#I might have used future tense in some chapter or part of the story

[lemonlover1110]

Baby Steps

[Chapter 7] Strawberry

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Smut

For the rest of the week, you ignore your father. Until he apologizes, you won’t speak to him. And your father isn’t one that apologizes, no matter the circumstance. Neither of you speak unless you have to. Satoru tries to amend things every single time he’s in a room with the two of you, but nothing changes. Your mother also makes the same attempts as Satoru and fails.

Satoru has also been sleeping in your room against your father’s wishes. It’s come to the point that he’s accepted it. He makes his remarks in the morning, but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. He doesn’t wake up Satoru in the same rude manner he did the first morning.

After seeing how mad you were after babysitting, your father hasn’t done anything to provoke you, but he won’t apologize. And you made it clear he’d hear nothing from you until an ‘I’m sorry’ leaves his lips.

“Do you have everything packed up?” Satoru asks as he enters your room, finding you on the edge of the bed. You told him you wanted to take some things back home with you. You’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning because Satoru has to go back to work, he could only get so many days off. He goes back tomorrow afternoon to work part of the day.

“I-” You look around the room. It doesn’t look like you need to take anything back home. “Yeah. I think so.”

Satoru walks over to you, sitting down beside you on the bed. He sighs, running a hand through his hair before speaking, “I want you to make up with your dad. I feel guilty for this and I don’t want to think about this for the rest of my life.”

“You won’t.” You chuckle, looking at him. “You’re not at fault. Don’t feel guilty. He did this to himself.”

“He just wants us to be prepared for when the baby comes.” Satoru begins, making your eyes roll. It makes you irritated because Satoru should be siding with you. It makes you cross your arms, turning your body away from him as you pout. Satoru doesn’t take it to heart, assuming it’s just hormones. Which he isn’t wrong.

Satoru stands up and walks out of the room. He’s made himself somewhat comfortable in your home. Your mother makes him feel welcome and as if he’s part of the family, your father on the other hand… It’s not like Satoru really blames your father. If he has a daughter, he might be the same exact way with her. Hell, even with a son. But he knows he’s having a daughter.

He walks to the kitchen, and he finds your father there. He’s grabbing a snack from the pantry, and Satoru debates walking back to your room to avoid any interaction with your father. But your father notices the man, who is hard to go unseen. Your father clears his throat before speaking, “Is everything packed up?”

“Almost.” Satoru answers. He walks into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Your father isn’t really sure what to say now. He really hasn’t made the attempt to talk to Satoru, it’d be weird to start now.

“What are you two going to do?” Your father speaks up, wanting to know your future plans. He’s tried to ask you, but you always meet his question with silence. Satoru is the best person to ask, considering he can’t just stay quiet. At least he won’t.

“We’re getting an apartment and moving in together for the baby. I don’t know from there.” Satoru answers, and so many questions arise.

“Do you plan on getting married?” Your father asks, and Satoru is glad that the glass of water is only in his hands and he has yet to drink because he most definitely would’ve spit the water out. Satoru quickly tenses up and gets awkward, which your father is quick to notice. “It doesn’t have to be soon, but maybe in the future? Do you see yourself marrying my daughter?”

“No- I don’t know, sir.” Satoru answers. This certainly isn’t an answer your father was expecting. Instead of saying what he has to say, your father bites his tongue and just walks away from the kitchen. He needs to take a deep breath to gather his thoughts.

Satoru immediately knows that his response wasn’t the correct one.

-

After not hearing an apology, you go to bed without speaking to your father. And without speaking to Satoru as well. But now you’re laying down next to him, laying on your back, staring at the ceiling while he’s sleeping next to you. At least you think he’s sleeping.

There’s a lot on your mind, and you hate it. You don’t understand why you’re thinking of your father when you’re clearly so mad at him. You sigh, turning to your side, and that’s when he speaks up, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know.” You answer, although you have an idea in mind. He turns so he’s facing your back. He wraps his arm around your body and brings you closer to him. You don’t fight him on it. You feel as he nuzzles the back of your neck.

“Is it your dad?” He asks what he already knows. He wants to hear what’s on your mind. You refused to speak during dinner as well. To Satoru as well, you only spoke to your mom and only communicated with the men if you needed something from the table.

