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paingoes · 19 days ago

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Destroyer (Vol.II)

Liaison

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past trauma, betrayal, power dynamics, conditioning)

The tank’s water needed to be changed weekly to keep the animals inside healthy. In training, they’d apologized to Delta for how tedious it was, but he didn’t mind. He’d offered.

By now, he knew where to reach for the wires without having to look. He hooked one ankle behind the cords, yanking it free from the outlet while his hands pushed the siphon through the open lid of the tank. As the water flowed up into the pipe and down into the plastic bucket, the faint scent of salt permeated the air. The light from the other tanks still illuminated the scene in a ghostly blue, the same glow of his own bioluminescence. As he pressed his forehead lightly against the glass, the fish inside took notice. They were non fearful, studying him just the same.

A presence appeared at the end of the corridor. Delta straightened. His arms moved up reflexively to guard himself, the claws of his left hand wrapped delicately around the opposite wrist. His eyes adjusted. It was all darkness at first. Lun gave him that sense sometimes. It was like witnessing a shadow pass over reality. They moved purposely. As they neared, their eyes were wide with eagerness and their fangs were gnashed together with an undisguised guilt.

“You knew. You have known where he was for years.”

Delta had never been so angry in his entire life. He wouldn’t sit down, no matter how many times Levon suggested it. All he could do was pace the confines of the office, self-soothing before rounding on him again with a different point. They weren’t great arguments. Delta was doing his best to keep himself coherent, but he was so upset he could hardly think. That was what it kept coming back to.

How could you.

Levon leaned back against the edge of the desk, jaw set, refusing to even look up at him for the most part. Delta had never seen him so visibly annoyed. Under normal circumstances, the slightest suggestion of displeasure from him would have been enough to make Delta spiral. But fuck, Delta had never yelled at him like this before.

“You’ve known where he was this entire time and you didn’t tell me. When have I ever asked you for anything? What wouldn’t I do for you? This is the one thing I ask and you -“

Too frustrated to finish, his hands clenched up into fists before unfurling, scraping against the scalp as he nearly pulled his own hair out. He could barely breathe.

“You said he was mine,” Delta managed.

“I didn’t say that and I never would have,” Levon stated.

His ankle was crossed over the other, hands resting against the edge of the wood grain behind him. It annoyed Delta that he still had the nerve to pose at a time like this. (Though, distantly, he knew he must have lived through several worse crises with the same aura.)

The air electrified.

“Explain it to me. Please, Captain. I’m begging you.”

And he really was. For hours, all there had been was the sensation of falling. The floor was disappearing. There was nothing to grasp at. How could you.

Levon pinched the bridge of his nose. No artifice in his grimace — the pain was real. There was a reason he couldn’t bring himself to look up, Delta figured. Because he knew he was in the wrong, and that was why he hadn’t told him, and that was why he wouldn’t answer.

But he did answer now and he did look up. When his gaze passed over him, it hurt. Delta hadn’t expected it to hurt, but it did. The sheer absence of either anger or resentment in his expression was enough to stun Delta in place for a second, enough to make him want to beg for forgiveness at having ever raised his voice. But the agony of anticipation kept him frozen in place.

Levon sighed before speaking.

“He was already gone by the time I got there. There were plans to capture him. But when nothing turned up along the planet’s surface, it seemed as though the only explanation was that CTRL had taken him. Or that he’d died somewhere the body couldn’t be found.” That last sentence was half-muttered, wishful thinking.

“And you let it happen?” Delta stared back incredulously with all his sympathy lost. “They took him, and you were there a day later, and you let him go.”

“They got to him first. We’re meant to be equals, and they already think I’m a control freak. I couldn’t just steal their kill.”

“You ARE a control freak!” Delta exclaimed. “Yes you could have!”

Levon cracked a smile at that, just for a second, and Delta felt his own love swell against his will.

The anger quickly washed over it again.

“Why are you calling it a kill? They said he’s a prisoner, but if that’s true, why keep it a secret? Why wouldn’t they tell you what they were doing with him? They’re harboring a war criminal, they don’t have a leg to stand on about fairness. He’s not a prisoner. They didn’t punish him. And you’re fine with that. You don’t even care.”

Delta paused to catch his breath.

“You were harsher on fucking Iza. You make me go through that whole fucking show trial, you kept me wearing a collar even after it was over. But you let him go. You said it was his fault, why did you let him go?”

Levon groaned softly at the mention of the trial, tilting his head back towards the ceiling with an uncharacteristic exasperation.

“Is that what this is about? Delta, I don’t know what else I could possibly do to make it up to you. How many times do you want me to apologize?”

“I don’t want anything,” Delta said petulantly. “I’m just saying. It’s not fair.”

It never was. Paris got to do whatever he wanted, to treat people however he felt like, and he never got punished for it.

“Is this about Paris or is this about us?” Levon asked.

“It’s about Paris,” Delta said through grit teeth. He was absolutely certain of that.

Levon knocked his knuckles against the desk a few times in an anxious and rapid motion — a motion that probably kept him from doing something worse. He straightened up to full height. Though Delta wasn’t close to fear, he still found himself taking a step back.

“Fine. You want to know the real reason?” There was something almost vaudeville in his agitation, becoming steadily less charming as it rose in volume and tempo.

“The reason I did not go poach one of their prisoners is because they can just as easily turn around and ask me why I have the imperial superweapon cooped up in IT. Which one do you think is more damning? The prince is dead. You’re still a live wire and a liability we take on everyday.”

Delta flinched, first at the rebuke, then the implication. The words wouldn’t come to him. When he finally managed, he didn’t hide any of the fear.

“…They know I’m here?”

Levon waved his hand at the wrist dismissively: “A handful of them. As many as us.”

“Does Paris know?”

“No! No, god forbid. Never the twain shall meet.”

He just said it then. Maybe he hadn’t even intended to, but he’d said what he meant. As Delta’s heart rate steadied and slowed, his gaze did not falter. It was still endless and searching.

“Okay.” said Delta quietly. “Forget all that. Forget the legal issues, forget the politics of it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

At that same instant, Delta swore he felt a trickle of blood escape his nose. But when he reached to touch it, there was nothing there. He was bleeding, though. In one way or another.

Levon’s eyelids lowered, and his leg shifted like he was ready to dig his heels in.

“You were better off not knowing,” the captain said. Because why lie? Delta appreciated the honesty.

“That wasn’t your call to make,” came the immediate response.

“Wasn’t it, though?” Levon lit up again, head cocked with a mirthless smile. His hands moved up, index fingers extended because he had to make a point. Delta recoiled before he even said anything. He couldn’t take it. Levon spoke anyway.

“Right, that period you were together — famously self-contained, affecting absolutely nobody else, least of all me.”

“What are you even saying? That we were going to start up again? Do you actually think that little of me?”

“I think that little of him, to be sure. And you were in a very different state when it happened. Not even a year out.”

“I’m a fucking adult, I can make my own decisions. I left by choice. I’m not just going to cave to t-“

“Down.”

Delta sunk to his knees immediately, going dead silent in the middle of a syllable.

There was no sound from either of them. Levon didn’t need to say anything else. Delta was too busy drawing blood from his palms with just how tightly his claws were cutting into them.

He willed himself. Deep breaths.

He stood up and walked out.

Levon stepped forward immediately after, regret already dawning on his features.

“Come back. Wait a second.”

He didn’t. He pushed the door open, making it a decent way down the hall before Levon caught up.

“Come back. Please. That was too far, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The hand at his shoulder was gentle and the tone was sincere, which meant he couldn’t refuse. Delta pouted, but let himself be led back into the office. His knees hurt from just how abruptly he’d hit the ground. He now sat down in the chair he’d been indicated, arms crossed over his chest in a gesture both stubborn and protective.

“You’re right, okay?” Levon continued. “You had a right to know. Let me make it up to you.”

Delta huffed, but he was listening. He liked when he groveled, liked being fussed over. So few people had the privilege. He was awful for taking it for granted.

“Look,” Levon leveled. “It’s the same issue. CTRL wants to keep him. They don’t want us interfering, and they have you as collateral to maintain that. But Paris walked in on my territory. They broke the pact. We’re within our rights to do anything now. So what do you want to do?”

Delta ran his hands back through his hair again. He couldn’t answer. He felt tired enough to cry.

“I’ll gift wrap him for you, Delta, if you swear that’s what you want.”

It was unthinkable. When had it ever mattered what he wanted? His voice was quiet now, tentative, just like he was trained to be.

“…Can I go see him?”

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @the-monarch-whumperfly

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evendimmer · 4 months ago

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Hey babe 😌 here to save you from your bored: What are your top 5 favourite Agatha fanfics?

Thank you love, for your ask and so kindly saving me from boredom.

When you say Agatha fanfics, I’m going to assume it’s any fanfic involving Agatha? Not just exclusively Agatha I hope because the list would be entirely different….

A few things you should know about me: I am a big sucker for Character x reader fics. There. I’ve said it. Call it self insert, self indulgence whatever you like but it is my guilty pleasure, and that’s the point of fanfics right? To enjoy and feel good?

Another thing is that I’m a huge consumer of smut. Pure shameless smut. Give it to me hot and filthy.

The last thing: I love Agatha and Rio equally. And you’ll see what I mean I in just a moment.

So if any of these things above aren’t for you, you can pretty much skip my whole list :’)

Anyway without further ado, here's my top 5 Agatha fanfics:

(Note: Click the titles below to start reading each fic)

5. Learning to Focus (w/ Part 2) by @covenofagatha

Pairing: GP!Professor!Agatha x Reader

"When you run into Professor Harkness at the local library while you're supposed to be working on a project for her history class, you find yourself distracted by her (again)"

I feel like I'm exposing myself with this one. There's something about cockwarming and being in control/losing control that makes this fic sooooooooooo fucking hot. The build-up and anticipation before getting absolutely destroy by none other than Professor Daddy Agatha? One of my go-to fics when I need to get uh sorted out.

3. Two Professors and a Student by @covenofagatha

Pairing: Professors!AgathaRio x Reader

"You run into your old professors Agatha and Rio at a bar, and will it lead to the start of something new?"

Yes I skipped a number. No it’s intentional, because the next two fics are TIED in third place.

Let’s be honest. Who hasn’t had a crush on their teacher or professor at least once in their school life? I did. More than once. This fic has it all - both Agatha and Rio as your ex-Professors (cuz school policies wink wink), getting down and dirty with you separately and together at the same time. Live out that college fantasy with this fic in the smuttiest way possible.

3. Neighbourly Care by @d-z20

Pairing: Milfs!AgathaRio x Reader

"You think the neighbours are MILFs and the evening is filled with flirting and then you get to be fucked by each of them and then by both of them."

What's better than a hot mommy? TWO married hot mommies that are both into you. Agatha and Rio taking care of you, with a little bit of friendly competition between them. As the author has stated, this fic is just "pure unadulterated smut" and nothing less. Best part? You're not the only brat or the only one getting punished ;)

2. Something Wicked by @motherconfessors

Pairing: Pre-Salem!Agatha x Rio

"While an apprentice witch, Agatha grows frustrated when she's not permitted to learn magic.

Until someone makes her an offer that she can't refuse."

This is the AgathaRio fic that I swear by, canon in my mind until we get actual explanation from season 2 if its happening. It explores the backstory of Agatha leading up to her Salem trials, and her meeting with a certain Green Witch™️. A fine balance between plot and smut. Great character depictions, superb lore building and filthy hot smut that hits just right.

1. Lights, Camera, Magic by @lunargrrrl

Pairing: Director!Agatha x Reader

"Agatha Harkness sits in the director's chair of some of your favourite movies. Your world suddenly turns upside down when you're invited to audition for her latest screenplay, 'Witching Hour'."

This one is a no brainer. My newest obsession. Ongoing smutty fic with 41 chapters now. Author is so good at building tension like it's not even funny anymore at this point it HURTS (just right though). Yes there is angst but there's also fluff and A LOT OF HOT FILTHY PURE SMUT. Tens of thousands words worth of smut. Like I've mentioned before, every chapter has a song to go with it and author has ✨excellent✨ taste in music.

oops looks like I went off again. But there you go, if you haven't read them already please give these fics a try. I promise you they are sooooo worth it.

I feel so exposed now I need a new account and a new life

#asks #tinu that's another fucking essay #🫦#smut #lots of smut #fic recs #agathario #agatha x rio #agathario x reader #agatha x reader #tinu hush

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dreadfutures · 3 years ago

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University Workers on Strike.

Hi there!

TLDR: My union has called for a strike, starting Monday, Nov 14.

I am not an official representative of the union but these are my personal thoughts, and my reasons for striking, with links to our official UAW platform.

Graduate students, postdocs, and other academic student employees are essential to the teaching and research mission of the University of California, especially as undergraduate enrollments rise. But as greater and greater demands are placed on our work as researchers and educators, we are falling into rent burden and poverty, and suffer unjust treatment by our employers.

We cannot provide the level of research and quality of education that WE WANT to offer our colleagues and our students in these conditions.

Therefore we are demanding:

Wages and raises that meet or beat inflation.

Making the University-owned housing AFFORDABLE.

Increasing access too and affordability of sustainable transit options for commuters

Enshrining protections for workers against bullying and harassment from their supervisors

Among other demands, which can be found here.

What can you do to help?

Undergraduates at the University of California can help us out! Check out @ undergradsforCOLA on Instagram

Community members can donate to the Strike Pay Fund. As we strike, the university is allowed to withhold our pay for work we are refusing to perform. The Union provides a small stipend to striking workers who are actively supporting the picket line (as I will be).

Keep up on social media and amplify the voices of our union (Santa Barbara’s is included here but there are others, and I do not attend the SB campus personally)

Write to (YOUR PERSONAL) representatives in the California Legislature, as well as the leadership of the University of California, in support of the strike and our demands.

IF YOU DONT LIVE IN CALIFORNIA: In addition to donating and amplifying the movement on social media, look at universities in your state. They’re looking at us right now. Many academic workers have unionized, following our example, over the past YEAR. This is a young movement that will live or die in the near future... and your support--even if it’s just encouragement--can give it power! Contact the local unions for workers like me and voice your support. Contact University administration and local political leaders to encourage them to support academic workers’ rights and compensation. And when academic workers go on strike, show your support with donations, vocal encouragement, and even volunteer on the picket line.

Please reblog this! Talk to people about it.

Below the cut, some more personal explanations.

Some of you may know that I am a graduate student, or more accurately, I am “pursuing my PhD in chemistry.” There is nothing “student” about my situation. I do not take classes. Instead, I perform highly trained laboratory work for the University of California along with countless other Postdoctoral scholars, technicians, and so on. Though the word research might conjure just pictures of me, a scientist in a lab, there is invaluable work being done in Humanities and Social Sciences that take on many different shapes and forms. All of it is done under the auspice of the University of California, and it is THIS that gives the university its prestige worldwide.

When I receive my “degree” I will continue doing the same work I am doing--currently on a $30k stipend--but the jobs I will be looking at pay $90k or much, much higher.

As a researcher, the work I do is severely underpaid in this university setting. It is something that we all DO agree to and put up with for the sake of having this “apprenticeship” time with prestigious professors and older researchers, at institutions that have technology, equipment, and libraries we need for our work.

HOWEVER, in agreeing to this severely underpaid work, we are offered things like guaranteed housing in the local community--communities like Berkely, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, Irvine, and San Diego, that are INCREDIBLY EXPENSIVE for people to live in otherwise. Or...some of us are guaranteed. Because EVEN in the University-owned housing, there are:

housing shortages

lack of significant subsidies

rent burden

More than 37% of my income goes to rent every month, and I live in the cheapest possible apartment from University-owned housing. Many academic workers are not even OFFERED the cheaper options, instead being given the “take it, or lose your housing guarantee on campus and fend for yourself in the outer community” treatment...but their offers are for apartments that cost 55% of their income or more. The university is paying us. The university is also charging us through the nose for housing we desperately need and can neither find nor afford elsewhere.

In addition to the insane rent burden we undertake, there are inadequate legal protections from overworking us (our reputations and references entirely depend on our advisors and supervisors Approving, and many of them expect 7am-midnight-or-late work days, 7 days a week), bullying us, harassing us or otherwise abusing us. International workers--drawn here, again, by the prestige of the University’s research efforts--are most at risk, and most unprotected.

There are other issues of equality and fairness at stake here: child support and paid leave, affordable transportation (hey, if we can’t afford to live in Santa Barbara, we will need to commute from somewhere else. Right now there are few options that are affordable, let alone sustainable, to do so), just to name a few examples.

The University also claims to be a leader in labor equality, fairness, and movements. We are among the historical faces of the Free Speech Movement and Vietnam War protests. We are the faces of labor rights research and progressive policy development and sustainable energy research. We are where the Earth Day movement started!

AND YET the University has antagonized union-forming efforts, incentivized anti-union sentiment, threatened and implied retribution for union activities, spends insane amounts of money trying to quash the union and send counter messaging, and seems to want to do ANYTHING other than pay us well.

Here’s an example of one of the latest offers and how insulting it is.

And it’s not just us. Food service workers on campus, custodians, and many others on campus who make things RUN, have gone on strike in the past and showed us how utterly hypocritical our sterling, utopic University is.

It’s just a corporation.

And so we are treating it like one, by going on strike.

I love what I do. I love science, and the research I do is focused on issues related to our energy crisis. The training I’ve received has prepared me to take jobs with IMPACT, that will shape our green energy future.

And I am a passionate educator. Right now I am responsible for ~ 250 students (a portion of our 900 students taking Chem1A right now), with classrooms of 50 students each. These are not ideal teaching conditions and yet I am DEDICATED to using the best pedagogy I have learned to help our most at-risk students succeed in this class. I have a history as a TA of improving student outcomes for underrepresented minority, low-income, and first-generation students who disproportionately fail our classes due to poor preparation at their local high schools, feelings of alienation, and the likelihood that they are working multiple jobs through college while more privileged students focus on classes. I have shown that I care about my students, in ways that even many professors do not.

