick, scream, or protest, a scientist put an IV in your arm that had some kind of blue liquid in it. That’s when all of the pain began.

PRESENT DAY

Bucky walked up and down the hallways of the HYDRA base with his gun held in front of him and checking every corner and room. He thought everything was clear, but he was wrong. He got caught off guard and thrown into a wall. He groaned and stood up, reaching for his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You say.

Bucky froze in place. He knows that voice. It’s a voice from someone he was very close to in the 1940s. He hasn’t heard that voice in years. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He turned around slowly so he can see the person. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t believe what- who he was seeing. His fiancée from the 1940s is standing a few feet away from him.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know who the hell Y/N is.” You slightly tilted your head. “What I do know is that you’re not supposed to be here, Soldat.” You say.

Bucky’s heart broke in a million pieces and he cringed when you called him Soldat. He hasn’t been called that in a while.

“Y/N, please…” He pleads. “It’s me. Bucky. Your Bucky.” He says.

Bucky stepped forward, getting closer to you, which was probably a mistake cause that got him thrown against the wall again. Bucky groans and stood up.

“Alright, doll…” Bucky sighs. “You want to fight, we’ll fight.” He says.

Bucky watched a purple ball of light glow in your hand and your eyes glowing purple. He knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he might as well give it his all.

You threw the purple energy blasts at him. He dodged every one of them and got closer to you as he did so. He managed to grab one of your wrists, which probably wasn’t a smart thing for him to do cause he got blasted through a door into a room. Bucky groaned and looked around, trying to gather his surroundings.

“You should just give up now, Soldat.” You walked in the room. “Just face it, you’re not as strong as you used to be, even with the metal arm.” You say.

“I’m not giving up.” Bucky stood up. “I’m just getting started.” He says.

Bucky seen something from the corner of his eye. He glanced over at the table and seen a syringe filled a sedative. That’s when an idea popped into his head. Bucky is going to attempt to pin you down and inject you with the sedative.

Bucky approached you, dodging your blasts each time. When he finally got to you, he tackled you to the floor. You didn’t let that stop you. You put up a fight. He wrapped his vibranium arm around you, pinning your arms down to your sides. He stood up with you squirming in his arms.

“Let me go!” You demanded, trying to squirm out of his strong grip.

Bucky ignored your pleads to let you go. His right hand took the cap off of the needle of the syringe and picked it up.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He apologizes before injecting you with the sedative.

A yelp left your lips when the needle pricked your arm. After a few seconds, your eyes fluttered shut and your body went limp in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky threw the syringe somewhere in the room and eased you down to the floor. He moved your hair from your face to get a good look at you. He felt his eyes tear up as he looked at you.

“What did they do to you, my sweet doll?” Bucky asks in a whisper, his voice cracking.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to the quinjet. He was met by Steve and Natasha at where they came in the base.

“What took you so- who’s that?” Natasha asks when she seen you in Bucky’s arms.

“I’ll explain later.” Bucky says.

Steve got a good look at your face when Bucky laid you down somewhere comfortable in the quinjet. He immediately knew who you are.

“Is this Y/N?” Steve asks Bucky.

“Yes.” Bucky answers, not taking his eyes off of you.

“What- how-” Steve couldn’t figure out what question he wanted to ask first.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Bucky says.

When everyone got back to the compound, Bucky’s first priority was you. He got you cleaned up and put comfortable clothes on you that Natasha and Wanda provided for you. Then Bucky sat next to his bed and waited for you to wake up.

You woke up after a couple hours. You looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to gather your surroundings. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you tried to figure out where you are.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky says softly.

You turned your head and seen Bucky sitting in a chair next to the bed.

“Who are you and where am I?” You asked.

“I’m Bucky, your fiancée. You’re in the Avengers Compound.” Bucky answers.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t have a fiancée.” You threw the blankets off of you and got out of bed. “You’re the Winter Soldier and you drugged me and brought me to whatever this place is.” You say, looking around the room.

“What- no.” He stood up from the chair. “I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.” He tells you. “I didn’t drug you. I just sedated you so I can get you out of there.” He explains softly.

Bucky slowly approached you so he didn’t scare you. You walked backwards till your back hit the wall behind you.

“Doll, I’m not going to hurt you.” He assures softly.

“Don’t come any closer!” Your eyes glowed purple. “Get away from me!” You shouted.

“Ok, ok.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll give you some space.” He says.

Bucky left his room to give you the space you needed. He sighed loudly as he entered the lounge room where all of the Avengers are.