“No…” You lie. He knows that you’re lying, but he knows it’s best if he doesn’t push the subject further. So you both remain silent. You think about so many things at the same time, until you finally speak up, 

“You know, when I saw you so excited I got jealous. I still am.” You confess, and he hums, wondering what you mean. You feel his stomach go down to your lower abdomen while you gather your words. “I don’t know… I can’t bring myself to get so excited. Plus when I told you, you were already so determined to take care of the baby.”

“We’re not going to have the same reaction. The pregnancy for me will obviously be very different from you.” He responds. “You’re doing all the work, all I will be doing is standing by your side.”

“Still,” You tell him while you turn to your other side to face him. “It’s more than the fact that I’m carrying the baby. There’s so many things that I’m worried about that don’t bother you, and I’m jealous of that.”

You bring your face up to his and kiss his lips, making him smile. “But I’m glad about it too. Seeing you so happy has taken a lot of weight off my shoulders.”

“I don’t want to burst your bubble… But I’m terrified of being a father.” He shares. His lips meet yours again before he speaks again, “I knew the right thing to do was support you no matter your decision. But I’m scared shitless right now. I don’t know how to be a father.”

“Really?” You ask. “But when we babysat you were amazing. It seems like you’re a natural.”

“We just babysat for a couple hours though. That doesn’t even cover ten percent of it.” He comments, and you feel his fingers play with the hem of your shirt. “We didn’t even change a diaper. The baby was pretty calm… The twins weren’t, but we don’t have to worry about twins.”

“Yeah… I guess….” You respond as you feel his fingertips touch your skin. It makes your body burn. Yet his hands are distinctly cold. His hand goes to your breast and he squeezes it, while your hands go to the waistband of his sweatpants, “But right now we shouldn’t worry too much about-” he begins to play with your sensitive nipple, and it takes everything in you not to moan. Your hand actually moves into his pants, and your hand wraps around his length, “We should just worry about having all the things necessary for our baby.”

“Y-Yeah.” He can’t help but stutter while he feels you stroke his cock. Your lips land on his’, your mouth swiping over his bottom lip before entering his mouth. His free hand goes down your sleeping shorts, finding no underwear before his middle and index fingers run through your folds. It makes him pull away from the kiss to just comment, “So wet already…”

“Please fuck me, ‘Toru.” You whisper, and he gets his fingers wet enough with your slick before inserting them into your cunt. A low moan leaves your lips, your eyes shutting as you feel his long thick fingers inside you. You forgot how great they felt the first time you slept with him.

He moves them in and out of you slowly, while your lips land on his’ again. As much as he’d love to hear your sweet moans, it’s best to be as quiet as possible considering your parents are just a couple of doors down. Your hand works lazily on his cock, yet for him it's the best feeling in the world. He wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.

“Fuck- Yeah- Just like that.” You bite his bottom lip before pulling away, muttering as he curves his fingers just right. You’re hearing him whimper while he nears his release. He’s a total mess, making you wonder when the last time he masturbated was. At least you know he hasn’t done that here. Is this how sensitive he gets after one week?

“Ah- Ngh-” You feel his cum coat your hand, as he releases. He loses focus on his objective while his fingers are still inside you, but quickly after his orgasm he remembers it. He moves them at the same pace he started off now adding his thumb to massage your clit.

You take your hand out while your hips buck as he gives you pleasure. Your hand is coated with his cum, and you bring it up to your lips and lick it up. He watches with the bit of moonlight that enters the bedroom, and God, he could nearly come just by watching your tongue lick off his cum. 

“Satoru-” You moan, your voice no louder than a whisper. Your climax is building up, and he feels as your thighs squeeze his hands. His lips land on yours to quiet you down, even a whisper is enough to get you two caught. He gets a trace of his cum on your lips but the little vibrations that your tongue sends to his mouth distract him. 

He wants to praise you like a complete and utter fool while your cunt squeezes around his fingers, but he has to hold back. The silence is the house makes the quietest whisper sound like a yell, and considering the fact that he’s already sleeping in your room while he shouldn’t be, the fact that he’s fingering you right here in your home, in your bed, something that your father was clearly worried about, will make Satoru a dead man.