That is why it is a heartbreaking and infuriating decision to go on strike, but I believe there is no alternative way to make the University improve our situation. We do it for other UC workers who are not compensated as well as we are, and we do it for future graduate student researchers, TAs, and postdocs–some of whom we hope are in Chem 1A right now--and we do it for the students who are not being best-served by graduate students sleeping out of cars, forgoing meals, and suffering from abusive supervisors.

Thank you for your support in whatever form it takes. it has been really encouraging to have friends, family (my REPUBLICAN CONSERVATIVE FAMILY SUPPORTS THE STRIKE), students, strangers, and even my supervisor (again, a red Ohio man lol) supporting this exercise of our legal right to protest, and the demands we are standing behind.

Talking to my advisor was a terrifying ordeal, especially when the other members of my lab were too scared to do it and risk his ire. We have a good relationship with him, but the fact is that he is our supervisor, and his reputation depends on our hours worked, and he could be frustrated. But I couldn’t sleep well if I didn’t participate in this strike, so I resolved to sit in front of my advisor face-to-face, alone, and tell him I was joining the strike.

My advisor isn’t the problem, the structure of the university is. But it was still the most terrifying conversation I’ve ever prepared for. And it went...so well. So, so well.

Our faculty understand that we are under a worse rent burden than they have ever seen or experienced themselves (they weren’t, and aren’t, paid super well either!), and they understand that we care about our work and don’t WANT to stop.

So it’s with great relief, and fervent hope, that I will be joining the strike. I hope whoever is reading this feels INVIGORATED by this movement, no matter the outcome. We are a new generation that is saying enough is enough. We will not tolerate mistreatment. We will work together to make sure we are all uplifted.

My department treats its chem students better than MAYBE any other chem department at the UC. We have it REALLY GOOD. My primary reason for striking is:

Sure. I can put up with some things. It’ll be tight, but I can afford it. Barely.

But I know many, many others can’t. They are my friends and colleagues. They were my mentors in the past. They are who I might be in the future!

Doing it for them is right.

#uaw strike #labor #fairucnow #fair uc now #graduate school #personal #long post

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usagis-tsukinos · 3 years ago

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Living Dead Boy

Read, Comment, or Kudo on Ao3!

Pairing: Lucifer x F!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Degradation Kink, CNC (Consensual Non-Consensual)/Dub-Con, self-indulgence 1000%

Words: 2,255

A/N: Please listen to Living Dead Boy by Graveyardguy :)

“I want you to tell me no,” he whispered, his cold hands snaking themselves under her shirt where she shivered, attempting to comply with his request as her hands softly made their way to his chest to even try to push him off. It was futile. Archangels were ridiculously strong and it didn’t matter how much she tried to push him off, Lucifer wouldn’t move. Unless she said her safe word, of course.

His cold lips had found her neck, her back pressed against the wall as the dingy hotel room surrounded them in darkness. The sounds of Detroit echoed softly outside as his hands continued upward. “Come on, sweetheart,” he cooed against her neck, the feeling of one of his scabs brushing softly against her jaw. “I need you to fight me, just a little bit.”

“Lucifer-“ His hands went back down to her hips, almost smushing her against the wall forcefully.

His teeth began to sink into her skin as she moaned, though not enough to draw blood as he’d liked. Lucifer growled softly, “Unless you’re going to say something along the lines of, “No, Daddy,” or “Stop it,” I don’t want to hear you. Do you understand me?” His head lifted to peek up at her from her throat, where she made eye contact and nodded. This wasn’t a new game, this didn’t come out of the blue tonight.

Angels, whether it was Archangels or just the lower ranked ones, were obsessed with consent. Everything was about consent. You can’t have a vessel without consent, you can’t fuck without consent; and it didn’t matter how you got it, either. A yes is a yes to them and there’s no take backs. But humans?

Humans, while also thriving on consent, have more taboo thoughts: playing with the idea of consensual non consensual sexual play. In a plain man’s words: rape fantasies. They’re incredibly common and normal, if spoken about with a consenting partner and a safe word is involved to stop any scene that might go too far for either’s liking. Lucifer didn’t quite understand the concept at first, why would someone want to pretend to be violated and taken advantage of? It took a couple of explanations before he finally understood what she was talking about.

Lucifer is embodying a large man. Nick is 6’1 and towers over her small frame like it’s nothing- and she loves it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the feeling of standing over her to get her attention and use their height difference to his advantage sometimes. The way she’d blush and look away, it just gave him power to know that while he, dare say it, loved her, they both seemed to like knowing Lucifer could squash her like a bug if he so pleased. He’d make her nervous, grabbing her arm tightly enough to leave a bruise but not enough to break.

But he never left any mark without her consent, he’s not a monster. The idea of him taking what he wanted, her in this case, absolutely thrilled her as he began to suck the hickey into her neck. Lucifer could hear her heartbeat rise, her little fists trying to push him back as he just held on tighter. Her small frame was completely covered by him against the wall as the wetness in her panties began to grow at an excessive rate. Lucifer lifted his head to look down at her.

“Do you want me to stop?” She could feel his erection through his jeans just painfully poking into her hip. Through her haze she tried to nod, her face flushed as she tried to meet his eyes. Lucifer’s vessel was getting worse, every day his skin was slowly decaying or there was a new scab attempting to heal. It didn’t help that the more he rotted away the more attractive he was to her.

They’d spoken about this before, how “Daddy’s not allowed to have another vessel”, offering herself up as an alternative, despite the fact, “Nick was wearing a bit thin”, as he stated. He refused to use her as a vessel and let her rot the same way Nick was, no matter how much she begged for it. He was hers, she claimed, and the feeling was mutual, but she was not to be discarded as vessels usually are once her body gave out. In her mind, if he was going to possess anyone, it was going to be her. She had earned it, she thought.

Blinking a few times, she tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he just smiled. “You can’t get away from me, little one.” “Yes, I can! Let me go!” His hands resumed their exploration up her shirt, finding her bra and quickly getting to work on massaging her breasts.

She bit back a moan as he continued to smile down at her. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Lucifer mused. “You’re in a dingy, abandoned hotel room with the Devil and you’re allowing him to molest you.” The aforementioned moan finally escaped her lips at that, her flushed face trying to hide as he slowly knelt down to be eye level with her breasts before ripping the bra off forcefully.

“Don’t try to hide yourself.” He ordered.

His cold mouth made immediate contact with her nipple as his free hand moved down to feel up underneath her skirt. Hearing her gasp as both his mouth and fingers made contact with her most intimate parts at the same time simply spurred him on. Lucifer let go of her nipple for a second, gently blowing onto it before making another comment, “You're awfully aroused for someone who doesn’t want this.” He felt her hands trying to push him away from her soaked panties, his thumb had been circling her clit gently.

“Stop it, Daddy!” She whined, trying so hard not to buck her hips into his hand.

“No, I don’t think I will,” the Devil then moved over to her other nipple, giving it the same attention as Lucifer softly stroked her over her panties, her arousal beginning to soak his hand slightly. “Does it bother you how wet you are for the Devil? How badly you’re aching for me to just take you?” Once again, her feeble hands tried to push him off before his Grace put a stop to that, pinning her against the wall.

“Lucifer, stop talking like that!” She begged, still trying to keep her hips against the wall.

Lucifer stopped his ministrations, his eyes had been on her the entire time. Taking in every little reaction and sound before he stood fully again, engulfing her in his presence. He wondered how many coherent sentences she’ll still be able to make by the time they get to the Main Event. He lifted the hand not on her panties to gently stroke her cheek. “Stop talking like what, my love?” He whispered.

“Stop… stop...” She whispered back, her head was so clouded with the thought of him and him alone, barely keeping her eyes open and on him. She tried moving her head away from his hand but didn’t get anywhere, she ached for his touch.

“Would you like me to talk like this, then?” His voice changed and worse yet- it was her voice. “Would you like me to say all the dirty and depraved things you say to yourself when you think I can’t see or hear you?”

“I don’t sound-!“

“Lucifer, please touch me-“ he mimicked the way she panted and breathed as she’d get off to him late at night. “I’ll be such a good girl for you, just let me suck your cock!”

“I don’t sound-!”

“Just put it inside me, Daddy! Fuck me!” Lucifer’s hips began to move against her skirt, his legs between hers as his hands lifted them up to his waist so his hard cock easily brushed against her swollen clit.

She wanted so badly to push her hands against his mouth and make him stop, but she knew even if she could do that he’d just make it worse. His Grace kept her flushed against the wall and between that and his body, she didn’t actually want to move. Lucifer’s voice went back to normal, his cold breath on her ear as he accidentally let out a moan. Her mind was in a fog. Sure, angels don’t breathe or need to, but it’s fun if doing it a certain way would get a reaction from their partner.

“Let me fuck you, baby.” He mumbled into her ear, she shook her head. Lucifer growled, removing one of his hands from her legs to force his hand into her panties and she tried to close her legs around him but it just made her hold onto him tighter. His fingers found her wetness immediately, a small laugh escaping his mouth as he gently rubbed her clit with his thumb and two fingers inside. She thought she was gonna scream at the sensation, almost ready to drop the act as she tried to move her head to kiss him but found his cheek instead, it would do.

Lucifer immediately turned his head to kiss her forcefully, pumping his fingers in and out as he stroked her G-spot and rubbed her clit, drinking in her moans as she still tried to squirm away from him. Lucifer pulled away from the kiss, taking his other hand from her legs to wrap it around her neck, his Grace holding them up at this point. He continued to watch her flushed face, feeling the mess she created on his hand as he gently squeezed the sides of her throat. “I’m going to ask you something.” He watched her nod, still attempting to keep the moans quiet.

His hand released her neck for a second, ripping the shirt that still clung to her body away before returning to its place on her neck. “Why are you so aroused by my state of disintegration?” She croaked out an answer, “Because it shows how powerful you are.”

“How powerful I am?” His ego was definitely interested. His fingers in her cunt never slowed, but at the same time, he was clearly edging her. If he’d just go a little faster–

“Fuck! Yes, oh, fuck.” She panted, squeezing around him before he’d apply less pressure on her clit, slowing her orgasm. “You clearly can’t be held in a regular body, so watching that power– fuck– come out in the form of you rotting, is just appealing to me.”

Lucifer continued to watch her, getting back into the act as he began to unbuckle his pants, having removed his hand from her pussy, which in turn elicited a whine from her. “What’s the matter?” He cooed, using his free hand to position himself against her without going in, lubricating himself. “Do you want me to fuck you after all?”

“N-no.” “No? You don’t want my cock inside you? You don’t want me to use you like the little cock hungry slut I know you are?” He received a loud moan in response and she wanted to kick herself. He was going to play dirty if it meant getting what he wanted, and that included her degradation kink.

“Look at me.” His voice was firm, causing her to make eye contact. “I know there isn’t a thought behind those eyes.” Lucifer’s voice was gentle now, coaxing her as he placed the tip at her entrance. “I know that you want nothing more than to be my little fuck doll. That’s all you think about anyway.” His face was close to hers now, almost kissing her as he began to slowly inch himself in, her eyes glazed over as he began whispering. “Just let me fuck you, it’ll feel good.” Now being in subspace, she didn’t physically try to fight back anymore, just whispering a “no” as he eventually bottomed out.

“Well, I’m already inside you now, babydoll. You can’t do anything about it.” Lucifer began to move his hips, thrusting into her slowly. “Just take it, baby. You don’t have to say anything, just let me do the work.” She was already close before and feeling him fill her up was just bringing her closer to the edge with every thrust. “Lucifer,” She whined, trying to move her arms again, “I wanna hold you.” His Grace immediately let her go, her arms wrapping around his neck tightly as he moved.

“Cum inside me,” She begged, “I wanna feel you cum inside.” She hugged her whole body against him, his arms wrapped around her as he began pounding.

“I’m so close,” She squealed, burying her face in his neck and feeling the ridges of his skin against her cheek before lifting her head and looking over every little mark of skin peeling, the little cuts and burns on his face as he slammed a hand against the wall, almost hurting her with the feeling of his cock against her cervix. She squeezed around him, gripping his hair as she came, the sensation forming his own orgasm as he came inside her.

Pulling out slowly, he watched as his own cum dripped down her leg and her juices following suit. Lucifer created a towel, wiping her down before gently placing her feet on the ground. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She coughed softly.

“Glad I could tame your insatiable love for the dead. You could make a dead boy come to life.”

#lucifer spn smut #lucifer spn x reader #lucifer spn #lucifer supernatural #lucifer x reader #not sfw

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yn-ymn-yln · 4 years ago

Note

Hey there! Hope you're doing well! I'd like to request a Kol Mikaelson X reader where the reader is a child psychic (12-15) that Kol low-key adopts. Like the Mikaelsons find about this kid with "gifts" and try to locate her but when they do they find out that her parents are physically abusive and trying to repress her abilities. So, the Mikaelsons gang saves her and she lives with them and at first Lol only really cares to study her abilities but he eventually realizes she's kinda a mischievous little whack-job of a human and he's like: "This is my child now." You can choose what sort of psychic power the reader has. (Ex. Empathic, telepathic, telekinetic, foresight...) Thank you!!!!

*Thank you for the request and your patience love! I hope you like it!*

Black Sheep

Kol had been watching you for a few days now. He had gotten wind of your abilities from the witches in the quarter, but was determined to see if you were worth his time himself.

From distant observation alone he could tell you were an empath, though he wasn’t sure just how far your abilities could go.

Could you control other people’s emotions?

Had you even scratched the surface of what your powers could actually do?

Listening intently from the corner of your street he hears the disturbing sound of your pleading.

“I won’t do it again! I promise! PLEASE DON’T LOCK ME IN HERE!”

“You’ve left us no choice Y/f/n, you’re a danger to everyone around you, there are consequences to your actions.” Kol’s head lifts at those words, he had heard a rendition of that more than once, listening to you endure the same treatment cracks his inhuman exterior slightly. It didn’t take a genius to see that you weren’t dangerous, just different… A black sheep, like him. Without much thought Kol makes a decision, one that could very well leave him daggered, in a box for the next century.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Staring into the eyes of Klaus, Kol doesn’t back down from the choice he’s made, whether or not it was a mistake was still up for debate.

“They’re an empath, I figured they could be of use to us.” Without another word and before things could get heated, Elijah shows you to one of the many spare rooms that litter the compound.

“Did he kill them?” Your voice is soft and unsure, your age shining through despite your predicament. Although you were looking for reassurance Elijah was quite finished with Kol’s antics.

“Sleep. We can discuss things further in the morning.” He turns away at that, leaving you with the uncertainty of your parent’s survival and the unsettling feeling of a strange bed.

As the months progressed so did your abilities, under Freya’s watchful eye you had learned more about your powers than you thought possible, which got you into trouble. A lot.

Running up the stairs of the compound you desperately attempt to reach your room before Klaus got wind of your little prank, though the vampire in your path did little to aid you in that endeavor.

“And where are you off to?”

“No time to explain, HIDE ME.” Jumping into the arms of your rescuer, your eyes widen at the vicious yell from the living room.

“Y/N!!” Glancing from you to the end of the stairs Kol immediately releases you, laughing loudly at your unceremonious landing. Within a second Klaus is in front of the two of you, eyes blazing with fury.

“You little brat.” Before things could escalate further you dulled the emotions raging through the hybrid’s mind, lulling him into a false sense of security.

“I’m sorry Klaus, I promise it won’t happen again.” Your smile to others would seem apologetic but to Kol was as mischievous as they came.

“It’s alright love, no worries.” Glancing at Kol you can’t help the small giggle that bubbles from within you.

“Your abilities seem to be coming along well.”

“Yeah… Freya’s really helped a lot.” It was awkward, Kol hadn’t spoken to you much since saving you, though you had spotted him watching from the door while you and Freya practiced on occasion.

“Better hide before he realizes what you’ve done.”

“Done again, you should say.” As if on cue Klaus’ booming voice rips through the compound for the second time.

“WHERE IS THAT LITTLE MONGREL!!!”

Try as he might to keep his distance, Kol couldn’t help but feel a kinship towards you. You were a trouble maker. From playing pranks on Elijah, to dulling Klaus’ rage in the presence of his enemies, you were the culprit to some of Kol’s favorite crimes. Of course, a case could be made that you were certifiably insane, but what was the world without a little chaos?

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” Jumping a mile Freya whips around to face you, eyes wide.

“Why?! It’s just a rock?!”

“My socks keep going missing, so I’m leaving an offering to the house troll.” Mouth agape, Freya isn’t quite sure if you were serious or not.

“Y/n there is no such thing as a house tro-”

“SHHHHHHHH! He’s always listening.” In true twelve-year-old fashion you bolt behind the couch, eyes constantly watching the rock perched on the window.

“KOL! COME GET YOUR CHILD PLEASE!” With a furrowed brow Kol enters the living room, eyes landing on your squinting form from your semi hidden position.

“Uhh…” Sighing loudly you go through the explanation again, never once looking away from your trap.

“That’s why I’m waiting here.”

“So the house trolls will leave you alone?” Kol’s confusion bleeds into his question.

“No! So I can get my socks back from the greedy bastards. They messed with the wrong kid.” Shaking his head Kol kneels next to you in your makeshift trenches.

“How long do you intend to wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

When Rebekah enters the war zone twenty minutes later, she’s greeted with a sight that melts her heart. You were fast asleep on Kol’s lap, mouth wide open, face pointed towards the ceiling. Kol wasn’t much better, head resting against yours with his eyes closed.

“So much for hunting trolls.” She can’t help the smile that forms as the words leave her mouth. Her brother truly was a child. Good thing he had you to play with.

Your thirteenth birthday was something Kol was admittedly not prepared for, not because of the balloons or the obvious sugar rush you were sporting, no those things he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the effects of time already taking their toll. You were a year older now than when he had saved you, features slowly morphing and changing.

How long did he truly have left with you?

That thought alone turned the cheery celebration into something much more debilitating. Somewhere in the back of Kol’s mind he’d thought about changing you, turning you in the middle of the night like his parents had done to him. Could he do it? Rip away everything you have ever known for his own selfish want to have you around forever? Watching the joy break out across your face as you open presents, he doesn’t think he could.