“Does she remember you?” Steve asks Bucky.

“No.” Bucky sat down on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s like I never existed to her.” He says.

Steve put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Who is that girl?” Natasha asks.

“My fiancée.” Bucky answers.

Everyone in the room had surprised looks on their faces, except Steve. He already knew about you since you two are friends and grew up in the same time period as him and Bucky.

Bucky spent the day trying to figure out how to get you to remember him. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, but he wants you to know that he’s your fiancée. He was in the conference room and was supposed to be filling out paperwork from the mission he saved you from, but he was too lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even hear Steve and Natasha walk in the room.

“Bucky…” Steve says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up at him and Natasha.

“Me and Steve were doing some research on your fiancée and found something you might want to see.” Natasha says, handing Bucky the tablet she had in her hands.

Bucky took the tablet from her and read the information on you they had found on you. WINTER SOLDIER 2.0 EXPERIMENT was in bold, black, italic, capital letters.

“They were trying to make her a Winter Soldier.” Bucky says out loud, looking at Steve and Natasha.

“Keep reading.” Steve tells him.

Bucky kept reading and came across a note.

1945- Subject was found in her home in Brooklyn, New York. She will be the next experiment to be tested be a Winter Soldier.

Something about that note set Bucky off. He dropped the tablet on the table with and ran his fingers through his hair with teary eyes.

“No, no, no.” Bucky whispers to himself as a couple tears rolled down his cheeks. “This can’t be true.” He says, not wanting to believe it.

Bucky stood up from his seat and went to find you. He didn’t have to look long and hard. You were in the same room you were in when he brought you to the compound, his bedroom.

You jumped at the sound of the door opening and closing. Your eyes glowed purple and a purple ball of light glowed in your hand to defend yourself if it’s danger.

“Hey, hey.” Bucky coos softly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.” He assures. “I just want to talk if that’s ok with you.” He says.

You stared at him for a few silent seconds before agreeing to talk to him. Bucky sat on his bed and patted the spot next to him. You hesitated before sitting down.

“I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t want you to freak out, ok?” He says.

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m Bucky, your fiancée. Your name is Y/N.” He starts. “We were in a relationship in the 1940s, but our time together got cut short because of something that happened to me when I was in the Army in 1945.” He explains.

You sat there, listening to him, but everything he’s saying doesn’t ring a bell to you.

“Does any of that sound familiar?” He asks.

“No.” You answered.

“Try thinking about it. It’ll come to you.” He says.

Bucky put his right hand on top of one of your hands. You jerked it away and moved further up the bed as a force of habit.

“Sorry.” You mumbled. “I do that when people touch me.” You say.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I get it.” He says understandingly.

You two sat in silence with at least a foot of distance in between the two of you for a few minutes.

“Why are you trying to get me to remember things I don’t remember?” You asked.

“We have history together.” He says.

“But I don’t know you.” You say.

You saying that felt like someone ripped Bucky’s heart out of his chest and crushed it in their bare hands. Bucky let out a shaky breath before standing up and left his room, giving you time to yourself.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky does everything he can to get you to remember him. He showed you pictures of you and him together, but nothing still doesn’t ring a bell to you. It’s breaking Bucky’s heart even more. He gets so upset that he takes it out on the punching bags in the gym.

Meanwhile, you were wandering around the compound, but you kept getting lost. You were still trying to adjust to being there. You heard panting and grunting noises coming from the gym. You walked in the gym to see Bucky working out. Bucky seen you from the corner of his eye and looked over at you, stopping what he was doing.

“You ok?” Bucky asks as he approaches you.

“Yea. I was walking around and heard noises in here.” You say.

“I was just working out.” He tells you.

“Oh ok.” You say.

Bucky walked past you to go to his bedroom to take a shower. You were about to leave the gym, but you caught a glimpse of something shiny on the floor. You walked over to it and picked it up. It was a necklace. Not just any kind of necklace. It was Bucky’s Army dog tags.

When Bucky was getting dressed after his shower, he noticed something off. As he was looking in the mirror, he quickly noticed that his dog tags weren’t around his neck. The only time he takes them off is when he takes showers.

“No…” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky looked on the sink counter in the bathroom, in and on his dresser and nightstand, his bed, the pants he wore, his jacket pockets, but he couldn’t find them. Meanwhile, you were still looking at Bucky’s dog tags. You weren’t sure what it was, but something them was familiar. That’s when a familiar voice echoed in your head.