But how could he not please you like this? When you’re carrying his child inside of you 24/7, and will be for the next couple of months. He has to help you out one way or another.

Satoru takes his fingers out when you come around his fingers. Your legs quiver as you reach your high. He pulls away from the kiss and takes his slick-covered fingers into his mouth. You move your head down and nuzzle yourself into his chest as you regulate your heavy breaths.

For a moment the two of you just close your eyes in silence. Ready to go to bed, until a thought begins to bug Satoru’s mind. And he knows it won’t leave him until he says it,

“For the record, I think you’re going to be an amazing mother.” He speaks up.

“Really?” You ask, your voice muffled by his chest. 

“The twins were already scared of you. We can have a good cop bad cop dynamic with our baby.” 

“Yeah… I’d rather not.”

“Why not? That sounds fun.” He laughs, making you laugh with him. His laugh is just so intoxicating.

“Yeah, only if I get to play good cop.” You respond and he clicks his tongue. “What was that reaction for? There’s no way I’m letting you be the fun parent.”

“Let’s be real. We both know I’m going to be the fun parent.” He claims. “Mostly because I don’t see myself disciplining them.”

“How rude of you to put that responsibility on my shoulders.”

“Y’know something weird…” He begins and you hum in response. You hear the smile on his face when he speaks, “I already love them so much. I’m attached.”

“It’s not weird, Satoru.” You reassure him, one hand hugging over his torso. Unlike him, you can’t fully hug him. “I’m attached too.”

“You know they’re the size of a strawberry right now.”

🏷 @mykyoon @sunjayist @fonkymonkeyfriday @lilith412426 @luvs-wrld @witchymermaid12 @fi106 @whosveenus @distractionforyourthoughts @dearsunaa @tamak00 @watyousayin @leiriswhore @q-the-rockaholic @shuxjodie @syynnaaah @kleeboomed @shrekmwa @bakugobiddies @blueeskies17 @arminsgfloll @obeythemasters @crispmarshmallow @levismainbabe @queen-alluka @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @nobody289x @cloudsinthecosmos @buttercupp-baby @nothisispatrick300 @officiallykuute @tojianddabisslut @suhaaaefre @littlelunarfox @patchi-chi @erenputurchildreninsideme @littlemochi @musababy @pbbnjn @septembersums @tamaki-jiki @thisbicc @rumi-rants @chloee0x0

#jujutsu kaisen #smut #jjk #anime #jjk smut #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

I love your fic so I genuinely have to ask- what's your writing process like?????

😳

thank you!!!

Well, um, I procrastinate for days if I don’t feel like writing, while constantly feeling like I should write, and constantly wanting the inspiration to write.

Then at some point, I sit down and force myself to jot down ideas and points I want to cover. Then I usually reread a few previous chapters or the whole story to make sure I’m not forgetting any details or if I can use a previous detail to keep a sense of continuity/easter egg. THEN shortly after I get the bones of the chapter down, the inspiration usually kicks in and I listen to either my favorite Celtic music playlist OR (if it’s a tense/angry/epic scene) Two Steps From Hell (which is like if every fantasy adventure movie soundtrack had babies and became a kick ass playlist).

Then, if I have the self control, I sleep on it and come back to it with fresh eyes to make sure nothing seems too choppy or that the dialogue feels in character. sometimes, I’ll think I have a good thought in the wrong part of the story, so I’ll cut it out and just save it for a future scene (NEVER completely delete a thought or scene!! Save it somewhere!! It could probably be used later OR it might inspire a future plot point!!).

usually, i just obsess over that chapter and reread it like four times that same day during the small bits of free time I’ll have, and then impulsively be like “THIS is done, I can’t hold back anymore, I must throw it into the ether”

Which is WHY whenever yall like it or say something super nice, it makes my heart melt♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

a lot of emotions go into each chapter 😅 and a lot of sleepless hours too. My best writing time is usually like 9pm

thank you for being interested in asking!!!! 🥰

#A peaceful elf #the peaceful elf #Halsin #halsin fanfic #bg3 #Halsin SILVERBOUGH