As the night winds down Kol goes in search of you, fully prepared to compel you to sleep off your sugar high. When he finds you fast asleep on the couch, stuffed bear he had bought you gripped tightly in your grasp, he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Dad?” With your groggy whisper Kol’s freezes in place. You had never called him that, refusing to emotionally attach yourself to any one after what your parents had done, though your tired state didn’t seem to mind all that much.

“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t acknowledge your slip up, too concerned with the moisture building in the corners of your eyes.

“Bad dream.” Lifting you into his arms, he shushes you gently.

“It’s alright little one, I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Watching you sniffle quietly and burrow into his embrace, Kol knows no matter how much it hurts, or how little time he had left with you, he would never let himself be the source of your sadness.

After all black sheep had to stick together.

#kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson #the originals #tvdu #child!reader #requests

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it.

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends.

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart.

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years.

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same.

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin.

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence.

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony.

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed.

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living.

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again.

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it.

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that.

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again.

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him.

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears.

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book.

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails."

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down.

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed.

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly.

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here."

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying."

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred.

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks.

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury.

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move.

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting."

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top.

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks.

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few.

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so.

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief.

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading.

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks.

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive.

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks.

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?"

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void.

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this."

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you."

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace.

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you.

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing.

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him."

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen.

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void.

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying.

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors.

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible?

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless.

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air.

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?"

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?"

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?"

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance.

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me."

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded.

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just-

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss.

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto-

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve.

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition.

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice.

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years.

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.”

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.”

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.”

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur.

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay.

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost.

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears.

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement.

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!”

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands.

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.”

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person.

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right?

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy.

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes.

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot.

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust.

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy.

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin.

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction.

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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#wilbur soot x reader #ghostbur x reader #jschlatt x reader #mexican dream x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing #tw: death #tw: near death #tw: blood #tw: panic attack #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: grief

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aquamarinescarlet · 4 years ago

Text

The Psychology of Us

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: mentions of smut (nothing explicit)

Summary: It seems like you’ll never get the answers you want, but little did you know…

Author’s note: This is probably my favorite story yet. It got a little steamier than I originally planned, but I think it turned out okay. I hope the explanation makes sense, it’s something I do use in real life so I thought it’d be fun to write about. Anyhow, thank you for everyone who read, and have fun with the last part :D

Taglist: @helloalycia @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @trikruismybitch @b0mbdotc0m @ima-gi--na-tion @cristin-rjd @arealearp @1-800-maximoff @zarriaza329

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“I know, I know, I’ll be at your place at seven.” You said to Angie as soon as she reached you.

The hallway was packed, yet you were still able to notice her presence.

“About that,” she sounded unsure, “I came to tell you about this small gathering Pietro is doing at his place tonight, and I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

“So I can be a third wheel? No thank you.”

“He will have other friends over too, don’t worry.”

“Then why can’t you go by yourself?”

“Because I don’t know any of them and I don’t want to be there all by myself.” She reasoned.

“Just stick by Pietro and you’ll be fine.”

“Please!” She pleaded, giving you her best puppy eyes.

You weren’t opposed to the idea of going to Pietro’s house, a small gathering would be a nice change of pace from your usual Friday night parties. But your mind was in a different place right now and a party wasn’t exactly on your plans. You couldn’t say no to her though, maybe you could sneak out early, who knows.

“Fine, I’ll go.” You gave in.

She cheered, hugging you eagerly, and walked away before you could change your mind.

It was Friday again and you were still stuck on the girl and her puzzle. You’d seen her seven more times in the past two weeks. Now you had compulsively read eight books in the span of one month. Eight books all due to her, it was more than Diego reads in the same time.

Even your family was starting to question this sudden new hobby. Aalways keeping yourself locked in your room or with your nose deep down into a different book wasn’t normal.

Despite that, you were no closer to solving the mystery that was the girl from the library. She refused to give you her name when you asked her for it. She refused to explain the logic behind her recommendations. She just had fun watching you drown in frustration.

You were close to giving up, to start avoiding her until you forgot completely about the whole situation. But you enjoyed these moments. You were excited at the prospect of seeing her, not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Of course, all this excitment died down the moment she started to mock you for nothing, with that annoying smirk painting those perfect stupid lips of hers, growing your desire to wipe it off of her.

There was something, though, that caught your attention, something about the books she recommended. You enjoyed them, you savoured every story, every plot, every character. Diego always tried to get you to read some of his favourite books and you gave up after a few pages. But not these ones, you liked them, and you had to figure out what kind of spell she used to make you like them so much.

“I think I’m going insane.” You muttered while staring at the ‘map’ you had created on your bedroom wall.

It contained post-its, notes, the title of all eight books and the answers that earned you each recommendation. A pathetic attempt to find a connection between this whole thing.

“You are getting too worked up on this, I mean, look at your wall,” Diego, who had been hanging out with you this afternoon, gestured towards it, “it looks like something right out of a detective movie.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said exasperatedly, “I just need to figure this out.”

“Okay, two things,” he put up both his index and middle finger, “first: it is that bad, it’s just a bunch of books; and second: why are you so desperate to figure this out?”

“I’m not desperate,” you argued.

“Yes, you are.” You heard him mumble.

“And aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“Not that curious.”

“I just want to prove her wrong,” you explained.

“Because you care about what she thinks?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“No, I-”

“Look,” he interrupted, “I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. You have never been one to care about what other people think of you. So why her?”

“I-,” you were at a loss for words.

Why did you care? It bothered when she insulted you, even though you knew it wasn’t true, and you’ve never been bothered by such things before. It bothered that she knew nothing about you and still had the nerve to deem herself better than you, even though this was all the more reason to not care about her opinion at all.

Was it really a bother though? Or was that just an excuse? And if it is an excuse, then what were you excusing? Why were you still doing this? You’ve been dragging this out for a month. Why were you so keen on proving her wrong after all this time?

You don’t need to prove to her that you’re smart: you get good grades, you’re the captain of the football team, you even have a scholarship in one of the best colleges in the area. Of course she doesn’t know any of this, but that’s not enough motivation for you to spend a month trying to prove her she’s wrong about you.

For all you know that crazy scheme of hers to recommend books could be fake. She could just recommend books she likes and hide the reasons behind those questions. But then why did you enjoy those stories? And why would she put up a whole facade to recommend some books to a random stranger she met in a library?

“Do you like her?” Diego’s voice brought you out of your own thoughts.

The look you gave him was one of disbelief. You almost wanted to laugh at his words.

“Like her? How can I like someone who pisses me off so much?”

“Then why do you keep going back?”

“Why I- because- I- I’m curious.” You didn’t sound as confident as you wished. It wasn’t a lie. You were curious. But curiosity was not the only reason you kept going back, although you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

“I don’t believe you.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to answer. Thankfully you didn’t have to when, with a quick glance at the clock, you were able to change the subject.

“We’re late.” You simply stated.

“For what?”

“I told Angie I was going to meet her at her place at seven,” you gestured towards the time, “it’s seven thirty.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“C’mon, please,” you pleaded, “it’s going to be a small, like, get together or something, and I know Angie will leave me alone at some point to makeout with her boyfriend.”

“Okay fine,” he gave in and you made a little celebratory dance, dragging him out of the house.

Since this was supposed to be casual and between friends, you didn’t waste any time at Angie’s, where you’d usually spend hours getting dressed and ready.

Pietro’s place wasn’t far, which you were slightly thankful for since Angie wouldn’t stop talking about him the whole ride. He’s such a good kisser. He’s so cute. Did you know he plays soccer? He looks so hot in his uniform… You love your friend, but that’s just too much.

As always you weren’t the first one’s, and by the amount of people it was far from a “small gathering between friends”. The apartment wasn’t small, but sure felt like it with the almost fifty people crammed in there.

You were greeted by Pietro himself, who offered you each a beer before pulling Angie in for a kiss, causing you and Diego to roll your eyes. You gladly took the beer, if you had to endure this, might as well have some alcohol to help.

Two beers later and your mind was no longer fixating on the girl-from-the-library problem. Instead you were having a friendly debate with some of Pietro’s friends about which college was the best, the typical rivalry. Having only Angie to back you up was making the whole thing harder.

“Hey Piet,” a tall blonde boy called out, interrupting the conversation, “is Wanda going to join us?”

“Doubtful, you know how she is…”

“Who’s Wanda?” Angie’s voice was laced with jealousy causing the boy to laugh dramatically, which only seemed to make her madder.

“She’s my sister, don’t worry,” he reassured her. It made sense, he had mentioned he lived with his twin sister.

You watched as he pulled Angie away from the group, probably to makeout, as you had predicted, and you looked at Diego, to stop him from commenting anything, only to find his place empty.

You left the group as well to search for him, and was surprised to find him shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat. You could’ve left them alone? Yes, you could. But did you? Of course not.

“Y’know,” you tapped on his shoulder, earning his attention, “when I bring you to a party so I can have someone when Angie left me, I expect you not to leave me as well.” You teased.

“Shut up.” He tried to sound serious, but the smirk gave it away.

“You owe me one.”

Feeling a sudden need to go to the bathroom, you let them be and went in search of one. You opened a door you thought led to a bathroom, but found yourself in a corridor which had other four doors that probably led to bedrooms, at least one must lead to a bathroom.

“Pietro, I already told you, keep that door closed!” You heard someone scream from one of them.

It wasn’t just anyone though. That was a voice that had been haunting you for a whole month now. Okay, haunting was an exaggeration, but still. You quickly closed the door, muffling the music and chatter.

As you rested your back against the wall, a surge of power took over you. The new information taking over all your thoughts. You had the upper hand now on this little game of hers. It was your turn to play.

Her door was easy to identify, being the only one with light seeping through the cracks, and you made no effort to be quiet or discreet when opening it.

She was sitting in her bed, long red hair loose over her shoulders, a book in hands. Her expression was soft despite the interruption, she hadn’t looked up, so she had no idea it was you who was standing there.

“What do you want Piet?” A mischievous smirk grew on your face.

“Wanda,” you uttered as if trying it on your tongue for the first time, earning the girl’s attention.

The shock that took over her features did wonders to your confidence.

“A beautiful name,” you continued, daring to take a few steps inside her room, “I see you favourite color is red,” you referred to the endless amount of details on her walls, shelves, bedsheets, all a different shade of red.

You walked further into the room, exploring everything in sight. She followed your every move with her eyes, too stunned to say anything. Were you crossing a line? Probably. Should you be invading her personal space like that, without a warning? Probably not. But she has been invading your personal space for weeks, so you couldn’t care less.

“Ah, you play the guitar,” you grazed your fingers over the instrument sitting on the corner of the room, “I didn’t think you had any talents other than insulting me for no reason.”

You were enjoying this too much. Your eyes landed on some pictures and notes clinging to a wall.

“Sokovia,” you said after reading one of the notes, “so you are Sokovian, that’s interesting.” Your gaze fell to her desk, a pile of textbooks stacked there. “Psychology,” you laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was going to piss her off even further, “you are more likely to drive your patients crazy than to actually help them.”

“How…,” you turned towards her, “did you…,”

“Get in here? Learn your name?” You offered some suggestions since she didn’t seem capable of finishing that sentence herself. “Pietro.” You simply stated and watched as her face went from stunned to mad.

“How do you know my brother?”

Was that jealousy you were sensing? Or was she just upset that he had told you stuff about her? You decided to play with it a little bit.

“He is a sweet boy isn’t he? So hot and so nice,” you teased and she advanced towards you, making you a little frightened, but not enough to back down, “it’s hard to believe you two share the same genes.”

Your face was mere inches from hers and you suddenly felt like the air was growing thick, making it hard to breathe. A feeling of warmth taking over your chest and stomach. In spite of all the discomfort, you managed to keep your composure.

“I so want to wipe that pretentious smirk off of your face right now,” she growled. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Why don’t you?” You challenged.

Football had given you fast reflexes (except for that particular event a few weeks ago), you were ready to catch her hand if she tried anything. Instead of her fist or her palm, you were met with her lips attacking yours furiously.

The kiss was needy, hungry, desperate even. Your hands made their way to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. It was a battle, a fight neither of you were willing to lose. Tongues fighting for dominance, teeth biting lips, jaw, neck, hands pulling on skin in such a way it would definitely leave marks.

Clothes fell to the floor as you backed her to her bed, pushing her onto the mattress, this feeling, a necessity for her, on the pit of your stomach growing ever more.

Safe to say your plans of leaving early were postponed. At some point during the night you had managed to find Diego and let him know you wouldn’t be needing a ride back home. Your disheveled state and red marks, which were already showing up on your neck, didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he didn’t have time to comment on it. You mentally dreaded the moment he would start with the questioning.

Some shifting on the bed caught your attention. Slowly opening your eyes, you were able to catch Wanda staring at you with a soft smile. Your back was facing her, so she didn’t know you were awake, but you could see her clearly from her bedroom mirror.

And what a sight it was.

“You’re staring.” You called out, and watched her face turn three shades redder out of embarrassment from being caught.

You turned around so you’re now facing her, although she wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?” She kept quiet. “Okay, wanna know what’s on my mind?” She nodded lightly. “Well, I’m thinking that I would have never, not in a million years, pegged you as being shy.” She tried to stifle a laugh while bringing her hand up to playfully hit you on the arm. “That’s more like it,” you teased.

“I’m not shy,” she defended.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because… “ she lost it mid sentence.

“... you’re shy and sweet, just like your brother said,” you recalled from the day you spent together in the arcade.

She hit you, yet again, on the arm, slightly harder this time, but not enough to hurt.

“Tell me this then,” you finally reached the topic that has been bugging you for weeks, “what was all this for? The mystery, the games?”

She fell silent, seemingly in deep thought and you got scared you had killed the moment.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little shy,” she admitted and you celebrated internally while your face remained unfazed, “and that makes me scared of…”

“Talking to people?” You helped out, but she covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Please, don’t laugh at me, I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, uncovering her face, “go on.”

She took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m scared of talking to people… especially people that I like.” Although it sounded like a confession, you weren’t exactly sure what it was about.

“So you liked me?” You asked in disbelief. “From the beginning?”

Her already red face was growing darker by the second.

“I had seen you before, with Diego, in the library, always complaining, always stating how boring it was,” she shook her hands in the air for the purpose of drama, “and it was annoying, but it was also cute and- and I always wanted to talk to you, but I never found courage to do it.”

To say you were shocked at the new information was an understatement. She liked you all this time? And you just thought she hated your guts for no reason? Wow, that’s precious.

“Okay, so…” you tried to say in the stunned state you found yourself, “how- why- the- why did you do all that then?”

“Because I had like, this sudden flow of confidence, and since you had this cocky personality I thought you would like someone who was the same, so I said what I said, and I did what I did and-”

“I started to hate you.” The way you acted when you first met must’ve hurt her.

“Exactly, and I thought I had screwed up completely, until you showed up again, and my stupid brain associated that to the idea that the way I had acted worked. So I kept it up. A persona, in a sense.”

“What were you planning to do then? Keep that act up forever?” The question made her slightly frustrated.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that far, I just enjoyed your presence, even though you still seemed to hate my guts.” You laughed and moved closer to her, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I did,” you whispered close to her ear, “I hated your guts, but I also enjoyed it, the games, the mystery, that’s why I kept coming back.”

“So it worked,” she said excitedly.

“It sort of did.” You stared into her green eyes, for a few seconds. “There’s something else in my mind too that I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“So… about the recommendations-”

“Oh my god,” she didn’t let you finish, “you haven’t figured that out yet?!” She exclaimed in disbelief, when she opened her mouth again you knew what was coming.

“Don’t say it.” You warned.

“You really are slow.” She said it anyways, a mischievous grin painting her lips.

“Damn, I hate you,” you said jokingly, unwrapping yourself from her and making a move to leave the bed.

She stopped you short, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you back, causing you to fall on the bed laughing hysterically.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t say it anymore.”

She let you go and sat up and across from you.

“Good, so are you going to explain it to me or not?” You questioned and she rolled her eyes playfully. “And don’t you dare tell me there is no logic behind it, there has to be one.”

“Yes, there is a logic,” she mocked, “it’s quite simple actually, the ‘color’ is what sets the mood for the book.”

“How so?”

“Uhm, like, we associate colors with stuff, like black is associated with death and evil and white is associated with peace and purity,” you nodded, “it also works for feelings, associating those with colors, so when a person says a color I can pick a book that has elements that are associated with that color, or that causes a feeling that we associate with that color.” She explained.

“That explains the psychology major thing.” She seemed happy you remembered, even though it was mere hours ago.

“Basically,” she agreed, “so, ‘person’ is what defines the relationships that surround the main character, so either romances, friendships, families, strangers, y’know?”

“Yeah okay,” you tried to follow along.

“And ‘place’ is to decide how far from reality the story should be, if the person says a place that’s close to their home, they tend to prefer stuff closer to their comfort zone, so no fantasy or sci-fi, and vice-versa.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she beamed a smile, “simple isn’t it?”

“Does it always work?”

“No, it’s a really subjective thing, the more I know the person the better, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.” She admitted. “It worked on you like a charm though,” she teased.

“That it did,” you couldn't deny. “Okay, so if I got it right, color sets the mood, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what is red associated with?” You looked around her room, filled with several details in red.

“Anger, love, passion-,” she stopped talking when she met your eyes, a mischievous smirk on your lips.

You slowly rose from your position and crawled forward, never losing her gaze. You quirked an eyebrow suggestively as you got closer. You sat on her lap, faces inches from another.

“Well, I can show you some passion.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #mcu #marvel #fluff #ittle bit of angst #wanda x you

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keijislove · 4 years ago

Note

Hi babe! I was wondering if I could request a Tony Stark x daughter reader? With lots of angst and her being locked in her room because she’s being bullied for her darker skin

(I understand if you’re not comfortable with this)

Safe Place: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

I think this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

Sorry :(

I hope you like this, I don’t really have a lot of experience with this matter, so I hope I captured the emotions right!

I AM APOLOGISING IN ADVANCE, THE HURTFUL COMMENTS MENTIONED HERE ARE NOT ONES I WOULD EVER USE IN MY LIFETIME.

GIRL, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE – YOU DON’T NEED DIMWITS LIKE RACISTS TO DEFINE BEAUTY. YOU WANT THE DEFINITION OF BEAUTY, GO LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

PUT A STOP TO RACISM.