“The 107th, Sergeant James Barnes.” The voice says.

That’s when you recognized the name on the dog tags. Your memories started flowing back in your mind like a broken dam. Then you ran through the compound, looking for Bucky. You looked everywhere, but couldn’t find him. Finally, you went to the floor where his room is. You knocked on his bedroom door rapidly till he opened it.

“Now’s not really-” Bucky got interrupted.

“I found your dog tags.” You gave them to him. “I remember.” You tell him.

“You remember? Oh my god, doll! That’s amazing!” He exclaims happily.

Bucky stepped aside, allowing you to walk in his room. You took a seat on the edge of his bed. He sat down next to you.

“I want you to know that I never forgot about you.” He tells you. “You’ve been on my mind everyday. I never stopped loving you.” He says.

He lifted his right hand to gently caress your cheek and rubbed his thumb against your skin. You leaned into his touch and looked deep in his blue eyes.

“Bucky…” You almost whisper.

“What is it, doll?” He asks, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I still want to get married.” You tell him. “I want to marry you.” You say.

A smile grew on Bucky’s face. He leaned in and kissed you passionately. You melted against his lips. The last time you and Bucky kissed was when he left for the Army. It felt so good to have his lips on yours again. He pulled away, still looking deep in your eyes.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say those words.” Bucky says.

He kissed you again. This time, he gently laid you back on his bed and got on top of you, hovering over you. Your hands grasped onto his t-shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I missed you.” You say against his lips.

“I missed you more.” He says softly.

Your hands found their way to the bottom of his t-shirt and tugged on it, indicating that you wanted him to take it off. Bucky quickly understood and sat up on his knees. He took his shirt off and threw it somewhere in the room.

For a moment, Bucky was worried that you were going to say something about his vibranium arm and his scars, but you didn’t. You seen both, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up.

Bucky’s hands found their way to the bottom of your shirt. He looked up at you for permission before going any further. You nodded your head yes, giving him the ok. He took your shirt off and preceded to do the same thing with your pants, but paused and waited for permission again. You gave him permission by lifting your hips. He slid your pants does your legs and dropped them on the floor.

You placed a hand on Bucky’s abdomen, gently pushing him back a little so you could sit up. You unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped the zipper of his jeans while maintaining eye contact and biting your bottom lip. Bucky noticed that same innocent look you always have in your eyes when you two are about to have sex. He loves that look.

Bucky got off the bed to take his jeans off and then got on then bed, hovering over you. He leaned his head down to place soft kisses along your shoulders. His right hand found its way to your back. You arched your back so he could unclasp your bra, exposing your breasts to him.

“You’re still gorgeous as the day I met you.” Bucky says softly.

You couldn’t help but blush. His compliments always made you blush.

Bucky’s hands made their way to the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers on the waistband and pulled them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to him. He was still in his boxers. Your hands roamed his perfectly sculpted body, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. You hooked your fingers in the waistband and tugged on them. Bucky chuckled softly at your eagerness before taking them off.

You couldn’t help but look at his cock, gasping softly when you seen how big he is. You didn’t know he was that big. Partly due to the Super Soldier serum that enhanced his appearance and features.

Bucky gave you a soft kiss on your lips before lining his cock at your entrance. He slowly slid it in your pussy, halting his movements when he heard you gasp.

“Are you ok, babydoll?” Bucky asks softly.

“Mhmm, yea.” You hummed, nodding your head.

Bucky continues to slowly slide his cock inside of you. When he was fully inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust to his size since it’s been a long time since you two have had sex.

“You can move.” You gave him permission. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.” You say.

Bucky gave you a soft smile and a kiss before he started thrusting. His thrusts were slow and loving. Even though you said not to hold back, he still wanted to take it easy on you. You two used to have a fun sex life before he left for the Army. This time is different. All Bucky wanted to do is make love to you.

You spread your legs wider to give Bucky more access. One of Bucky’s hands found its way to your thigh, giving it a rub before lifting your leg and placing it on his hip.

“James…” You moaned softly.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head to the side. Bucky softly kissed along your neck. His teeth lightly grazed your skin, making you gasp softly. He bit down hard enough for a hickey. He did t once more before going back to focusing on your pleasure.

Bucky always took your pleasure seriously. He always wants you to feel good. To make it more loving and romantic, his hands found their way to yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. You looked up at him with a loving look on your face. Bucky had the same look on his face.