[lesbianrobin]

hi!! jumping off from all the love for ur fics (SO DESERVED by the way u are such a good writer + always nail the characterisations so well <3), i was wondering if u had any writing advice? i'm trying to start writing my own fics after years of reading others + finding it hard to actually finish anything once i get started

thank you so much!! i'm not an expert by any means but i have been writing lil fics since i was a kid and i took one (1) creative writing class so hopefully i can help a little bit!! i'm just gonna give you some bullet point tips if that's okay.

you'll have an easier time finishing the things you start if you start with small ideas. if you know you're unlikely to finish a super-long multi-chapter fic, then start with something short!! choose an idea that you can realistically explore and find some conclusion to within a thousand or two thousand words. for example, one of my favorite things i've ever written is i want your midnights, which is straight up just steve and robin hanging out and counting down the minutes til midnight on new years eve! it's only 2,156 words and i'm pretty sure i wrote it in one sitting. not that you have to write something in one sitting ksndcdm that isn't what i'm saying but my Point is that most people (myself included) need to work up to writing longer fics. there's nothing wrong with just writing a single scene! my "dear steve" fic ab max writing her goodbye letters is only 625 words. another one of my favorite fics is just about steve and max having a conversation at billy's funeral. i think single-scene fics like these really let you practice your dialogue and characterization without having to worry about plot at the same time.

write towards something!! this could mean just having an ending in mind when you start, or it could mean literally writing your big scenes first even if they don't come first chronologically. when i wrote my steve time loop fic, i actually wrote his big conversation with nancy and jonathan before almost anything else. that scene is over 3000 words into the fic, but it's the thing that really inspired me, so i went ahead and wrote it, and then i liked it so much that i was motivated to write all the stuff beforehand and then motivated to finish the fic up. this isn't gonna work for everyone. i know some people (cough sarah @steveharrington cough) who just can't make themselves write things out of order. but even if you write everything in order, it can help to keep in mind whatever you want to happen in the future to motivate you and give you some idea of how to direct your writing.

don't stop reading!! all the time i see people make mistakes or use clunky verbiage in fic that makes it clear they just. don't really read books or short stories or anything. like this might make me sound mean kdsjncdkmn but sometimes it can be like. really obvious when All somebody reads is fanfiction. i think that reading varied things (books, fics, short stories, articles, poems, etc) can also help you develop your own style because you'll get greater exposure to different writing techniques and have the opportunity to figure out what you like and don't like!

if you're new to writing in general, i encourage you to try different things. try writing a scene in past tense, then try it in present tense, see which you like better, that sort of thing!

this one is easier said than done, but having a writing buddy can be really helpful!! this doesn't necessarily need to be somebody who also writes fic. i send my bestie sarah updates as i write, and part of my motivation to write comes from how fun it is to send her updates and get her reactions to everything!! writing can be a very solitary hobby if you want it to be, but it can also be social, and i personally find it way more rewarding when it's social.

btw if you're gonna be sharing your fics with friends i think the best place to write is in google docs. it's super easy to share with others and you can access your files on any device which i find convenient because i often end up writing on my phone in bed at night bc i had some idea i just couldn't let go.

ok this is getting way longer than i meant it to be snjcdkx so LAST TIP! i'm gonna caution against reading a Ton of fic while you're writing. i think if you read a lot of fic sometimes it can throw off your characterization. instead of actually getting inside the character's head, you default to parroting whatever fics you've read. i'm like a freak about characterization i'm very picky about it skdndkmc but people compliment me on my characterization a lot and i think that's because i make a conscious effort to keep my fics grounded in the characters' canon behavior and my Own understanding of them rather than the fanon understanding.

that's about it!! please ask if you have any more specific questions or if you're confused about anything i said here, i know i can get very ramble-y at times. thank you again and i hope you have fun writing!!

#asks #em talks #dorimares

[walkawaytall]

For the fanfic asks, 3, 18, and 19 please? Thanks!

Thank you for all the questions!