WARNINGS: Slight EXTREMELY racial comments, mentions of death, toxic relationship, angst, Tony being a little... well, Tony.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was nearly everyone’s dream. Well, everyone you’d come across at school, anyway. It seemed rational from their point of view – big house, big bedroom, expensive branded clothing, basically an overall exquisite lifestyle coupled with fame of being his daughter which was sure to earn popularity points anywhere and everywhere. A man rolling in that amount of money would make a great dad... right?

You thought differently. Which was one of the main reasons you did not tell anyone who your father really was and your teachers understood your predicament and played along to your story of being an ordinary girl with no scope for coolness whatsoever.

Your mother had met your father a long, long time ago – when Tony was still in university. Of course, he’d left her before he even knew she was pregnant, and they never saw each other again. You didn’t exactly love your life as his daughter. In fact, from what your mother had told you, he was (in your vision) a complete monster whom your mother had the sad misfortune to meet.

It was her untimely death that had forced you to go live with the man who was the reason you were born and the man who ruthlessly left your mother to fend for herself and a baby. You had tried for foster care, but the agents told you that your father was still alive and more than capable of taking care of you – being the famous Tony Stark and all.

So it would suffice to say that Tony was lowkey shocked when you turned up at his doorstep one day with a grudging expression and declarations of being his daughter. He actually didn’t believe you at first and asked you to piss off which confirmed your earlier assumptions about his character – asshole. After you’d snapped at him and showed him all the legal documentations stating that you two were blood-related as father-daughter after all, Tony was even more shocked than earlier.

Though he would rather die than admit it, he felt sad after seeing your fourteen-year-old self standing at his doorstep. He’d missed your birth, your first steps, your first words, he even missed helping you with homework in preschool – basically all precious moments you enjoy with a child. But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be here – something that made Tony’s already overlarge pride swell like a bullfrog and stopped him from ever getting close to you. While you were busy thinking he didn’t want you, you overlooked a small detail – he took you in.

If anyone had the power to bribe an adoption agency to get rid of their kid, it was Anthony Stark, yet he never gave you away. The simple explanation (that he would never, in a million years, admit it to you) was that he didn’t want to lose you – around the only blood-related family he had left.

And so began your life as Y/N Stark. It functioned surprisingly well for your expectations. Pepper was really nice to you and those few occasions when the Avengers came over, you were able to talk to Natasha about ‘girl things’, her presence reminding you of the mother you had lost only too young. You sometimes even asked Bruce for help with homework, too proud yourself to go to Tony. Overall, you stayed out of his way while he stayed out of yours – an arrangement you were both satisfied with.

The worst part was that you never talked. Ever. You would wake up and walk to school, refusing Jarvis’ continued protests of letting you use the self-driving car, came home the same way where you did your homework and grabbed a snack before you ‘father’ came back upstairs from his little man cave in the basement and a small ‘good-evening’ passed between you two as you went your separate ways. This cycle repeated itself every day. Recently, your life at school hadn’t been going great.

You’d known that your skin tone was a notch darker than the others at your school – something you had gotten from your mother – and this was not something you really cared about. That’s when they started coming – the comments. What were originally small, snide retorts of ‘wash your face, ew!’ (A/N: I AM SO SORRY) had now escalated to them calling you obscene names you’d never heard before and asking you to leave ‘their’ school

Which was why, instead of being at school today, you were locked in your bedroom, sobbing into your pillow.

It had started out as a very unusual morning. After getting comments hurled at you left right and centre the previous day, you’d had enough. You’d woken up and declared to Jarvis that you were skipping school and he was to, under no circumstances, notify your father about this. After that you tried to eat some cereal, but the bubbling dread in your stomach made it taste like dry carpet, so you gave up and stomped into your room, locking the door before flinging yourself onto the bed and crying your heart out.

It was in times like these that you felt the need for something – a gaping hole in your chest. It seemed foolish to even admit it to yourself, but you really wanted someone like a parent. Someone who listened to your problems and comforted you accordingly, someone who actually cared about you. And since Tony Stark filled neither of these requirements, you gave up the foolish dream and sunk, once again, into your self-fashioned depths of misery.

-------

Tony casually sipped on his wine, putting one last screw into place to make the latest piece he was testing out. As he powered the device on, it vibrated for a moment before the words ‘model failed’ appeared on the screen Tony was examining.

He swore loudly and shoved it ungracefully aside before running his hands through his hair. There had been many an occasion where Tony seriously considered going to your room to just say something to you that wasn’t a monotonous ‘good evening’ or ‘the milk’s finished’ or something else like that. He wanted to talk to you. To you.

He wanted to get to know the real Y/N – what you were like when you weren’t too busy being bold and refusing to appear vulnerable. As if reading his thoughts, Jarvis’ voice filled the room suddenly.

“Sir, I do believe that Ms Stark is currently locked inside her bedroom. She refused to go to school just this morning.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why, did she tell you anything else?”

“Just this, Sir, along with a few obscene warnings of not informing you about this occurrence. If I recall correctly, Ms Stark told me she would rip out my sockets with her bare hands had I come to you.”

Ignoring the small smirk that was growing on his lips at the thought of you behaving exactly as he would, Tony wiped his tired hands on a nearby cloth before sprinting out the door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Go away Pepper, not in the mood,” came your muffled voice. It was weak and raw – evidently, you had been crying.

Ignoring the poking feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach, Tony knocked again.

“Open up, kid, it’s me,” he shouted.

“Definitely not in the mood, thanks.”

Tony sighed. This was exactly what he had tried so hard to avoid –turning out like his own father. Not knowing how to deal with a daughter properly, he just let you go about your business as you wanted, hoping that it would yield better results than what his childhood had been like. Now, looking back at how much he’d neglected you, he suddenly realised that he had done the exact thing he was afraid of – hurt you.

“Y/N Y/M/N Stark, open the door. Please.”

Perhaps it was the please at the end or the way he acknowledged you as his living, breathing daughter for the first time that made you stagger limply over to the door and push it open.

Your eyes were puffy, red and swollen from bawling nonstop and your brows were knitted into a disapproving frown. It broke Tony’s heart to see you like this.

“Listening,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“Okay, why don’t you sit down,” Tony frowned slightly.

You gave another hearty sniff and led him to your bed where you flopped down and watched as he took a seat beside you.

You both sat in a very painful, deafening silence for the next few minutes.

“You didn’t go to school today,” Tony casually remarked as you played with your pillow, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I did,” you said simply.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony offered.

“I really don’t,” you admitted as he burst out laughing and you gave a grudging giggle despite yourself.

“Seriously, kid,” Tony said in an undertone, “You’ve gotta open up a bit more. I mean, it’s been like what, two years since you moved here and you never bother telling me what’s going on. And look where that got you – come on, tell me what’s going on. Is it school?”

“Partially,” you quietly said to which he cocked an eyebrow.

“Completely,” you amended, sighing, “Kids, you know, they’re just being – well, mean.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded slightly, “You want to talk about it?”

“They... they make fun of me,” you admitted, “About – about my skin colour and stuff. And I know I’m being stupid, getting upset over this –”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony broke in, “It’s not stupid at all. Nothing gives anyone a right to talk to you that way.”

“Try telling that to them!” you burst out, final letting go of the pent-up emotions you’d been holding for days, “What did I ever do to them – it’s not my fault I look like this, maybe if I could choose what to look like, I’d choose something they want! Just about everyone seems to have a problem – what the hell do they expect me to do? It’s unjust, unfair, unsettling and unkind, but of course they don’t care, do they?!”

Tony didn’t even flinch throughout your entire outburst until you broke down and tears began rapidly pouring out of your eyes once more.

“Hey, hey, stop, listen to me,” Tony sternly said, seizing your shoulders and turning you to face him.

“You’re a Stark,” he said, gazing you dead in the eyes, “You are beautiful, you’re smart and you’re kind. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

This was too much for you to handle and you started sobbing again – sobs of partial happiness and partial guilt that didn’t look like they would stop anytime soon.

“Come here, kid,” was all Tony could say as he pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into his shirt while he stroked your hair, trying to calm you down.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been mean to you,” you whispered finally.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father all this time.”

You two sat in a now comfortable silence, occasionally clearing your throats or sniffling a bit before Tony finally spoke.

“If anyone says that to you again, I will have them cut up and fed to the fish in my house in Malibu.”

“Thanks, dad.”

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redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 11

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,696

Warnings: Unprotected Sex (non explicit)

A/N: And finally... Just a word before, and it’s important, I wanted to put the explicit between two ‘*’ but I settled for one at the end because explicit means different things to different people. So whenever it starts to get too steamy for you, skip to the *. Thank you for reading, I appreciate your support!

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

Bucky moved behind the kitchen counter when he heard the door close. You and your guests were in the hallway where you took their coats and asked them to remove their shoes. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to stay calm, you depended on him tonight.

“It smells nice in here. What did y-”

Bucky straightened himself up and tried to keep a casual, friendly smile on his face as he came face-to-face with Okoye. He had seen enough pictures of your siblings to recognize them.

She looked surprised to find someone else there. He raised his hand and waved, and she frowned at him in confusion. The rest of the guests stopped short when they saw him waving like a dork. You pushed through them and came to his side.

“Guys, this is my friend, Bucky,” you said. “He’s the one who invited you.”

“Thanks for the invite. I hope you like wine,” Scott said, extending his hand as he walked over to Bucky.

“I sure do.”

Then he shook Wanda and Okoye’s hands, telling them how good it was to finally meet them. Your sisters introduced him to their partners, W’Kabi and Edwin who preferred to be called ‘Viz’.

You led them to the living room while Bucky prepared the drinks. W’Kabi decided to stay behind and help Bucky carry the drinks to the living room. He praised Bucky for having such a nice home.

The conversation seemed to flow easily between your siblings, though as Bucky arrived with your drink, he couldn’t help but notice that you were not participating. You took the glass from his hand, smiled then went back to staring at the coffee table. He sat next to you and rubbed soothing strokes on your arm before he reached for his drink.

Okoye was telling everyone that she had decided to return to New York after King T’Chaka’s passing. His son carried the mantle of the Black Panther, surrounding himself with his father’s Dora Milaje, but Okoye wanted to live closer to her own family.

She was a Dora Milaje, loyal to her king, but she was also a sister, loyal to her family. She felt like there were no good choices, and it ate away at her until her king found a solution to her problem. His little sister, Shuri, was starting her own business in the United States and needed her own bodyguards. Okoye accepted and W’Kabi followed her.

Scott didn’t share much. He showed everyone pictures of his little girl, Cassie, and said he was now working at Baskin-Robbins.

Wanda was evasive about her life and whereabouts. She told everyone that she’d been backpacking across Europe and met Viz, a wealthy businessman, on a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. They’d been attached at the hip ever since.

“And of course, you’re all invited to the wedding,” Wanda said while Okoye admired the ring. “It’s going to be a small wedding. I just need my family.”

“Excuse-me,” you said, standing up abruptly. “I think something’s burning.”

Bucky watched you disappear into the kitchen. He glanced at the group again, no one was paying attention so he followed you into the kitchen.

He found you leaning back against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest, staring into nothing. He walked over to you and pulled you into a one-armed hug that you accepted with a pleased sigh.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Is it a code ‘flamingo’?”

“No,” you chuckled, pulling away. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter again. “It’s just...”

You huffed, unable to find the words and grabbed him by the waist, seeking his warmth again. Bucky let out a surprised laugh as you squeezed him tightly. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed you against his chest.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “It’ll be over soon, angel.”

Bucky rocked you side to side in a slow, soothing rhythm until you were practically melting against him. He felt you take a deep breath, your nose buried in his chest. He didn’t want the moment to end, but you’d been gone for several minutes now, and the others would barge in the kitchen soon.

He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and gently pushed you away, his arm falling to your waist. You smoothed out the wrinkles you had made in his shirt without looking him in the eye.

He could tell you were thinking about something but before he could ask what was on your mind, you kissed the slight cleft in his chin and quickly moved away from him.

He smiled to himself, his heart beating a little faster.

You were transferring the dinner rolls from the pan to the basket when Scott poked his head into the kitchen. Bucky was still smiling to himself like a lovesick idiot.

“Everything okay?” Scott asked, taking a step closer to you. You turned to him and nodded. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Seeing each other again after all this time.” He leaned his forearm on the counter next to you and smelled the bread. “Baby Wanda’s getting married. Did you know they flew me first class? And the hotel is incredible. I feel like a prince.”

“Viz seems very nice.”

“I can’t believe Wanda backpacked through Europe,” Scott scoffed. “She hates camping.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Bucky watched as Scott leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and for Cassie-” Bucky quietly left the two of you alone. It was a private conversation and he didn’t want to impose himself.

He finished setting the table, and soon everyone joined in. Bucky was sitting with his back to the kitchen, W’Kabi sitting next to him. You took a seat across from him, Wanda sitting next to you. Okoye sat next to Wanda, facing Scott, and Viz took a seat at the end of the table.

The food was good, and everyone complimented Bucky on his cooking skills. He said that you had helped him a lot, but you refused to take credit for chopping up a bunch of vegetables. You gushed about his cooking skills and his delicious recipes. It made them salivate just thinking about it.

“And your house is amazing,” Scott said with a dreamy look on his face. “A place like that...” he sighed, “that must have cost you an arm and a leg.” The whole room fell silent, and something that sounded like a foot hitting a shin made the table jump. “Ouch, why did yo- oh.”

Okoye was looking at him with the widest pair of eyes Bucky had ever seen. She looked furious and exasperated at the same time. The others stared at their plates as the uncomfortable silence grew.

Bucky glanced at you, not surprised to find you smirking. You knew he lived for moments like these, and you knew he already had the perfect comeback. As he watched you bit your lip, trying to contain a little giggle, he couldn’t help but love you even more.

“It was the original price but I’m a good negotiator,” Bucky said. “Only cost me an arm.”

W’Kabi was the first to laugh at his joke, then the whole table broke into fits of laughter. Scott looked equally amused and relieved.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“No problem,” Bucky cut him off.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Okoye said with a smile and a shake of her head. She turned to Bucky as everyone calmed down. “So, Bucky, strange name, uh? What do you do for a living?”

“My name is James, Bucky’s just a nickname.” He wiped his mouth and set the napkin down. “I’m a writer.”

“A pretty good one, judging by your apartment.”

“I’m all right.” He shrugged. “Literally.” Scott snickered at the joke.

“He’s too modest,” you said. “His books are best sellers. They’re autobiographical, he’s very sincere and honest and funny. He has a way of making you laugh about things that are pretty awful.”

“Yeah, we saw that,” Wanda said with a grin. “Are you working on anything at the moment?”

Bucky shifted a little in his seat. “Yeah, it’s uh,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a very important one. I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t wanna jinx it.”

He wasn’t going to tell your family that he was writing a book about how he fell in love with you. That’d be pretty awkward.

“I understand,” Okoye nodded, then looked at you. “You’ve been really quiet tonight.” You shrugged. “I thought you were still living with Natasha. Do you still work at the hotel? Where is it again? Chelsea? That’s one hell of a commute from Brooklyn.”

“I wasn’t exactly living with Natasha,” you said. “I was crashing on her sofa. And no, I quit six months ago. I’m a full time artist now.”

“That’s great,” Scott said, raising his glass toward you in a silent toast. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Not too bad. Bucky’s friend is a professional photographer. He helped me set up my website. The pictures he took are amazing. I sold a few pieces online but I’m struggling to find gallery representation.”

“Hey, as long as it pays the bills.”

“I don’t really have to worry about bills these days.”

“What do you mean?”

The room got quiet again, and Bucky could feel the tension in the air, buzzing like static electricity. All eyes were suddenly on you, waiting for an explanation. Bucky knew you were not going to lie to them. He locked eyes with you, and braced himself for impact.

You set your fork down and folded your hands in your lap.

“Well, Bucky and I have an arrangement.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Scott cut you off.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m not going to use pretty words to make it sounds more appealing,” you continued as if you hadn’t heard him. “He’s my sugar daddy.”

“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope,” you replied smugly, popping the ‘p’.

A chorus of voices rose in protest. Okoye and Scott were shouting while the others kept glancing around wondering what had just happened. Wanda was strangely quiet next to you.

“Oh, shut up!” you shouted. “You left me alone. All of you. We were all grieving our brother but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck off when things get tough. Do you know how fucking terrifying it was when mom started to lose her memories? Or when the police drove her home at three in the morning after one of her spells? No, you don’t know because you weren’t there.”

Bucky had never seen you so upset before, and he didn’t quite know what to do but he felt like you needed to get it off your chest.

“I didn’t have friends or boyfriends. I went to class, then got home, hoping mom hadn’t set the house on fire. I took the first decent job I could find because she needed a new home and professional help. Without Natasha I would have been homeless.” You turned to Bucky. “I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined dinner. You’ve worked so hard.”

“It’s okay,” he replied immediately. “I’m with you.”

“God, you’re so nice,” you sighed, then turned to your siblings. “See? That’s the kind of person he is. I was lonely and lost, and I found him and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s kind and sweet, he’s selfless and generous, and you have no right to criticize our relationship.”

Bucky stared at you, his mouth hanging open a little. Slowly he shook himself out of his trance and reached for your hand on the table. He had no idea you thought so highly of him.

“We needed each other,” you continued. “And I don’t care what you think.”

Dinner was officially ruined but Bucky didn’t care. He smiled at you, soft and reassuring, and let go of your hand when you smiled back. He was proud of you for speaking up, for standing up for yourself.

Bucky noticed Wanda and Viz exchanging looks.

“Okay so, since we’re sharing truth bombs,” Wanda said, shifting a bit in her seat. “I wasn’t really traveling through Europe. I went to Sokovia and after that, everything’s kind of a blur. I did things I’m not proud of. I wanted to forget,” she paused and sighed, “everything. I hit rock bottom, pretty hard, and checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. That’s where I met Viz. He helped me send you those postcards. I screwed up, real bad, but I couldn’t tell you guys the truth. I’m not really proud of myself.”

“I got fired from Baskin-Robbins for yelling at a costumer.”