Bucky leaned his forehead against your shoulder, nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck. The stubble of his beard poked and scratched your skin. You can’t remember the last time Bucky had a beard or stubble, but you sure as hell know that you love it.

“I love you, babydoll.” Bucky breathes. “So fucking much.” He says.

“I love you too, James.” You moaned.

Your pussy fluttered around his cock when his cock hit your sweet spot. A loud moan of his name left your lips. Your moans encouraged him to thrust a little faster. Bucky loves it when you call him by his first name.

You turned your head just enough to kiss along his neck. Your teeth nipped on his skin hard enough for a hickey. Bucky moans at the feeling. He used to love it when you give him hickeys. He still loves it. It’s been so long that he almost forgot what it felt like.

Bucky’s right hand left your hand to rub your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand at the feeling. Your mouth fell open, breathy moans left your lips. You didn’t know how long you’re going to last with the way he’s rubbing your clit and the way he’s making love to you.

“James, I’m-” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

“Cum for me, doll. I’m close too.” Bucky says panting.

His name fell from your lips as you came. Bucky came not too long after you. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He gave you a passionate kiss before pulling out and laying down next to you. He pulled you close to him with his arms wrapped around you protectively and covered the two of you up with a blanket. You laid your head on his chest and played with his dog tags.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky whispers after a few minutes.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say, smiling up at him.

“Just know, I’m going to give the wedding you’ve been dreaming about.” He says.

“You’re the best.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips sweetly.

“I know I am.” He says, smiling against your lips.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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tk-duveraun · 15 days

Text

Idk I just really want SY overwhelmed with guilt for taking SJ's life and going through hell to bring him back ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Maybe a no-system AU where SY has a full melt down on day one right all over YQY because *he didn't want this*. He didn't want to kill someone else just so he could have a second life.

MQF world be called in and suspect SJ just has a mental break or something, since that's far more likely than this soul usurpation, but YQY overrules him bc there's no way this is SJ no matter how addled

Bonus points if airplane DOES have a system and is sweating bullets throughout all of this.

Maybe LQG gets sent with SY to find whatever plot device while YQY keeps up appearances and LQG falls for this wet dog of a man who just bleeds self sacrifice.

Eventually they get back to the sect and SY is waiting while they prepare a ritual or whatever and goes "oh shit, wait, the protagonist???" And is like "hello, you're my child now. Liu-gege, help me raise my child"

SJ comes back, pissed, SY is a spiritual creature of some sort (Empty Blossom of Moonlit Purity? Withers instantly on contact with demonic qi). SJ is talked down from vengeance since SY did immediately try (and did manage) to save him.

SY just takes LBH with him to go live on BZ.

SJ and YQY have a knock down drag out fight about how dare YQY save his life this time. How stupid is he to bring back a critical weakness? SJ ends up injuring YQY pretty seriously (since he's not even trying to defend himself) and YQY confesses that SJ is with more than his own life and always has been.

(SJ now has no idea why Qige never saved him, still doesn't know about Xuansu, but there is some reconciliation)

(meanwhile poor Binghe is like "withers on contact? 🥺")

(if SY consumes the Sunlit Flower of Balance he loses that weakness, which he does, but then forgets to mention. So he goes traveling to observe demonic beasts and gives everyone stress ulcers)

#svsss #liushen #qijiu

376 notes · View notes

eupheme · 5 months

Text

— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope.

You hadn’t.

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure.

It doesn't fucking matter.

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you.

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy.

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic.

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat.

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals.

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in.

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you.

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together.

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound.

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you.

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough.

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead.

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber.

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones.

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into.

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them.

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm.

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs.

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free.

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest.

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again.

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way.

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye.

You both know how this will go, when you get back home.

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart.

Maybe he’d show.

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after.

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart.

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge.

No one was coming for you.

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin.

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him.

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls.

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below.

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience.

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret.

Comin' after a girl then, too.

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind.

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago.

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back.

But he's never much liked being underground.

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through.

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that.

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you.

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons.

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow.

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet.

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth.

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently.

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all.

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away.

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation.

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes.

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after.

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck.

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down.

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.

His whistle echoes in the chamber.

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him.

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery.

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death.

It rankles him, teeth set on edge.

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice.

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember.

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that.

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck.

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice.

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers.

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back.

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been.

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you.

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him.

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor.

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash.

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires.

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second.

Always too goddamn slow.

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado.

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired.

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door.

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him.

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back.

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast.

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought.

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long.

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices.

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat.