“Okay!” Okoye exclaimed in her big sister voice. “Enough truth bombs.” She pointed at you. “I’m sorry you had to do this alone, it wasn’t right but we’re here now and we won’t let you down. As for the sugar daddy thing... well you’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want. Bucky seems like a nice guy.” She turned to Wanda. “We are all dealing with our pain in our own way. I’m not judging you. We’re here for you, Wanda.”

“I know,” Wanda said, sniffing.

“And Scott, stop yelling at people.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Bucky turned to W’Kabi and Viz who looked proud of their girls, albeit a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. Someone started chuckling, he couldn’t tell who it was, but suddenly the whole table broke into a fit of laughter.

“How about some dessert,” he said. “Then you guys can fill me in on some childhood secrets.”

As he walked away from the table, he heard you warn your siblings to keep their mouths shut. They laughed in response, which made Bucky smile. Surely it’d take more than one outburst at a family dinner to fix your broken bond but it was a good start.

During dessert, he learned that everyone called you ‘Splotchy’ because you painted on the living room walls as a child. He learned that you always wanted to play board games with Okoye. Your favourite one was Mystery Date.

“She had a crush on Tyler, the beach date.”

“No, that’s not true, don’t listen to them.”

When they finally left, you spent a few extra moments hugging everyone. Promises were made, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched you wave goodbye to your siblings.

It was just the two of you again, and the mountain of dirty dishes and silverware. He told you not to worry about the dishes, but you knew if he went to bed he wouldn't be able to sleep, not when the kitchen was such a mess so you cleaned together.

He loved these moments with you. There was something very peaceful about the night; the dark skies, the soft lights, the quiet apartment, knowing people all around town where getting ready for bed. It used to make him feel tiny and isolated but now, with you, the night didn’t seem so frightening anymore.

A few weeks went by, and things were changing a bit. You spent your Saturday mornings with your sisters, bonding, and facetimed with Scott at least once a week.

Bucky also noticed a subtle change in Sam’s behaviour. He seemed happier and he wondered if his friend had already forgotten Natasha.

It was almost June, and the building’s swimming pool reopened as the weather got warmer. Despite living there for several years, he had never gone near that swimming pool until you dragged him out one scorching afternoon.

The rooftop was surprisingly calm, apart for the group of children playing in the pool. There were people sunbathing around the pool, enjoying a good book, socializing. You dropped your bag on the floor and laid out your towel on the reclining chair.

Bucky had never seen you in a bathing suit before and it caught him completely off guard, but what made him literally growl was seeing the little pendant of your necklace rest against your skin. He didn’t know why but it awoke something in him.

You both slathered on sunscreen before you went for a swim. Bucky recognized a few neighbours, and while they all knew he only had one arm, they had never seen him shirtless before. Bucky didn’t mind their inquisitiveness, as long as you were beside him.

“Do you think the kids peed in the water?” you asked as you rested against the edge of the pool.

“Probably,” Bucky cringed. “When I was a kid, my mom told me that there were chemicals that turned the water a different color when someone pees.”

“Ew,” you laughed.

After a while, he lay out in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. He could still hear you playing water polo with the kids when a shadow passed over him. With a frown, he pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.

“It’s nice to see you, James,” his neighbour beamed, taking a seat on your unoccupied chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here.”

“Hi.” He wasn’t surprised when his voice came out hoarse since he had been on the verge of falling asleep. With the grace of a walrus, he propped himself into a sitting position. “Yes, well, swimming pools are more fun when you’re not alone.”

His neighbour turned to look at you. “Congratulations, by the way. I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Must have been serious if you two moved in together. How long has it been since she moved in? Six months?”

“Seven.”

He knew he should have corrected her, you weren’t his girlfriend, but it felt good. It was just a harmless little lie.

“Does she make you happy?”

“I’m the happiest man on earth,” he replied with a bright smile, then slid his sunglasses back on his face.

His neighbour chuckled quietly. “I can see that!”

When you returned to your seat, his neighbour was gone. You hummed to yourself as you settled into your seat, big droplets of water running down your body. Bucky tilted his head down and peered at you over the top of his sunglasses.

“Where did you get that popsicle?”

“Jealous?” You licked your treat without looking at him. “The kids’ mom gave me one as a thank you for looking after her kids.”

“That looks good.”

“So good.”

“Mind sharing it with me?”

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, then held out your popsicle. As Bucky leaned closer, you pulled it away and jumped to your feet. The look he gave you was one of pure betrayal.

“Oh, angel, you should have never done that.”

He grinned to himself when he saw a shiver run through you. When he stood up, you took a step back. He strutted toward you, his grin predatory. The floor was slippery so you couldn’t go very far.

“Are you ready to share now?”

“No!”

The popsicle melted down your hand, creating a mess. You turned your arm and licked the drops of popsicle juice from the inside of your wrist. It distracted you long enough for Bucky to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. You squealed and grabbed him around the neck to keep from falling while also trying not to smush the popsicle against his chest.

You waved the treat in front of his face and he tried to bite off the tip of your popsicle. It made you laugh, your body sagging against him. His face was close to yours. He was so close he could smell the artificial orange scent of your popsicle.

Your laughter died down and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you. Without thinking, he went for it. He felt your fingers flex against his skin, urging him closer.

His lips were barely a breath away from yours when one of the kids repeatedly slapped your thigh, obviously oblivious to what the two grownups were about to do.

“Come back! We haven’t finished the game,” the kid whined. “Come on!”

Reluctantly, you let go of Bucky and took a step back. Your exhale came out shaky, and in your almost-kiss-induced trance you handed him the popsicle without saying anything before you followed the kid.

You turned back to look at him, one hand sprawled across your stomach, the other across your chest. He knew you were feeling it too: the butterflies, the racing heartbeat, that pleasant heat going through your body.

The difference between like and love.

A week later, he came home to an empty apartment. He climbed the stairs to your studio but you weren’t there. Instead, he found a canvas stretched out smooth and tight on the floor, and several bowls of paint arranged in a semi-circle around it.

He knew you were home, you wouldn’t leave without your phone or bag. Out of curiosity, he went up on the roof and let out a relieved breath when he found you.

You were sitting on the edge of the rooftop with your knees up to your chin and your arms wrapped loosely around your shins. You looked so beautiful in the golden hue of the setting sun.

He stood there, watching you as if he was looking at a painting in a museum. Entranced. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and a quick glance around the roof told him you were alone.

Slowly, he made his way to you and took in your appearance: a short sleeve white shirt and a pair of denim overalls. The shirt was surprisingly spotless but the overalls were covered in dried paint splatters of different colours.

“I looked everywhere for you,” he spoke softly, trying not to disturb you.

“Did you?”

You straightened up a little but kept your eyes trained on the horizon. Bucky sat close to your feet and let his hand slip under the hem of your jeans to close around your ankle. A sigh slipped past your lips, and he let his fingertips linger for a moment on your smooth skin.

He knew you had a meeting today, and judging by the resigned look on your face, it didn’t go well.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” he said, caressing the top of your foot.

“I was thinking about the night we met. God, I was so nervous,” you said, laughing softly. “I told you that agreeing to meet you was like choosing between a pack of wolves and jumping off a cliff.”

“I remember,” he chuckled.

“I never told you how glad I am that I jumped off that cliff,” you said. “I’d never jumped head first into something, not knowing what was going to happen. Now I think I’m addicted to it. Before I met you, I was living for others. Everything single decision was thoroughly analysed. There was no mystery, fun, or impulsiveness. I put my entire life on hold, and now I see that I can’t do that anymore.”

“What are you going to do?”

You paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if I want to turn my passion into a career. Painting is my safe-place, and right now it’s giving me so much anxiety. I haven’t had the inspiration to paint in weeks.” You looked at him and pressed your lips together tightly. “And, if I don’t want to become a full time artist, then I guess our deal is off.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. He really hadn’t seen it coming.

“Please, don’t be angry,” you pleaded. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. When he didn’t answer, you leaned forward and touched his face.

“I could never be angry with you, angel,” he said, kissing the inside of your palm. “I understand, and I’ll help you however I can.”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking about it.” You looked away from him and stared at the sky. “Do you know that feeling when you stand in a high place and you think about jumping? You don’t want to jump and you don’t do it, but there’s that urge.”

“I think I do.”

“It’s called ‘call of the void’. People say that it’s an affirmation of our will to live. That knowing we’re going to die one day makes us appreciate life even more.” You looked at him. “I want to jump but I can’t. I’m scared.” You lowered your voice. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“You’re scaring me a little. You can’t talk about jumping when we’re sitting on the edge of the roof.”

You chuckled under your breath. “It’s a metaphor.”

“Let’s go home. We’ll make dinner together, put on some music and pretend we’re in a movie.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Please.”

You took his hand and let him lead you to the staircase.

Once you were inside the apartment, he removed his shoes and you removed yours. Silence settled between the two of you as you entered the kitchen. Bucky moved behind the counter while you stood close to the dining table.

When he chanced a glance at you, he saw you staring into nothing while you played with the charm on your necklace, rolling it back and forth on its chain. You often did that when you were daydreaming.

Bucky walked over to you and placed his hand on top of yours, halting your movements. You let go of the pendant and held his hand instead. He ran his thumb soothingly over your fingers.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly.

“If I say it, it’s going to change everything.”

He pressed your joined hands against his chest, over his heart. “No, it’ll make it real.”

He let go of your hand and cupped the side of your face. You leaned closer until you were only inches apart. His thumb traced your cheekbone, then moved to trace the outline of your bottom lip.

He let you come to him, let you take that first step, and when your lips brushed against his, he closed his eyes and sighed. He kissed your parted lips; once, twice, three times, tiny little kisses against your trembling lips.

His kiss grew bolder, turning into something so intimate, so passionate and intense that tears gathered in his eyes. He pressed his mouth more firmly against yours, his large hand still cupping the side of your face. His bad shoulder jutted forward as if his missing arm wanted to touch you.

He let out a groan, frustrated that he only had one hand to finally explore your skin. Sensing his inner turmoil, you held onto his bad shoulder and pulled him against you.

His tongue swept into your mouth, moving in a slow and deliberate rhythm. A growl escaped him and he deepened the kiss, tasting, sliding, retreating and entering again. He poured everything he had into the kiss.

“Bucky,” you moaned after your broke the kiss, breathless.

Hearing his name fall from your lips, your voice hoarse with desire, sparked something inside him. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness and collecting the moisture that had gathered there.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking positively entranced. “My pretty angel.”

You pulled him in for another kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, your slightly cold hands felt amazing against his heated skin. He pressed himself against you, letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest, the desperation in the jerky thrust of his hips.

He needed more but he wasn’t going to force you into anything. He was more than happy to stand here and kiss you for hours. He cupped the back of your neck and rubbed the sensitive skin behind your ear with his thumb.

“I’m yours,” he spoke against your lips, his eyes screwed shut.

You pulled back to look him in the eye, searching his face. He opened his eyes and you saw nothing but honesty in the depth of his eyes.

You untangled yourself from him and took his hand. Slowly, you took a step back, then another, his hand still in yours. His eyebrows lifted slightly when you bit your bottom lip and gave him a coy look.

He nearly growled again, the wolf inside him eager to touch you, feel you, claim you. He stood taller, his chest puffed out and breathing fast.

You led him up the stairs to the second floor and turned on the light in the corridor. You slowly made your way down the corridor with him behind you.

But instead of turning left towards his bedroom, you turned right into your studio, and it changed everything. Your studio was your sanctuary, your safe place, and knowing that you were about to bare your soul and body to him tamed his inner wolf.

You hesitated at the threshold of the room and glanced over your shoulder to look at him. Bucky squeezed your hand to encourage you.

“I bought some body paint on my way home,” you said, letting go of his hand to step into the room. “I wanted to try something different, something more personal. I wanted to use my body to express my emotions, to create something raw and messy. My interpretation of somatic art therapy.”

You moved around the darkened room; bent down to adjust the canvas on the floor and made sure the bowls of paint were still full.

“I sat there and thought of my mom and Pietro,” you continued, barefoot on the canvas. “I only feel sadness and anger, and I don’t want to create something that makes me feel sad. And I realized the only thing that keeps me inspired is hope.”

Turning to face him, you held your hand out, palm up, and his eyes widened at your silent request. Without thinking twice, he joined you on the canvas. It was both soft and scratchy under his feet.

Bucky watched as you unbuckled the right strap of your overalls and slipped the second strap off your shoulder. You tugged your jeans down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you in your underwear and white shirt.

Swallowing thickly, Bucky let his eyes travel up and down your body. He had seen you in your bathing suit before but this was different. Then he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his strong chest, hard abdomen and marred skin.

The room was dark; the pastel sky, visible from your studio thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, didn’t provide much light. The light was still on in the corridor, casting a faint golden glow over the room.

You took a step forward to examine his scars more carefully and Bucky took that opportunity to kiss you again, slowly, intimately. He peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck, then went down on his knees in front of you and continued his journey down your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach.

He accidentally knocked over two bowls of paint; the dark colours spilled out onto the canvas, chasing each other. His kisses made you light up with desire, your moans music to his ears as your hands came down on the back of his head.

When it all became too much, you gently pushed him into a lying position and helped him out of his jeans. His belt buckle made a faint clink when you pulled it open, and Bucky swore out loud when you planted a wet open-mouthed kiss right below his navel.

In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to survive the night. He let his head fall back against the canvas and closed his eyes shut. Your talented mouth sent sharp jolts of pleasure through him, making it difficult to breathe.

He could feel the paint stick to his back, creating the shape of his upper body on the canvas. It was strangely exciting.

He moaned, arching his back, and slammed his fist down on the canvas. His fist landed in one of the bowls of paint. It splashed paint everywhere. He looked down at you and saw tiny flecks of paint splayed like freckles on one side of your face.

It made you both giggle. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Bucky left a print of his forearm on the canvas. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, then removed your shirt and bra. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand on his upper arm, the other hugging his neck.

Bucky was sitting on the canvas with his legs outstretched and slightly bent at the knees. He held you against his chest, rocking back and forth, his arm around the small of your back. You sighed together, sharing the same breath.

“You have the prettiest nose.” You let your index finger run down the length of his nose, your finger wet with paint. “So pretty.”

Laughing softly, he brushed his nose against yours and kissed you. He changed the angle of his thrusts, catching you by surprise.

“Does that feel good, angel?” he asked, lightly biting your jaw. You answered with a short cry. “Look at me.” You slowly opened your eyes, your movements faltered a little. “You’re so beautiful like this. You drive me crazy, y’know that?”

“Bucky,” you cried out.

He felt you shiver when he moved his hand from your back to your face. He cupped the side of your face and you immediately pressed yourself closer to him, craving the warmth of his touch.

He stopped your movements and looked you in the eye. “I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.”

He laid you down as gently and safely as he could, and once you were lying flat on your back, he sprawled between your thighs. He supported his weight on his forearm, careful not to crush you. Your hands slid up his sides, and as your thumb traced over his ribcage, a violent shiver went through his body.

He had never seen anything more beautiful than watching you come apart; your eyebrows furrowed, your lips parted in a silent ‘o’, the way your body shook in little spams. Absolutely stunning.

Exhausted, he collapsed on top of you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him and slowly caressed his back.

After he kissed his way down the side of your neck, he straightened himself up into a kneeling position and looked down at you. Your naked body was on display, covered in paint and glistening under the moonlight. He wished he could take a picture, immortalize this memory.

He helped you up, and after another passionate kiss he led you to his bathroom, the two of you leaving colourful footprints all over the clean floor.

The bathroom's bright fluorescent light was harsh and unforgiving as you looked at each other in the mirror. Yet you were both glowing, streaks and dots of paint covering your bodies. Bucky turned on the water and waited for it to get hot.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “We look like we blew up a rainbow,” he said, smiling wide when it made you chuckle.

In the shower, you took turns washing each other, laughing and kissing until the water turned cold. You pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him.

“We’re going to catch a cold if we stay here.”

“Mhh,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You’re right. There are clean towels on the shelf. Go, I’ll be right behind you, I still need to take care of my scar.”

“Can I help you?”

Asking for help wasn’t something he was comfortable with, especially after years of being babied by his ex-girlfriend, friends and family. After his accident, he couldn’t do anything on his own. He had to rely on others and it made him feel like a burden, like he was incapable of taking care of himself.

He knew it was all in his head but he couldn’t help it.

“It’s not exactly sexy,” he said.

“I don’t care. I want to help. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Patiently he guided you step by step through the process of cleaning his stump. You inspected his skin thoroughly, looking for irritation or any signs of infection, then washed it with a mild soap.

He had to admit that watching the woman he loved take such good care of his scar made his stomach fill with butterflies. You looked so focused, so attentive, that he could help but smile and try to kiss you.

“Bucky,” you complained, turning your head away, avoiding his kiss. “This is serious business, stop fooling around.”

He almost said it. I love you. But something was holding him back. He didn’t know what would happen next and it scared him. He didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, but he also realized that things were moving too fast.

“Okay, now you’re shivering,” he said, holding you close, trying to share his body heat with you. “Let’s get out of here.”

He wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe and patted you dry. Then you carefully dried his scar and applied corticosteroid cream to his shoulder, massaging it gently into his skin. He slipped on his robe and you loosely tied the belt at his waist.

“We should talk about what just happened,” you said, playing with the belt. “What does it mean? What are we going to do? Can we-mph”

He cut you off with a kiss, long and hard and filled with passion. You smiled against his lips and finally pulled away.

“Is that how you’re going to shut me up from now on?” you asked with a grin.

“We’ll talk,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “But not tonight.”

“When then?”

“Tomorrow, I promise.”

You looked down at your hands on his belt and nodded. He tilted your head up and lowered his mouth to yours.

“Don’t avoid me tomorrow. Please.”

Your words felt like a knife in his heart, and it left him momentarily speechless. He took one of your hands and pressed it against his heart. “No matter what we decide to do, you’re my angel and I’m yours.”

You shared a long, silent hug before you both decided to call it a night. Once he saw the footprints in the corridor, Bucky felt the urge to clean them. He tried to resist but he knew if he didn't clean he wouldn't be able to sleep.

You understood –you always understood. That’s why he felt so comfortable with you.

Once it was clean, he joined you in the kitchen and made you breakfast for dinner, opening the cupboard and pulling out a couple boxes of cereal you didn’t even know he had.

He told you that he was keeping them for a special occasion. He remembered you telling him that it was your favourite meal as a kid, watching TV with your siblings every Sunday night, eating cereals.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” you said, tears in your eyes.

The two of you sat on your bed, sharing random thoughts and spoonfuls of cereal. You giggled as milk dribbled down his chin and stained his robe. You wiped at the spot on his chin with your thumb and gave him a chaste kiss.

Your lips tasted sweet. Bucky pulled you in for another kiss, discarding the dirty dishes on your bedside table. You helped each other undress, then slid under the covers where you laid your head on Bucky’s chest.

“Bucky,” your voice cut through the quiet. “Do you mind-”

“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll wait until you fall asleep.”

“Thank you.”

Part 12

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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mystery-star · 4 years ago

Text

Shipping Experiment– Spock

Pairing: Spock x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: involuntary drunkenness

Words: 3686

A/N: I got this idea when I stumbled upon a BTS picture of the AOS movie productions. Then I discussed it with @cleversturmhond and decided it had to be written. I know the pic is for AOS but can be read for TOS as well.

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

Being an Ensign usually meant that you couldn’t go on many away missions. So it was always something very special for you to get chosen. You only hoped that your husband had no saying in it because you wanted to be chosen because of your skills and not the fact that you were married to the Chief Science Officer and First Officer of the ship. On the other hand, if it had been Spock’s idea to take you on the mission, it probably had a logical reason, after all he always claimed that he did not make emotional decisions while on duty. Maybe you could ask him later on who had had the idea to allow you to come to the mission.

For a reason you were surprised to learn that the aliens that lived on the planet were very friendly because so far you had usually only heard stories of how the landing party had been almost killed or abducted by the inhabitants of the planet. The natives even invited you for dinner and the Captain immediately agreed. You on the other hand didn’t know if it was such a good idea to just eat foreign food, what if it was poisonous for you? Sure, Kirk claimed that the alien’s physiology was not that different from your own but it still was no guarantee that the food would not hold and unpleasant surprises.

Unfortunately, the meal tasted a bit bland but otherwise it was very good and you ate a lot, probably more than usual. They even served some kind of ‘dessert’, just that it consisted of a bitter drink. After the meal, you were allowed to watch some kind of welcome dance the natives did for you and also encouraged all of you to dance as well. To your surprise, even Spock joined them a bit later, but probably only because four of your hosts were pulling on his arms and trying to get him up and on the dance floor. With determined steps he came over to you, offering you his hand

“Do you mind?”

“I’d love to” you said, taking his hand and placing the other hand on his shoulder. When you had first seen what a skillful dancer he was, you almost couldn’t believe it. Even less that he had never taken dance lessons in secret and just seemed to be a whiz kid, like at everything else. Not that you minded though, it was something you loved about him, how good he was at everything or how quickly he learned if something was indeed new for him. You amused yourself very much and also Spock seemed to do so. But then you saw him smile at you and in shock you let go of him “What’s wrong’” you asked.

“What are you referring to?”

“Your smile, you just smiled”

“I do not believe I did. You must have imagined it”

“Yeah sure, let’s just deny it all as if it was a shame” you said, gently taking hold of him again to continue your dance. Probably you would have just forgotten about it, if his smile had not etched itself into your memory and made it hard to be forgotten. And it wasn’t just his smile, suddenly, he also leaned his forehead against yours and pulled you closer, letting out a small sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Your definition of ‘okay’ is unclear” he muttered

“I want to know if you’re feeling as usual. Or if you think that something’s off”

“Nothing is ‘off’. I simply enjoy having you close”

“Well I take that as a compliment” you pecked his cheek. While some of the other crewmembers seemed to have had enough, Spock was still twirling you around, even more energetic than before. And at times you could have sworn to see a big smile on his face. Finally, the Captain approached you

“I didn’t know dancing made you that happy”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat” Spock raised an eyebrow

“You are referring to the animal from Alice in Wonderland”

“Yeah. You have something of him right now”

“Is it true?’” he asked looking at you

“Yeah you have been smiling at times But that’s okay. As long as it means you’re feeling happy that’s perfect”

“I would not call it ‘perfect’. I do not like not being in control of my emotions” you had stopped dancing by now

“So what are we gonna do? Do you want to go back to the ship?”

“Perhaps that would be a good solution. Then I can extend my meditation period”

“And leave poor (Y/N) all alone down here?” Kirk said, patting your back.

“Or I can just leave with him” you said “I kinda am getting tired from all the dancing”

“I apologize” Spock said “If you wish to accompany me back to the ship you are welcome to do so”

“Perfect” also Jim gave a nod and so your husband and you left the place after bidding your hosts goodbye and requested to be transported back to the ship. On the way to your shared quarters, Spock took your hand and squeezed it. You checked the time “It’s only 2014 hours. Would you like to do something?”

“If you do not mind I would like to engage in meditation for some time”

“Right, you said that you’d do that. I’ll just be reading something then”

Two hours later, Spock was still in the bathroom for meditation. But unless most times he was talking to himself. With a sigh you got up and stopped in front of the door. Of course you knew he didn’t like to be disturbed and that meditation was private to Vulcans. Yet you gently knocked at the locked door.

“Are you okay?” you asked with a quiet voice but got now answer “Spock?”

“Yes”

“Sorry for disturbing you but you were talking and I wanted to see if you’re alright”

“I am” he said “Test Object Leonard... Time: 1.28 seconds”

“What are you doing?” you asked, entering the code to open the door. You didn’t know what to say when you saw what he was doing. He had rid himself of his meditation robes and was standing at the sink in underwear, a dozen or more of origami swans or folded boats, made from toilet paper were sitting on top of the sink. In his hand, he held your lip balm, which he obviously had used to write something on the mirror “Oh Spock” you said, not sure if it was a good idea to laugh “What’s this?”

“I want to find out how long it takes until the figures are soaked with water and unfold”

“Oh well… uh” you only knew one thing. This was not normal behavior for your husband “What about your robes?” he looked at the pile of clothes, something else atypical because usually he carefully folded and put his clothes away unless he put it in the laundry box (and even for in there he did fold them a little).

“I took them off so they will not get wet”

“Well okay” you moved closer and watched, how he launched a swan called Sulu and noted that it was soaked within 1.31 seconds before noting name and the time on the mirror “Come on, you can drown more toilet paper tomorrow”

“I do not drown it. It is an experiment”

“You still can continue it tomorrow”

“Then the conditions might be different”

“Shouldn’t something be tested under different conditions?” he looked at you then turned back to his ‘experiment’, putting the next thing into the water, this time a boat called Sulu. You had the impression that he had each a swan and a boat that were named after someone of the crew. When you checked the list, you saw that also your name was at the top of the list, making you smile. “Come” you said “You can finish tomorrow. I think you have enough data for today” you pointed at the mirror

“I am not done yet”

“We continue tomorrow. I’ll help you” he looked at you

“Then I can get started with the report now”

“Or we go to bed. It’s late”

“I usually write my reports at around that time”

“Yeah but usually don’t soak toilet paper figures in the sink either. Let’s go” he looked at you

“No!” he said, rather fiercely, making you wince

“Spock!” you insisted “I don’t know what’s wrong with you but you are not alright right now. So let me get you to bed or I’ll call McCoy”

“He will be off duty by now” he grabbed the next swan but you took hold of his wrist.

“I can just call med bay. I bet you’d hate someone else looking at you even more”

“I do not need a doctor, I am fine”

“Don’t you usually not use the word fine because it has no logical definition just like ‘okay’?”

“It does, I only tried to make it clear to you by using your vernacular” still he started a lecture of the different meanings of the two words, depending on the context. You sighed and gently tried to lead him away from the sink and to your surprise and relief he complied. As long as he was talking, you could get him back to your bed room and hand him his sleeping shirt which he put on without further ado. But then he was done with his explanation and the started behaving like a kid again, refusing to but on his pajama trousers and insisted he had to continue his experiment.

“No you don’t. If you go back into the bathroom, I’ll throw all your boats and swans into the toilet and flush them” he stared at you and his mouth fell open slightly. You couldn’t hide a grin

“I will make new ones” he said and left for the bathroom

“No!” you shouted and wrapped your hands around his waist, trying to stop him. But since he was stronger than you, due to his Vulcan heritage, he managed to walk to the bathroom anyways. So you let go of him and went to the intercom instead, contacting Med bay that they came to have a look. After all it was possible that his state could be dangerous. You were quite certain it had to do with something that happened on the planet, probably something he ate or drank. When you ended the communication, you saw that Spock wasn’t in the bathroom anymore. He also wasn’t in the bedroom either “Spock?” you called but you got no answer. His figures were still standing on the sink but you noticed that his lute was gone. With a sigh you started the computer on the desk “Computer, where is Commander Spock?” you asked, not wanting to search him. Besides, he could be everywhere.

“Commander Spock currently is in recreation room 3 on deck 5”

“Oh” you said and left your quarters hurrying there as fast as you could. The scene you saw did shock you but you still had to pull back to not start laughing. It was even worse than what you had seen in the bathroom in your quarters. Spock was still only wearing his nightshirts, boxers and was sitting on one of the tables, seeming to be tuning his lute. And of course he was not alone in the rec room and almost everyone was staring at him or you “Spock!” you hissed as you slowly approached him “What are you doing, honey?” you placed a hand on his arm

“I am not making honey” you rolled your eyes

“I can see that. It wasn’t a question. I meant you by honey”

“Why?”

“You’re not in a state to discuss this. Come, let’s go back. You still have your experiment to finish”

“I am off duty” he said trying out his lute again.

“Well then we just go to bed. Or are you hungry again? Just let’s get you out of here. People are watching” you said quietly. At that, his head shot up and he glared at the people in question and they were quick to look away or pretend to focus on something else. You sighed “Come on. We can come back when you put pants on” he looked down his legs “Yes, you’re only wearing underwear”

“That is not underwear” he gestured at his shirt

“Yeah. But this” you pointed at his boxers. Come” you offered him your hand but he slapped it away, putting a foot on his table and started to play on the lute.

“I would like to play you a song”

“You can do this when I’m in bed. Because I’m very tired” you faked a yawn “Then you can help me fall asleep. How does that sound?”

“As if you think my song is boring” he pouted and you shook your head.

“That’s not what I meant. But it is very calming. And it’s been a long day. Are you not tired?”

“I am Vulcan”

“That doesn’t answer the question” he didn’t say anything and you sighed “Fine” you pulled your hand back and gave a nod, walking over to the intercom to contact Med Bay again because the doctor had to come here and not your quarters. You probably didn’t’ have the strength (or will) to bring your husband back to his quarters. When you were done, you also contacted the Captain to tell him what was going on and to let him know that maybe Spock wouldn’t come to work tomorrow

“What do you mean by ‘behaving odd’? Is it a Spocksih odd we’re used of him or odd odd?”

“Odd odd. Unless he’s sitting on the tables in rec room just wearing his boxers and playing his lute each day”

“No, you’re right that is odd. When did he start behaving like that?”

“I don’t know. He went mediating when we returned. But maybe his smiles on the planet already had to do with his situation”

“Did you let McCoy know?”

“He’s got off, so I contacted Med Bay”

“Very well. Do you need help?”

“Are you already back?”

“Yeah, we all are by now”

“Oh okay. But no, I called for a doctor he’ll help me to bring Spock back home”

“Perfect” you turned around to your husband

“Oh fuck”

“What? What is he doing now?”

“No idea”

“How do you mean that?”

“Because he’s gone. He’s not here anymore”

“Do you need help searching him?”

“Only if you don’t mind”

“My friend and First Officer is running around the ship drunk and half naked. Of course I can make time to search him”

“Good” you quickly discussed where you would go looking (respectively that you’d ask the computer for his location again) before contacting Med Bay yet another time to let them know that you had lost your husband again. Then you went to the next computer to hear his location. As it seemed he currently wasn’t in a room but was still underway to wherever he was heading. That was if he had a place he wanted to go. As you followed his path, you stopped to ask a computer again and when you heard where Spock was, you sped up even more. He had gone to the Pharmacology lab and in his state you had no idea what he’d do and he could get himself killed if he did something wrong. When you arrived at the lab, two people of sickbay were already there, talking to your husband. “What’s going on?” you asked, taking your husband’s hand.

“Your explanations made me realized that something is indeed wrong with me. I was trying to find something against it” he gestured at two small vials in front of

“Did he take anything?”

“No, luckily not” the nurse said while the doctor ran a scanner over Spock

“Is he okay?”

“No” Spock replied, making you squeeze his hand. To your surprise he pulled you closer until your head was resting against his chest. Suddenly he let out a yelp and when you looked up you saw how the doctor had injected a hypo into Spock’s neck. At the same time as your husband you asked what it was and were told that it something that would help him calm down a bit. The nurse then continued explaining that everything was alright so far and he just seemed drunk. So you should just take him back to your quarters and let them know in case something happened. With a grin you shook your head.

“What did you do huh?” you nudged his arm, making him glance down at you

“I did not take anything”

“On the planet. But you couldn’t know. We all didn’t. Now let’s get you to bed and tomorrow everything will be better” also Kirk now arrived in the lab and was asking what was going on, whereupon he received a briefing from the doctor.

“And he’s fine now?”

“He’s always been fine. But (Y/N) should keep an eye on him, just in case. But I don’t think something will happen. I’d take some blood but I have the impression that in his state he will not allow it”

“What if you wait until the sedative you gave him works?”

“Of course we could but as far as I can see he’s fine. Just not used to being drunk. I only thought we could find out what put him in that state. Maybe we’ll have to take some blood if he gets worse which he shouldn’t”

“Okay, that’s great to hear” you said with a nod and when you saw, how your husband slightly slackened you took hold of his arm

“It’s starting wo work” the nurse commented and you tried to lead him back to your shared quarters which you only could when also Kirk took hold of him and helped you. Together you more or less dragged Spock back to your quarters and after asking if you could manage, the Captain left you. Spock pulled you to the bed, sat down on its edge and after you were in his lap, he embraced you tightly.

“Careful” you muttered “Don’t forget how strong you are and your thousand lectures about how you could snap all my bones just like that” he didn’t reply but nuzzled the side of your neck. “How about you let me get ready for bed and then we can lie down and cuddle until we fall asleep?” again he did nothing so you let out a sigh “Aren’t you tired?”

“Not very much. However, I wish to hold you longer”

“You can also do that when we’re trying to fall asleep?” now his arms disappeared and you got up, getting out of your clothes, when you heard the bathroom door close. “Please just don’t continue your experiment” you muttered as you put on a top for in the bed. You sat down on the bed, taking out a PADD to read an article before Spock returned but again he stayed in the bathroom. After fifteen minutes you put your device aside and knocked at the door but got no answer, so you opened it. You had to cover your mouth to not burst out laughing. He was cuddling his robes he had discarded earlier against his chest and was fast asleep on the bathroom floor. Of course you knew that you wouldn’t be able to bring him back to bed so you returned to your bedroom, got your blanket and spread it over him. For a while you stood there, looking down at him and considering if you should join him or spend the night in bed before you sighed and grabbed your pillow to lie down beside him as well.

It was one of the first times in your marriage that you woke up before Spock. But knowing he’d probably be awake any time, you waited for him with breakfast. When he appeared in the door frame you had to bite back a chuckle because you had never seen him so disheveled.

“Morning” you greeted, putting your PADD aside

“Morning, (Y/N)” he replied with a nod. “I cannot find a logical explanation why I have woken up in the bathroom”

“Because you fell asleep there. Bam, logic” you got up and walked to the replicator “Water or tea?”

“Then I cannot recall why I would have chosen the bathroom floor as suitable place to spend the night”

“Oh well I can’t answer that either. But I might have an idea”

“That is?” he asked, walking to the bed to put the blanket on it, of course folding it neatly before taking a new uniform from his wardrobe.

“You don’t remember?”

“I am not certain I understand what you are referring to”

“Well” you grinned, getting your own breakfast, “I guess I’d better tell you before Kirk surprises you with made up stories about your half-naked adventures in the rec room. Come to think of it, you might want to make sure he doesn’t find the video”

“Which video?” if he hadn’t been shocked before he definitely was now. The intercom beeped and Spock answered it

“How’re you doing, druggie?”

“I do not understand your reference”

“You don’t remember? Pity, I’d love to see your face. I could tell you everything but I guess that (Y/N) knows a few more details. In fact I’d love to hear the whole story. Anyways, I just called to let you know I pulled a few strings to let you take off this morning, Spock”

“I do not see…”

“And I don’t care. I won’t let you come to the bridge. Oh and Bone’s awaiting you in Med Bay he said” the call ended and Spock looked at you as if he was lost.

“It seems there something you should tell me”

“Yeah” you gestured at his chair “I know Vulcan got nerves of steel, not anatomically, but you might better sit before I start”

Taglist: @softsapphicideals

#spock #spock imagine #spock x reader #spock x you #imagine

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saphirered · 4 years ago

Note

Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader

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dynyamight · 4 years ago

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33 pleeaseee? 🥺💚🧡

33. “Please don’t do this.”

Bakugou’s been avoiding him.

Todoroki shrugs, picking up a spoonful of pudding. “Sounds pretty normal to me.”

It might be from the poor influence, but Midoriya fights the urge to smack him. “It’s really not.” He exhales, playing with his vegetables aimlessly on his lunch tray. “I don’t even know what I even did to make him act this way..”

He doesn’t get a response right away, but after a gulp, Todoroki purses his lips together in thought. “Perhaps, he’s not feeling well?” He offers awkwardly. "Like, Food poisoning."

With love and peace, Todoroki wasn’t the best at sympathy.

Midoriya drops the conversation about Bakugou after that. He brings up training instead, all of which Todoroki has better answers for. They continue their easy talk during the rest of lunch, even going as far as walking up together back to class.

But, as Midoriya settles into his desk, with Bakugou right in front of him, his worries still reverberate through his skull. He’s getting the cold shoulder.