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched.

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments.

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal.

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting.

He had blown through them like it was nothing.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement.

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head.

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs.

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did.

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you.

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years.

You’re not able to resist.

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw.

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering.

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer.

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands.

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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suukee · 5 months

Text

other half 彡 levi ackerman

» summary ⋆ levi doesn’t exactly notice it, but one of his love languages is physical touch. (how he acts when he’s in love)

» content ⋆ levi ackerman x reader. fluff, hurt/comfort. mentions character deaths. written with season four, special two in mind.

» word count ⋆ 1070

Levi doesn’t exactly notice it, but one of his love languages is physical touch.

That’s because, growing up, he lost everyone he treasured.

His mother passed away when he was nothing more than a living skeleton, too young to live on his own. The last memory he recalls is laying his head down on her lap and her feather-like touch. Her fingers were gentle as they ran through his hair. Sometimes it had grown so long to the point where she’d braid them.

The man who found Levi, rotting beside the corpse of his mother, raised him as though he was a caretaker, but not like a father. It’s vague in Levi’s older years, but he remembers the head pats and the hair ruffling. The man was overall careless and strong, but he had soft moments where he’d praise Levi. And just out of the blue, the mystery man abandoned him. Years later, when it was revealed that this man was his uncle all along, he had died in the next moment.

Then there was Furlan and Isabel, the only two people he had considered his family in his adult years Underground. Isabel was a girl with no personal space for the people she cared for. For as long as she could remember, she loved hugs. And while Levi was stiff and complaint about it, she’d do it again and again. Pats on the shoulder from Furlan were enough of a relief to know he was there. Yet, they soon left, devoured on their first expedition outside the walls.

Levi’s very first squad respected his space, unlike Isabel. Even so, they meant something to him. He’d only seen the aftermath of their lives. He doesn’t have much of a physical memory from them. He carries the weight of being unable to protect them as they always would for him.

Then came the commander—both of them. The people he grew to appreciate. He wouldn’t dare to admit out loud they had become his friends. The two strong leaders made a great sacrifice for the sake of humanity. It was heavy. Like the death of his squad, he added that weight to the list. He could feel the hands of Erwin and Hange on his shoulders urging him on.

They’re all gone. Bittersweet memories. Repeating nightmares taunt him just when he thinks he’s got it wrapped around his head.

Through such hardships, he’s gifted with you. The war hasn’t come to an end, not yet, but you’re the only person he knows who survived countless battles from the very beginning.

You have become the only person in the entire world to whom he will cry, vent, and lean toward when he needs to. Whenever he wants to.

His comfort is his best friend. His lover. His partner in crime. That’s always going to be you.

Anyone who catches him holding your hand or kissing your cheek may find it strange. He doesn’t want to be touched by anyone, let alone touch someone himself. He’s a damn intimidating man. One look is all he needs to drive people away. And while it took some time to get to the point where he could freely be himself, the thought that he doesn’t deserve you still gnaws at him.

You treat him like a living person, not as Humanities Strongest. You went through hell and back just to get to know him, to understand him—why he acts and feels the way he does. You’ve changed him into a better man, and you’ve accepted his flaws. Your devotion and love are so innocent and pure, he knows you’d do it all over again. Just for him.

He didn’t make it easy to break down his walls. His guard was exhaustingly high. He tried to push you away in case of the day he loses you, then it wouldn’t hurt so much. But as his calloused hands find their place on the soft skin of your cheeks, eyes shining of love, giggles echoing in his ears, he doesn’t look back. You’re the one he wants to protect. Lay his life down for. A reason to look ahead.

Sometimes, you’re too busy laughing to notice he smiles when you’re this close. But you know he’s content despite how rarely he smiles.

At meetings or meals, he’ll sit across from you. There are times when he rests the tip of his boot atop yours lightly. It’s just his way of keeping in contact with you. If he decides to sit next to you, he’ll be close enough that your knees press against his gently. It did take him some time to kiss you, but he was uneasy about public displays of affection. On his own, and with your patience, he comes to terms with holding your finger or keeping a grip around your waist whenever you’re out together.

He’s a different man in private. He holds you so close, hugging you tightly like you’ll disappear if he lets go. He loves it when you come to the office late at night, settling yourself on his lap as he completes his work—writing with one hand and holding you against him with the other (he complains someone will see and that you should be getting rest, but makes no effort to get you off). When exhaustion kicks in, Levi loves to rest his head on your shoulder, keeping a hand on your thigh and gently caressing the fabric of your pants or, even better, your skin. His body weight is all on you when he’s knocked out cuddling, not that you’ve ever complained about it. Not that you ever will.