And, he doesn’t know why.

At first, Midoriya’s thoughts blame himself. He has upsetted Bakugou, some way, somehow. That was the only explanation for the radio silence he’s been dealt with, for the past week now.

Every wave is met with an averted gaze. Every mention is left with no reply. And, every look never makes contact. Surely, Bakugou’s mad.

Though, as Aizawa’s lecture slowly becomes white noise in his ears, his thoughts shift to a different conclusion. Bakugou’s mad. But, not mad at him.

Because, if he was, there would have been biting remarks pointed his way. Bakugou would have shoved his presence forcibly, spitting curses and heat, as if they were explosives thrown. It would have been so obvious, right at his face. And, definitely easier to manage.

But, Bakugou hasn’t. He’s been absolutely unresponsive. Quiet.

For the first time in a long while, Midoriya’s stumped. Bakugou’s acting in a way that’s unlike him. And, no amount of knowledge seemed to help.

So, Midoriya stays up. In his dorm room, he makes sure to slightly keep his door ajar, as he waits in still breath, under the bed sheets. He even has to control his breathing, slow and steady, as to try and hear any potential noises that could slip.

And, thank goodness he did. Because, the moment the clink of porcelain sounds off, Midoriya throws the covers off and runs.

When he rushes out of his room and into the common room, Midoriya’s relieved to meet a jolted Bakugou, cradling onto a steaming mug in his hands.

Like most things, the nerves hit him finally, when finally faced with his obstacle. “Kacchan.” Midoriya voices, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

Bakugou’s expression morphs into a pointed look. Yet, he simply turns around, continuing to trudge off to one of the long couches. He brings his bare feet up, crossing them underneath, and fully rests his back onto his seat.

The entire time, he refuses to look in Midoriya's direction.

Something about how it was so obviously deliberate, calculated, frustrates Midoriya. He narrows his brows. “So, you are ignoring me.”

Nothing. Bakugou loudly slurps his mug.

“Kacchan.” Midoriya repeats. He makes his way onto the long couch, opposite of Bakugou. And, when he sits down, he’s able to capture Bakugou’s glare. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Something behind Bakugou’s gaze breaks. What was once stubborn, resilient, was now wide open, vulnerable. Just as quickly as it appears, Bakugou brings his eyes to his mug. “M’not.”

Internally, Midoriya’s resolve sighs in relief. He brings his hands into a clasp, and allows himself a chance to look away, focusing on them. “That doesn’t sound very convincing, you know.”

Bakugou scoffs. “I could care less.”

More words. Yet, no answers. “Did I upset you? In any way?”

“No.” Bakugou states firmly.

“Was I annoying you?”

“No.”

Midoriya pushes down a groan. This is going nowhere, and resolving nothing. “Well,” He starts again, squeezing his hands together. “Did I do something to you?”

There’s an odd pause. “...No.”

Ah. He did. “What did I do?”

When nothing is said, Midoriya continues. “Am I doing something to you?”

Bakugou curses under his breath, and suddenly there's an audible shift, the squeaking of the leather says so. “Drop it.” He sneers.

“Whatever it is,” Midoriya pleas forward, his heart aching already. “I’m sorry. I-I know I don’t know what exactly I’m apologizing for, but it’s obvious that it’s been eating you up.”

Lifting up his head, it comes to his surprise that instead of facing an angry expression, Bakugou’s face is crumbled. With knees up to his chin, it was as if he’s shrinking into the cushions of the couch.

“You didn’t do anything.” Bakugou finally admits, bringing his mug over to his face. “S’stupid.”

“It’s not, if it’s been bothering you.”

“It’s bothersome.” Bakugou corrects sternly, though he maintains his posture. “But, it ain’t important.”

That’s far from the truth. “If it’s not important, then why not tell me?” Midoriya counters.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Quit it, Deku.” Bakugou growls. His knuckles whiten from the tight grip around his mug. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’m not walking away, until I know why you’re acting like this.” Midoriya insists, shaking his head. “You’ve pushed, shoved, and left me plenty of times. But, not this time.”

“Please,” Bakugou begs suddenly, causing Midoriya’s entire body to cease, and lose his breath. “Don’t do this. I’m not ready.” He whispers, voice wretched for only him to hear.

Bakugou was always the person to bulldoze anything in his way. Confidence. Powerful. Unbudging. These traits were etched in Midoriya’s mind as Bakugou. Stamped with his face. Because, he was never anything, but those qualities.

Yet, the Bakugou seated in front of him was scared. Backed into a corner, pleading Midoriya to stop. Because he wasn’t ready.

Ready to what? Midoriya needs to know. Midoriya has been rattling his mind all week, only to be left without answers. No, this isn’t what he wanted. He wanted—

Taking a deep breath, Midoriya softly offers a smile. “Okay. Take your time, Kacchan.”

Bakugou breathes. He slightly sits himself up on the couch. “When I am,” He starts, hushed and almost inaudible, “I’ll tell you.”

“I’ve been missing you.” Midoriya whispers back. “But, I’ll continue to wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

“..miss you, too.”

Leaving behind Bakugou in the common room was hard to do, knowing that their issues still weren’t resolved. And, as he laid in bed, shuffling under the covers, Midoriya let out a long sigh. He doesn’t know how much longer Bakugou will keep avoiding him. How much longer he has to continue living without Bakugou’s presence, energy, and companionship.

But, in the end, Midoriya doesn’t want to hurt Bakugou any more, than he has possibly inflicted.

And, if that meant having to wait another week, or more, to finally hear what’s wrong, then he will.

#star responds #aaah conflicted emotions we love that #bakugou struggling to come to terms with his feelings is so wrong yet so right #anyways !! thanks for the prompt !!#bakudeku #anon #FICLET

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true-blue-megamind · 4 years ago

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Fan Theory Thursday – The Not-So-Evil Overlord?

Shhh… Want to hear a secret? Come closer... SPOILER ALERT!

Okay, this one delves a little deep into the imaginative side of Megamind fan theories, however I believe it holds enough interest and has enough support to be well worth discussing. There is a supposition which I frankly love: our favorite blue alien was an Overlord of sorts before he briefly took control of Metro City, and he had good reasons to be so. That might sound a little crazy, but bear with me.

This idea has appeared in several fan fictions, and essentially goes as follows: Megamind was more than a supervillain; he was also a crime boss, and he chose that path for the most unlikely of reasons. Bizarre though it may seem, his primary drive was bettering Metro City. (And, yes, I’m aware of how contradictory that sounds.) However, it’s logical when considered more closely. By making himself the de facto ruler of the city’s underbelly, Megamind was able to control crime to an extent, probably even setting limits on certain activities, and guidelines for others. In the majority of fan fictions using this concept, that includs things like reducing violent crime, setting purity standards and purchase limits for narcotics, and ensuring sex workers were neither underage nor abused.

I’ll be the first to admit that, on the surface at least, this seems like nothing more than fans seeking to justify or even moralize a beloved character, but research reveals that there is actually some support for this theory. Firstly, there is the fact, touched upon previously in the Fan Theory post concerning the Warden, that Megamind was clearly already establishing control over other criminals at a young age. While writing a truly wonderful blog article, Demishock actually went through the trouble of deciphering the newspaper clipping shown at the beginning of the film’s title sequence. It contains, among other things, a reference to the fact that, although an elementary school age child, Megamind was feared and obeyed by other inmates at the prison where he grew up. A quote from the Warden reads: “I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him.” The article goes on to mention an incident which involved a few other inmates, adding that “the other prisoners refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”

It is quite possible that Megamind was already building and consolidating a base of power.

Next, there is the fact that the blue man seems to have lines he won’t cross, even as the self-proclaimed Evil Overlord. In one of the storyboards, when Megamind is approached by the Doom Syndicate, he clearly holds them in disdain, yet they are careful to placate him. Obviously they have somewhat different standards. When Agent Orange—who was later reimagined as Psycho-Delic before being cut from the film entirely—compares Megamind’s “inspirational” defeat of Metro Man to “a car crash on prom night,” the blue alien looks rather disgusted. Although they refer to celebrating his victory, it also seems the Doom Syndicate may be indirectly asking Megamind’s permission to go on a crime spree. While this may be because he is the new Overlord, it seems odd that other villains would immediately leap to the assumption such approval is necessary if they were accustomed to acting on their own. However, if they were already in the habit of requesting the blue alien’s sanction, their actions make more sense.

youtube

Whatever the case, it seems that, once again, Megamind and the Doom Syndicate may have very different ideas of what sorts of crimes are acceptable. The Destruction Worker refers to “really putting the screws to the city,” while Agent Orange adds his desire to “swim in the torment of the innocent.” However, these suggestions don’t seem to match what we actually see Megamind doing. In the movie, Megamind does, indeed, go on a crime spree, but none of it appears to be violent. He certainly causes chaos, but no one seems to ever be injured. In fact, in the DVD commentary, one of the creators even states outright that the supervillain never goes beyond vandalism and theft because he doesn’t really want to hurt anybody. (Indeed, in the film it rather seems that, by being raised in jail, bullied, and constantly rejected, Megamind was pushed into supervillainy.) This, together with the previous evidence, paints an image of a man who has been forced to do some harsh things, but who nonetheless dislikes violence and, deep down, possesses a certain moral code, albeit a skewed one.

There are, in fact, several other details that point toward Megamind being far from truly evil despite being a supervillain. As I mentioned in Megamind and Identity, he displays several redeeming qualities, such as his largely friendly treatment of Minion, his respect for Roxanne’s intelligence, and his playful, affectionate game of fetch with the brainbots. However, I won’t go into a long explanation about that here as it can be found in the aforementioned post.

Nonetheless, I don’t believe we can seriously expect that the former villain has never once hurt anyone in his life. Keep in mind that, as discussed in the post How Strong is Megamind, the blue alien almost certainly had to fight in order to survive. However, his unwillingness to attack citizens suggests that he only injured others when it was absolutely necessary. Similarly, the aforementioned “news article” indicates that he may have limited his physically aggressive responses to other criminals only. (After all, the reference to prison inmates fearing him is the sole evidence of possible violence we have.) I have seen it suggested here on Tumblr that he may have taken over Metro City in part because he believed that, if he didn’t, someone worse like the Doom Syndicate would. It may even be possible that he was afraid of appearing soft and thus losing control over the criminal underworld.

Of course, it has to be mentioned here that Megamind also fought with Metro Man, who certainly wasn’t a criminal. However, there are two factors that I believe need to be considered. The first is that it is very likely that Megamind didn’t expect he could truly harm his nemesis. This is evidenced by both the his apparent shock when Metro Man seems to actually be dead, and by his overt statement during the museum scene that he “didn’t think it would really work.” The second is that, as young Metro Man was a bully, tormenting Megamind without provocation and encouraging other children to do the same, Megamind may have mentally placed him in the bad guy/threat category.

His lack of violence is not the only proof that Megamind had a better heart than most credited him for even when he was a supervillain. Keep in mind that he had a holographic disguise watch and a hoverbike. Presumably, Megamind could have simply fled Metro City when Titan turned evil, but he didn’t. Instead he went to Roxanne for help, stating that if they could not find the new villain’s weakness Titan would “destroy the whole city.” And this was after Titan had tried to kill him. Clearly, despite being a supervillain, Megamind cared enough about his home town to put his life in danger.

The final support for the Benevolent Overlord theory is less obvious: Megamind had to have been getting funds from somewhere even when Metro Man was still functioning as the Defender of Metro City. (Indeed, in some of the early concept art, the Evil Lair was imagined as a luxurious space boasting things like a huge library and a sleek laboratory. Some fans still picture the living quarters in much the same way despite the creators stating that he built his inventions from whatever he could get his hands on.) Near the beginning of the movie, Minion mentions a supplier in Romania, and presumably he and Megamind had to be getting food and other necessities somehow. While it’s true that the blue villain was clearly not above thievery, we also know that his plots were always defeated by Metro Man, so it’s safe to assume that he rarely if ever got away with stealing anything before the former hero’s supposed “death.” Of course, it also seems extremely unlikely, even laughable, that Megamind would have had a day job. Where, then, did the money come from? Many fans theorize that, as the local crime boss, he received a cut from all illegal activity. It certainly seems like the most probable explanation.

Art by Kory Heinzen, found in The Art of Megamind by Richard von Busack

So why would Megamind build his technology and machines largely from scrap if he had a constant cash flow? Given his concern for the city, several fan fictions have imagined the blue man secretly and anonymously donating a significant portion of his ill-gotten money to various charities and non-profits. That idea is not directly supported by any evidence, but it does fit with what we know. It’s also consistent with Megamind’s character: a feared supervillain who possesses a surprisingly good heart and, given his past, knows too well what it’s like to be thrown away by society.

So, was Megamind a crime boss as well as a supervillain? Did he use that position to secretly better life in Metro City? If so, is he still doing that now that he is the Defender of Metro City, thus curbing criminal activity from within as well as fighting it from without? (For the record, given that there is no apparent gang war happening during The Button of Doom, I would propose that the answer to the last question may be yes.) These are certainly interesting ideas to consider, and the mere fact that this animated film offers enough details to argue the point is a testament to just how well-constructed the movie is. I consider it yet more proof that the film Megamind is truly an underrated masterpiece.

#Megamind #Megamind movie #megamind fan theory #fan theories #fan theory #fan theory thursday #Overlord #crime boss #good bad guy

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ninjaslegos · 4 years ago

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Symbiosis

Where you learn to share a body with Morro after he refuses to leave to the departed realm.

Absolutely everyone was confused, stunned, and worried at once.

“Okay, so like, how is this supposed to work?” Kai asked.

“What do you mean he’s not possessing you?” Jay demanded for clarification on what exactly what was happening to your body.

“It’s like...” you trailed off in thought. “He’s mostly living in my head, but he can just...come out when he wants to? And we can both use each our powers, even at once somehow?”

That made a little more sense. “So...now what?” Cole asked.

“Please treat me like normal?” You begged, “he’s really dormant anyway; I don’t want to be treated any differently for having him in me-”

“That’s what she said.” Kai snickered, and Cole smacked him on the head.

This made you laugh, and some of the others joined in.

By the end of the week, Morro was still sleeping away in your head, and things were mostly back to normal. The only difference between before and after was that you had to perform extra wind training, and...Lloyd.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” You were quite tall, and could ruffle his hair. He would avoid you sometimes, and since usually the two of you were pretty close, this hurt to see.

“Oh, uh, I was just about to head to the store, Cole wanted me to stock back up on his cake so-”

“Oh, I can come with you!” You offered. He refused, making you frown. “...Lloyd?” Your voice was soft, sounding like you would cry if anything made noise or moved too fast. “Why don’t you like me anymore? Why do you avoid me?”

“What? No!” He reached out to hold you, “of course I still like you, you’re my best friend! It’s just...” he sighs, scratching his head as he tried to think of what to say. “Morro’s a part of you now. I’m sure he hates my guts, and once he leaves his dormant state, he’s not going to be a pleasant person to be around. He’s probably going to change you and make you turn on me, so I figured I’d get it over with.”

You sighed and hugged him back, “what makes you think he’ll change me? He’s in my body, he better respect it!” You say, trying to cheer him up. “He’s just like an extra opinion when it comes to hard decision making, and extra protection and power when it comes to fights. Besides, when it’s him that’s talking, you’ll know ‘cuz my eyes and hair go green.”

“Still, it’s gonna be a little weird to have him around in a domestic setting, we don’t have any opponents to fight at the moment.” Lloyd rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“You forget!” You cackle childishly, “I’m still the youngest one here, I can keep him busy when he’s using my body!”

You were his friend back when he went to Darkly’s. You weren’t particularly dark or evil, but you had a bad habit of being, well, you. If it weren’t for you being swallowed whole by the Grundle before it was hit with Tomorrow Tea, you’d still be about 12. He chuckled, “you do that.”

When Morro first woke up, you collapsed due to being unstable still, and trying to figure out how the two of you worked together. He took over your body in a fit of rage, but after some explanation, he was calm and actually feeling a bit awkward.

“This body is weird. Sure it’s the same height as my old one, but still, this one out of everything else?” He complained.

“Hey!” Lloyd snapped, “don’t say that when you’re in my friend’s body!”

The teasing was instant. “So, Green Ninja, how does it feel to have your old friend possessed by me?”

Sure, Morro redeemed himself a little by feeling regretful of what he did and letting go of his want to be the Green Ninja, but his taunting still stayed with him. So Lloyd chose to ignore it. “Let me know when you’re done with their body, they owe me a round of video games later.”

Morro quickly realized he didn’t have a lot of power over them anymore, and just stuck to light teasing, or avoiding the other ninja. He got along well with you though, but it annoyed him to no end that he couldn’t have you physically in front of him to talk with.

“Come on, Morro! Don’t be shy, let your soft side show! Cook them breakfast, I’ve seen you watch Zane cook from the dinner table!” You urged him from inside your head.

He sighed, you were right. He couldn’t avoid them forever, and even Wu was starting to try and force him to socialize with the other ninja. You said something about how ‘teamwork makes the dream work’, whatever that meant.

So he reluctantly agreed and set out for the kitchen. You helped him along by telling him how much of each ingredient he needed, and honestly? It was very helpful to have what was essentially a second pair of eyes. “Can you get the griddle for me?” The two of you were silent and he sighed, “right.” He went and got it himself, feeling frustrated. Believe it or not, he actually started to enjoy you, and really wanted nothing more than to hug you tightly just for a few minutes.

“Aw, thanks Airhead!” You spoke from inside your head.

It would also be nice because then his thoughts would all be private again. “I told you not to call me that!”

“You like it, though!”

Once again, privacy in thought.

Soon the waffles were all done, and the hash browns were cooked, and the eggs were scrambled. He shredded an entire brick of cheese while using his wind power to pour orange juice and lazily throw some bacon in the oven; jeez, he was so tired. How the hell did Zane have the energy to make all this at 6 in the morning? Next time he would just make waffles and anyone who dared complain would simply never eat food he made ever again. He could even sense that you were passed out in his head, and he wished that were him so badly.

By the time he actually finished, everyone else had come trickling in one by one and awed at the platters of food in the dining room for them all to take from and fill their plates.