Who would’ve guessed the stoic captain had such a soft side?

Nighttime is the worst. A swarm of nightmares disturb his rest. That’s when he becomes desperate for your touch. Your chest and your lap, that’s his new favorite pillow. Your fingers playing with his hair, his undercut, or rubbing his upper back boosts his melatonin. Your arms are the safest place in such an unforgiving world. You’re a calming piece of his life he doesn’t dare to lose.

He can’t.

Even though the war isn’t over, and there’s no time to spend together, it’s your presence that aids him for a while. Even if he can’t see with his eye properly, he relies on touch. Just your hand, and he’s good.

Who would he be without you? He doesn’t want to know.

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cricket-of-the-hill · 16 days

Text

So what's the deal with Fiddleford McGucket? Why's he like that?

Fiddleford as a character is so FUN because he's so complicated and tragic and honestly a little pathetic. On one hand you have this absolutely brilliant scientist with the potential to have been the in universe Steve Jobs who figured out that the universe is a hologram and built an honest to betsy transdimensional portal (with Ford's help, yes, but let's be honest: as mathematically brilliant as Ford was, I think his intelligence laid more in the theoretical side of things, really doubt he could have actually built the portal himself).

On the other hand, we have this man who up and leves his FAMILY to chase after a college friend who calls him one day saying "hey, I'm out in Oregon building a portal to another dimension. Little help?" and he doesn't even think twice before being like "bet" and getting his ass to Oregon. And even if you take in the context clues that things weren't going well with his marriage before he left (as pieced together by the brilliant @divorcedfiddleford in this post), he still had his son and McGucket Computermajigs and he just sets all that aside for this guy, which... 😶

I am gonna write this whole post on the assumption that Fiddleford was in love with Ford, but look, even if that's the case it doesn't make any of his actions less unhinged. Break here, because the post gets kinda long 😶‍🌫️

So here's the thing: in the fandom, it's fun to think that Fidds knew about Bill and they had some sort of taunting rivalry/love triangle thing going on and that's really fun to mess with, but FIDDLEFORD HAD NO IDEA ABOUT BILL. Ford never told him! So even if Fidds leaves California thinking he's gonna have his hot girl summer/queer arthouse romcom where he reconnects with the love of his youth and they spend the summer working in this secluded house in the woods where they can finally live out their romance, what he actually gets is a fucking psychological horror thriller where the guy he loves and is kinda trapped with is either slowly going insane or straight up getting possessed.

Now, all that is 😵‍💫 enough, but it gets worse because instead of doing the normal person thing and getting the hell out of Dodge, Fiddleford stays. He continues to help Ford to build the portal despite how weird the other man is getting, he continues to go cryptid hunting even after the nightmare goblin almost eats him, even if Ford clearly doesn't appreciate the work he does (research assistant? Not even partner? Come on), and never reciprocates the kind of gestures Fidds has towards him (like the infamous double Christmas gift bonanza).

Here's where the duality of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket kicks in: the thing is that he is incredibly brave in some ways and obviously really smart but also kind of a coward and an idiot when it comes to his relationships with others. He'll hit Thee Krampus upside the head with his banjo one day to save his friend and run away to Oregon instead of discussing divorce with this wife the next. He will leave everything he knows to pursue this one guy, but he will never ever ever confess to feeling anything other than friendship towards him. He'll put up with Stanford's creepy as all hell behavior but will never confront him about it even as Ford loses more and more of himself into his project (so no little intervention not even to help this man he's giving so much up for). Like, what was he expecting to get out of all this? If he was never planning to confess to Ford or leave his wife, what was he going to do once the portal was completed? Just keep on bouncing between wherever Ford went next and his family? Did he really think his wife and son wouldn't mind him leaving them behind without so much as a thought?

Operating under the assumption that Fiddleford is a closeted queer guy from rural Deep Down South Hillbilly County Tennessee (said with love, I'm also from the south, but we all know what homophobia looks like here) during the '80s (height of the aids pandemic which would have made everything worse) one can maybe understand why Fiddleford is like that. Why he is so so so afraid and why he ultimately chooses to erase his memories rather than just go back to his family.

So picture this: you are in love with your best friend but you can't tell him 'cause best case scenario he leaves you out to dry and worst case scenario maybe someone finds your boots down by the river and lets your parents know (and we know Ford is sweet and fruity himself and with a thing for outcasts and would never. Fiddleford probably knows that himself, but let me tell you that when you grow up with that fear it goes deep. Because you've most likely seen people who are kind get absolutely bent out of shape when confronted with the mere idea of someone like you existing in their near vicinity). Eventually, you get married and have a son because that is what you were supposed to do all along and even though you love your son and maybe even love your wife everything feels wrong. They expect you to be something you are not, you can never let your guard down, never be yourself, not even in your own home. So then that call comes and it's like a golden thicket: you can leave, give it a rest for a little while, go see your friend, stretch out those inventing muscles.

As much as the fandom clowns him for it, I honestly don't even think he went out there with the intention of cheating (emotionally or otherwise). BUT I do think he was hoping something would happen. It's just that it all depended on Ford taking that first step because Fidds sure as hell wouldn't. And then Ford didn't because he was too busy doing the sin cos tan with his trigonometry homework, but if he had, we could have had a brokenback mountain situation on our hands, lads. Then Fiddleford could have just gone along with it, and done all sorts of mind parkour to convince himself that that's somehow less bad than "outright" cheating on his wife.

So he gets to the cabin, right? And maybe things are good for a little while, like when they were in college. Fiddleford lets loose a little, Ford is happy with the company, they're friends! And I get the sense that they're the kind of friends that mesh really well, like their energies really match. As much as the fandom paints Fiddleford like a sweet cinnamon roll, that man is also a freak. He's out here building psychotic post divorce revenge pterodactyl robots and drinking abducted cow milk just to see what it's like. He's a bit unhinged! He and Ford are the two people in the world that can be like "I think the universe is a hologram." "Cool! Let's prove it mathematically, bro" and "I want to build a portal to another dimension. Just cause." "Catching a ride to your place with my toolbox as we speak, buddy." (My own personal head cannon is that Fiddleford didn't really become such a shaky jelly until the nightmare goblin got him. Like, he was never as adventurous as Ford, but I think before that particular traumatizing event he was all right for it).

Anyways, things are good for a bit, but the real world is still out there. Fiddleford has to make trips home every now and then, and every time he comes back it seems like something is different. A little off. At first it's nothing big, just a smile a little sharper than usual, a coldness in a look, Ford calling him "Specs" where before he was always a variation of his name. Then it's pointed comments that Fidds chalks up to a lack of sleep (is Ford even sleeping at all? Because he could have sworn for the past three nights he he has appeared in the same place Fidds left him when he went to sleep). Then it's a flash of yellow eyes, a maniacal laugh that Ford never used to make before, spells where he seemingly forgets how to use his body (bumps into things, tries to drink soda with his eyes?). As time goes on it starts to become more and more obvious that something is seriously wrong with this friend. And things back home are just getting worse and worse, Emma May isn't happy about Fiddleford skipping town so often, Tate wont stop asking for him, and look, was Fiddleford even making money while he was with Ford? He gettin' paid? Is Emma May back home trying to bring home the bacon while virtually single parenting? (How was Ford even supporting himself while studying anomalies? I can't imagine there's a lot of grants for that.)

But Fiddleford can't leave his friend and he can't really own up to how much messier things are at home because of this whole thing. So he keeps coming back to Gravity Falls, where he also can't really face up to Ford and either demand a clear answer as to what is going on or try to get him some help (an exorcist, maybe). Because if he does say something and Ford decides that he doesn't want Fiddleford around asking questions he's gonna have to go back home where after the Christmas thing he's honestly not sure he's really wanted anymore, not really sure he deserves it if he still was. So he keeps on doing his thing, telling himself "this is fine 🙂," while he sits in a room on fire with a bill-possessed Ford hanging from the ceiling like a spider and an disapproving Emma May looking in through a window.

I think the portal incident was what finally opened his eyes to the reality of his situation, in an ironic way. He destroyed his relationship with his wife and left his son for nothing. Left his own dreams and aspirations aside just to find out that when push comes to shove his opinion and well-being matter so little to this man he was ready to break the laws of physics for. He can't stay with Ford, and he sure as hell can't go back home, because that would mean having to face that he's done burned down all his bridges. So where do you go from there? Let me tell you, if I had the chance to forget the lowest, most selfish, stupid thing I did for a person who didn't even notice it, I'd do it in a second.

#gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #stanford pines #bill cipher #fiddauthor #fordsquared #fordford #the tragic ballad of fiddleford mcgucket #he just tears me up man 🥲#this sounds kinda critical of Ford but I swear I really do love him too #if I lost the situationship with him to a triangle I would also go crazy and start a cult #ford pines

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lexsssu · 1 year

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Sweet (Totsumoto Yuushi)

TAGS: Yuushi/F!Reader, smut, breeding, impregnation, some plot Ao3 ver.

Iɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ғɪɴᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ ᴏғ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ɪʀʀᴇsɪsᴛɪʙʟᴇ.

Totsumoto Yuushi had been down on his luck ever since the recession had forced his former company to let go of him. Applying to other companies also yielded no results, so he was stuck moving from part-time job to part-time job.

However, it wasn’t all that bad.

Before he’d lost his former job as a salaryman, he’d met cute little you.

Soft, fragrant, and probably the sweetest cinnamon roll he had ever come to meet in his entire life.

You with your saccharine smiles and genuine warmth and concern for some random older man you’d met (he passed out on the side of a dingy alley, having drowned himself in beer after being forced to do some more unpaid overtime).

You could have simply ignored him back then because he would have woken up some hours later with a hangover and got back home relatively in one piece.

But you didn’t.

Out of the goodness of your heart, you managed to drag him back to your own apartment and had him settled on your sofa-bed. Hell, you even went as far as laying a blanket on him and putting a pillow that was softer and smelled nicer than any pillow he’d ever used beneath his head.

“Good morning. I just made breakfast if you’re feeling hungry,” your melodic voice greeted him as he sat up, somewhat disoriented and wondering where the fuck he’d ended up after passing out last night.

But speaking of breakfast, Yuushi feels his stomach grumbling as the scent of freshly cooked rice, eggs, toast, and bacon permeated around the homey apartment.

“If it’s not too much trouble…”

“Please, help yourself. I made more than enough to share!”

And for the first time in a very long time, he finds himself sharing a home-cooked meal with someone. Even if you were virtually strangers, he already feels much closer to you than anyone he’s currently acquainted with.

Yuushi goes home with his stomach full, heart warm, and your number on his contact list.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Contrary to popular belief, he does not sleep with you the next time you two meet up (which was at a popular cafe where he finds himself mesmerized at the sheer happiness you exuded just from tasting the pastries and one of those creamy, fruity drinks).

He does his best to ignore the way the thick, white cream decorates your lips before you lick it off with your pink tongue.

Nor does Yuushi sleep with you even after every time you hang out after that.

He doesn’t do anything to break the ‘platonic’ friendship you two share, because he is so starved of human connection that he finds these moments with you more than enough…for the time being, that is.

Besides, how can he even dare to prey on cute little you, when you blushed so prettily when he so much as placed a hand on your shoulder or on the small of your back as he steered you somewhere?

You certainly deserved better.

A dirty old man like himself isn’t worth your attention and affection if you asked him.

But then he loses his job, fails to find a new one, and continuously fails to pay rent at his old apartment.

Just when it feels like his entire world is crashing before his very eyes, there you are again with a hand held out to him.

“You can stay with me for as long as you need to.”

Yuushi doesn’t hesitate, nor does he hold himself back anymore.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“I want to impregnate you. Gonna make sure my cock keeps kissing your womb like this.”

With your legs wrapped around his waist and your lower body practically folded in half to accommodate the heavy weight of the older man’s body, Yuushi is as deep inside you as he could be. And just like his words, the tip of his cock keeps bullying the entrance to your womb in this position.

“I'll take good care of you and all the little ones we’ll make, I promise.”

The way your insides practically choke his dick with just a few words renews his stamina, and so you both lose yourselves in a haze of pleasure just before the first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You become Mrs. Totsumoto not too long after, and the both of you move outside Tokyo to manage the strawberry farm you inherited from your grandparents. While your husband does most of the heavy work, especially as your pregnancy progressed, you still helped around with light housework and making different kinds of products with the strawberries you produced.

Aside from the fruits themselves, your humble farm also made strawberry jam, milk, strawberry ice cream, etc. You also had contracts with several businesses, supplying them with your high-quality products.

All in all, business was booming and life was good.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

At a newly opened inn somewhere in Japan, the new owner received this week’s shipment of strawberries as his otherwordly wife peeked from behind him.

“Ooooooh, this new batch of strawberries from our supplier is especially tasty today! Would you like to try some K-ko?”

#lexsssu writes #lady k and the sick man #totsumoto yuushi x reader #yuushi totsumoto x reader #ossan x reader #x reader smut #reader-insert

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