“Damn, (Y/N), you made all this? You’re always the last one up!” Cole laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s me.” Morro tried not to sound cold, but he was ready to sleep for another couple of hours.

“Jeez dude, you sound awful. I’ll save some for you, if you want?” Cole offered, and Morro nodded.

“I think (Y/N) would like that, please save some for them. I’m going to bed now.” He made his way to your room and looked in the mirror briefly. It was funny how no matter who was in charge, it was always him that showed up in it. It was just another way of the world telling him that you and him were, quite literally, made to be together.

He landed in bed with a grunt, then wrapped himself in your soft blankets. He would have a long way to go to completely gain the ninja’s trust again, but if it would make you happy, then he would be happy too. Besides, he could use a couple friends.

(Looking for part 2? Find it here!)

#there is like...a little bit of shippy stuff between morro and reader #if you want there to be #ninjago #ninjago morro #morro x reader #morro and reader #oneshot

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clearlynotjanus · 4 years ago

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Loceit Appreciation Week: Day Four, Debate

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: Tired of the neglect he experiences at the hands of staunch Morality, when Janus is sent to the Dark Side, Logan attempts to follow some years later. CW: Food mention, Moceit fight Word Count: 3448 Genre: Gen, Hurt/comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Platonic Loceit

taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @cosplayhanna @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @rizzyluke @sevencrashing @all-panic-nodisco

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Though Logic and Self Preservation never had the chance to spend very much time together before the older boy’s disappearance, the conversations they did have were constructive, engaging, and supportive. Which was quite the opposite of what the others had to offer as the years dragged on. During the six that followed the unfortunate event, Logic found himself dismissed and belittled at every turn. Eight years old at the time, he didn’t exactly understand what had happened to his friend. It was confusing, and no one seemed willing to talk about it. The other Creativity mourned like Self Preservation was dead. Fear didn’t seem to notice. Morality cringed whenever Logic brought it up. He didn’t understand.

Time went on well enough then. Eight years old turned into nine, then ten, then eleven; then Fear morphed into Anxiety and the other Creativity disappeared. Even Logic could have called that one -- and he had. If only Morality listened to him and his advocating for the curly haired Creativity’s ideas. If only Fear had let him help more instead of jumping to improbable conclusions. All of it was a shame and it made Logic’s stomach hurt. He had liked that Creativity.

Eleven, twelve, and thirteen passed; then Anxiety disappeared as well, giving Logic a foreboding sense of loneliness. He didn't get along perfectly with Anxiety, but still. It felt like the Sides were dropping like flies. At this rate, Thomas would be more Dark than Light, Creativity said. Morality told them that was nonsense; as long as they three stayed good, Thomas would be fine. But Logic couldn’t help thinking this one was more his fault than the last. Perhaps if he had better communicated reality to Anxiety, things could’ve been different. Morality assured him it had nothing to do with anything like that; Anxiety just couldn’t be worked with. That didn’t sound right.

Through the beginning of his teenage years, the dismissal deepened. Too young, too inexperienced, too angry, too serious, too silly. No matter what Logic did, he couldn’t get through to them -- especially Morality, who seemed adamant that he had no idea what he was doing yet. The arguments ranged from petty to serious. No, Logic would say, Thomas can’t afford another Lego set, Morality, he has to save for textbooks next semester. No, Thomas shouldn’t have extra dessert just because he did his laundry today; he just had cake yesterday and God knows why. Irresponsibility began to overwhelm Thomas as he indulged in his Feelings more. He daydreamed a more fulfilling life, as he’d have himself convinced, through Creativity’s delusions. Logic was never considered. In fact, Logic was bad for insinuating everyone else was wrong.

At fourteen, Logic had had enough. One morning he woke up and decided he didn’t belong with the others -- with Creativity and Morality. He belonged with Self Preservation and the other Creativity. The one that he liked and the older boy who had always listened to him. The thought of enduring another day of disagreements and neglect dried his throat, so as the sun rose, he sunk out.

The Dark Side was, well, dark. Logic didn’t know what he expected but couldn’t find it in him to be surprised. He went to turn on the living room light but curiously found the switch already flipped, the bulb already illuminated. He went to open the blinds and found them already drawn. Rather than foreboding, as Self Preservation found it upon his initial arrival all those years ago, Logic found it fascinating. Not fascinating enough to keep his stomach growling though. Were the others already awake? Did they not have breakfast over here? Perhaps he was just early.

Unceremoniously, Logic grabbed himself a bowl, a box of cereal, and milk from the fridge to construct his breakfast -- a task Morality had always insisted he do for Logic until recently, when he spitefully went a full month of refusing to eat anything Morality made him. He was old enough to make his own breakfasts and lunches, thank you very much.

“You’re up early,” A voice followed the sound of footsteps down the stairs. “Are you making breakfast for once, Vir--” Janus’ words and feet came to an abrupt end when he reached the bottom landing and his eyes rested on Logan; the teen was small but bigger than Janus remembered, bigger than he was the last time they had spoken for sure. He did the mental math quickly -- it’d been six years since he left the Light Side, Logan had been about eight at the time and had always been six years Janus’ junior; so the boy was fourteen. Logan’s back was ramrod straight at their table as he mindlessly sucked Cheerios off a spoon. Across the room, the television droned the news, but Janus was unable to hear it due to the ringing that pierced his ears.

“Good morning, Self Preservation,” Logan greeted after he swallowed, as casually as anything despite his stare that lasted a second too long. He noted the shine on one half of Janus’ face; the way one pupil had slit and changed colors. Fascinating -- but was he okay? He seemed okay at least.

“Self Preservation?” Janus said with a mask of amused absurdity. “When I left I was Prezzi.” The conversation was good, distracting enough to quell his panic as he glanced up the stairs again. Logic’s room hadn’t appeared -- or perhaps he had missed it?

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you still liked being called that,” Logan explained down at his cereal and Janus felt his heart breaking.

“Of course I do,” His brows knitted earnestly at the boy, a hand clutching his collar as though it choked him. Again he glanced up the stairs. “If you’re alright,” Janus took a step back, “For just a moment. I’ve forgotten something, I’ll--”

“My room isn’t here,” Logan’s voice edged with annoyance as he clinked his spoon against the bowl. “I tried everything and it just wouldn’t move,” He mumbled as he aggressively stabbed a Cheerio.

“You tried to make it move?” Janus’ voice gained a shrillness. He couldn’t believe the boy’s audaciousness! “Logan,” He reprimanded sternly but to no avail. The boy continued to sluice quiet mayhem through his cereal and Janus was at a loss.

He glanced up the stairs a final time. It was early, Virgil wouldn’t come out of his room for a couple hours at least, if he did at all that day. His mind quietly asked what Remus would be doing, forgetting for a moment in the emotional chaos that he had run away to the Imagination months ago. Janus sighed and crossed the room.

“So,” He said in a decidedly conversational tone as he sat down at the table. “Anything interesting happening today?” He gestured at the television and Logan shrugged. Janus frowned. The topic of why he was here would have to be breached eventually, but as long as the Subconscious was refusing to move Logan’s room, Janus didn’t think it was an emergency. What was an emergency, however, was the poor boy’s emotional state.

“Do you want more cereal?” Janus offered quietly as he eyed the nearly empty bowl. Surely the Cheerios that were left were too soggy to be enjoyed at this point.

“I can get it myself,” Logan nearly spat with a venom Janus hadn’t heard from him yet. His brows raised, both concerned and entertained.

The Logic he knew would never use such a tone, the contrast was almost funny. Though Logan hadn’t changed completely he noticed; Janus had several memories of Logan insisting he could do something himself. From climbing on counters for scissors he definitely shouldn’t have been using, to pulling bookshelves down instead of asking one of the older Sides to get a book for him, to stubbornly using the side of his fork with both hands to cut a piece of chicken when he would refuse help with dinner. But it would all be done with apologies and explanations, assurances that he’d be safer next time, growing understanding that though his mind was large, he was still small.

“Logan,” Janus said patiently, the humor in his expression dissolving to reveal patience and worry. The boy grit his teeth and continued to glare narrow eyes down at his cereal bowl. “Why did you come here?” Janus asked softly, leaning forward to try and meet Logan’s eyes.

Then Logan remembered that in the short time they had been on the same side of the Mindscape together, Self Preservation had always listened to him. He had always been there to turn to when the others ignored him. Remembering this made his anger ebb away, though with that, the sadness he had been trying to ignore washed ashore. The hardness in his expression softened, but he still refused to look up.

“Morality and Creativity don’t listen to me,” Logan admitted quietly and shame filled his stomach, colliding with his breakfast in a way that made him nauseous. “I’ve tried everything but Morality always says I’m too young to tell him what to do,” His brow twitched and Janus watched as his sad expression morphed back into something more callous.

The sight hurt his heart, but mostly it made anger warm his chest. What on earth was Patton doing? The root of all their issues so far had been a distinct lack of listening. From fighting with Janus over developing moral stances, to stubbornly refusing to consider nuance in the pursuit of art and self expression, to the apathetic dismissal of welling fear and anxiety as adulthood approached -- was there anyone Patton listened to?

“So you came here,” Janus sighed, attempting and somewhat failing to keep the rage out of his tone. “Because I had always listened to you,” He guessed but then Logan shrugged and shook his head.

“Sort of,” He replied and Janus blinked curiously. Had he missed something? “Mostly I just assumed this is where we came when Patton hated us.”

The straightforward words punched Janus in the gut, knocking the wind out of him like he had just unexpectedly stepped off a building and was now free falling with panicked arms that reached for anything to hold on to. As usual, Logic’s assessment wasn’t incorrect. In a way, this was where the Sides Morality didn’t like ended up; but it was deeper than that. At least Janus had to hope it was deeper than that, or else he’d never find it in himself to forgive his closest friend. Janus swallowed his hurt and sat up, shoving his shaking hands under the table. It wasn’t Logan’s fault and he wouldn’t hold the injury against him, though he did need a moment for a deep breath before he was able to find his voice again.

“Patton doesn’t hate you,” Janus reassured baselessly on reflex, but then he stopped. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t just blatantly lying -- which, of course, he had no issues with, but it was a sad realization, nevertheless.

“Then why doesn’t he listen to me?” Logan asked as Janus faltered. “Why did he send you and Anxiety and Remus away?” He looked around the shadowed room as he spoke before meeting Janus’ eyes again. “Creativity calls this the Dark Side which implies that he and Morality make up some sort of Lighter half,” Janus’ hands became unsteady once more as Logan continued asking questions he didn’t necessarily have answers to. At least no answers he wanted to admit. “But if they’re just going to keep dismissing me, then I don’t want any part in that,” He said decisively and pushed his cereal bowl away like it contained the subject matter. “If being a Dark Side means being listened to, then that’s what I’ll be.”

“No, you won’t,” Janus said much harder than he meant to, making Logan’s eyes shoot up. “You’re going back,” he said resolutely, leaving no room for misinterpretation in his tone. Logan opened his mouth but then Janus stood, the chair squeaking loudly against the floor. “If Patton did actually hate you as he does myself and the others, your room would be here,” Janus pointed out, flaring his own heartache with the presumed fact. Logan frowned angrily and balled a fist on the table.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch then.”

“No. You won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in Remus’ room. He’s used to sharing.”

“This isn’t a debate, Logan, you’re going back.” Janus said evenly, without raising his voice, which somehow made the seriousness in his tone and the steel in his eyes even more intimidating.

In the glaring silence of Logan frantically trying to think of more argument points, Janus’ phone vibrated in his pocket. With a short and aggravated huff, he fished the object out and rolled his eyes at the displayed message.

[SMS From: Patton]

PLEASE tell me Logan isn’t with you

“Well,” Janus sighed, “It seems we’re both in trouble now.”

[SMS Re: Patton]

Oh no, not at all. Whyever would you think that

“That’s Morality, isn’t it,” Logan guessed, looking miserably down at the table. He didn’t want to think about what Morality was saying.

“Yes,” Janus confirmed as he ignored the message that popped up almost immediately. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he sat back down quietly.

Logan was smart, far too smart for his age which is why everything was very difficult for him. Morality was childish and couldn’t see past the fact that Logan was the youngest. Even so, it wasn’t as if he was an actual child. He was the manifestation of Thomas’ Logic; undeveloped, easily frustrated, overwhelmed by his Feelings and in desperate need of acknowledgement for simply trying his best. But even when Janus would convey it to Patton in that way, there was no getting to him.

The fear that Logic would be cast aside and hidden away in this Darkness along with him was real, however. If that were to happen, Thomas would be in a very dangerous situation. It was terrifying enough that his natural Fight or Flight was already over here -- that his very will to live was as well. Janus didn’t want to think about what metamorphosis Logic would go through in that process. From Fear to Anxiety, now to Paranoia; watching Virgil suffer was already more than enough heartache for him, which wasn’t even to mention what was happening to Remus.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so angry at you, Logan,” Janus spoke softly, folding his hands on the table. He watched with a frown as Logan continued staring down. “But I really need you to understand that this is no place for you.” He leaned forward, trying to meet Logan’s eyes again, to no avail. “I know it’s hard, I know Patton doesn’t listen, but you have to keep trying,” Janus’ tone and expression were beseeching and genuine, his brow creased with a deep worry he didn’t have words for. “You have to promise me that you’ll keep trying,” Logan looked up, defiance and confusion hardening his eyes. He opened his mouth but Janus continued. “You have to. Even when you don’t want to. Even when the others don’t want you to. You have to, for Thomas.”

Logan stared at him, confusion slowly overtaking his rebellion. Janus looked…sincere and earnest, but he didn’t understand why. What was the point of arguing with Morality and Creativity if they would never listen? What was the point of going back when even Self Preservation knew he’d always be dismissed? It sounded exhausting. At fourteen, Logan was already so tired of it. But there was something in Janus’ eyes that convinced him to stop fighting; something that told him there was more he just didn’t understand yet. If that were true, if that were ever true, he’d believe it coming from the Side in front of him now and him, alone.

“Okay,” Logan sighed and Janus smiled in relief.

“Good,” He nodded at the bowl as he sat back in his chair again. “You can finish up your breakfast but then--”

“There you are!” Patton’s voice, coming from behind Janus, stopped his words dead in their tracks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, kiddo!”

“Morality,” Logan said, the word easily mistaken for a greeting. The boy glanced between Patton and Janus, the latter having lined his lips in a pensive, unhumored smile.

“Whatcha doin’ over here, bud?” Patton asked as he approached the table. Janus rolled his eyes and leaned as far away in his chair as he could manage.

Watching Janus’ reactions to Morality, Logan felt equally annoyed; both at the fact that Morality came here to get him, and also for how interrupted their conversation had become.

“Eating,” Logan said curtly, reaching for his cereal bowl.

“Well you know we have plenty of cereal in our kitchen, so why don’t you come on back and I’ll pour you some!”

Patton’s positivity grated Janus like sandpaper. Years of assumptions and miscommunications soured his stomach. His body reacted to Morality like something toxic.

“Maybe he prefers the cereal over here,” Janus mumbled sarcastically and Patton bristled as though he had honestly expected Janus to stay silent this entire exchange.

Logan bit his tongue to keep the appeased smile off his lips but his interest bubbled over. No Side had gotten under Patton’s skin like that since Anxiety was sent away. It was almost a missed sight.

“He wouldn’t know what the cereal over here was like unless someone made him try it,” Patton not-so-subtly accused as he reached for Logan’s wrist.

Logan refused at first, pulling with half strength against Patton’s grip. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring cereal myself, Morality,” He mumbled as he met Janus’ eyes. His sardonic and cynical expression seemed to say, it’d be easier to just go along with him I guess, much to Logan’s dismay. “But fine,” He sighed and let himself be pulled to stand, though he immediately shook off Patton’s hand.

“Thank you,” Patton gloated as he turned to leave and Janus all but groaned out loud.

Logan paused. The moral superiority that rolled off Patton was familiar, but at the same time something new against the kindness Janus had shown him. He could easily see why they didn’t get along; their methods were very different. Morality was overbearing, insistent, stubborn, rigid, and often narrow minded. Having developed from Thomas’ Feelings, Patton was silly, immature, and hard to take seriously. Self Preservation was the opposite somehow; smart, clever, flexible, nuanced, and able to see the whole picture with ease. Janus was sarcastic, mature, and deathly serious when need be as a result. Comparing them, it was easy to see why Logic had an easier time getting along with Self Preservation, and why it was pointless to hope that would ever change.

“I’m not doing this because you convinced me to,” Logan told Patton as he trailed after.

Patton turned to blink at Logan, looking mostly confused with a hint of offense. “Of course not,” He saved face, “You’re coming back because over there is where you belong.”

“No,” Logan said slowly, glancing behind himself at Janus, who stayed sitting facing away from them. “I’m doing this because Thomas needs me,” He informed Patton as he began to sink out. “And because you and Creativity would be hopeless by yourselves.”

Janus snickered, covering the sound with a cough into his hand.

“My word, Logan sure has developed quite the backbone while I’ve been gone,” Janus snarked once he and Patton were alone.

“What did you say to him?” Patton accused, his tone somewhere between antagonistic and wounded.

“Why, nothing of course,” Janus mocked and Patton’s eyes narrowed. “We just bonded over our mutual dismissal, is all.”

“I don’t dismiss him!” Patton sputtered and Janus snorted. A tense silence rose before Patton continued. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be talking to him.”

Janus stood finally and turned to face Patton, his brows raised. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re gonna i-influence him or something! Like you did with Remus and then Logan will be over here too!” Patton stuttered and Janus scowled.

“Oh please, you know I’m the only reason he went back so willingly,” Janus waved a limp hand. “Though I doubt he’ll try this again anytime soon, so you don’t have to worry your simple little head about it, darling.”

“Well, good.” Patton finished, glowering at Janus’ smirk. He hated that expression. Why was Janus happy about them fighting? It certainly didn’t make Patton happy. He was anything but having to face him like this. Without much more to say, he sank out as Janus offered a caustic wave of his fingers.

“Good riddance.”

Chapter Three || Chapter Five Part One / Part Two

#loceit appreciation week #loceit week #loceitweek2021 #loceit #janus x logan #sanders sides fanfiction

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