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Oh, this is hard. There are parts of Purpose of Heritage that are probably my favorite, but that thing is a WIP, so I have no idea if it'll end up being my absolute favorite. I think for completed fics it's probably Reconstitution or possibly Fortitude. They're both pretty different from my standard fair -- they're both in present tense and barely have any dialogue in them (and dialogue is usually my thing), but I like their emotional depth.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Blaster to his head, Bail could not tell the difference between the shoes his wife showed his daughter and the apparently inadequate pair sitting in Leia’s suitcase, but he trusted that there was something very wrong with the shoes currently in their possession.

(The story this is from hasn't even been finished yet, but the line cracks me up because I just feel in my soul that Bail Organa would be one of those dads who looks at the seemingly fine shoes his eleven-year-old says are all wrong and is just like..."I trust that she is correct somehow???")

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

I feel like I'm in a weird place right now where I'm not convinced any of my current WIPs will ever be finished/posted aside from Purpose of Heritage, so...here's a snippet from some future chapter of that:

She was glad Chewie was back at the Falcon; she wasn’t sure she could bear the guilt of watching the Wookiee fret over his missing best friend. Then again, Chewie would have gone with him instead of running like a coward, Leia thought bitterly. She watched the tree line, listened for any sounds that might indicate movement, and paced, her stomach sinking with every step. Jarys stoked the fire to keep it burning while Leia listened for sound beyond the crackling and scraping, pleading with the planet, the universe, the Force, anything, for signs of life. With every half hour that passed, the more convinced Leia became that she would never see Han again. Her chest ached, her lungs wouldn’t fully expand. He’s gone, she thought, testing the thought to ensure she wouldn’t break when she found out for certain that her friend was indeed dead. Han, I’m so sorry. Leia clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. She closed her eyes, chin trembling. I’m so sorry.

Bored and Anxious Fanfic Writer Asks

#fanfic writer ask #fanfiction writer asks #fanfic ask game

[writingonesdreams]

Learning from stories: Black dog book series

Okay Black Dog series by Rachel Neumeier is pretty awesome. I have read 2,5 of the 4 books of the series out right now, noticing certain patterns and preferences.

The first chapter starts with the three main siblings on a bus. It's the most compelling opening in have read this year. Utterly irresistible. Hints of lore, lots of conflict, one sister is drawing protective mandalas on the window, the oldest brother is protective but also far away to not get angered at the siblings in his care, there is tragedy and big life changes and lots of tension and questions about the future. I was sucked in so fast I couldn't even analyse what was working so well on the first try.

The variation of pov in the first book was very well done. It was between the oldest brother and the sister, and it was a very nice contrast between a more classic but cheerful and willful teenage heroine and something of a demonic werewolf always battling his shadow. The anger, violence and bloodlust always there, pressing on the mind, requiring constant control and boundaries from the Black dog. Very intriguing.

The second book started and continued with a major pov of a new character. So although the other characters were the known favourite ones, doing relevant plot stuff, this was quite frustrating. Yes an outsider's POV is all well and good, showing us how unnatural the things are when you aren't used to Black dogs and their rules and tempers. But fuuh. Struggled and even skipped some of the new guy's povs so much.

The third book suffers from a certain repetition of conflict structure. The build up is also very slow, so although it makes you dying to know what happens next...it also prolongs this to irritating degrees. I was reminded why the cliffhanger pov switches are not my favourite. I can't immerse myself into a new conflict, when I'm so interested in the old unresolved one. Just doesn't work.

I def enjoy something that might be Neumeier trademark in Tuyo series that shows in Black dog world as well - how loaded all the interactions are. How someone looks, where everybody stands, what tone, what attitude, shifting weight, all of these are deeply meaningful things to track that decide what happens. Black dogs are always fighting for dominance, a direct stare is a threat and someone has to be meek and agreeable even when they are suggesting a really good idea. It made the first book incredibly tense and juicy, when all the positions and stares ment something.

The threat of violence and killing ofc makes this more significant. You pick the wrong fight and you die, you aren't accepted, you challenge someone, you don't control your shadow or your bloodthirsty instincts...excellent conflict material.

Expect it gets kinda old in the third book. I don't believe anymore the great Master of Dimilioc wolves is going to kill an innocent human or an insolent stray dog, so the tension doesn't work or if it does, it's tiring and repetitive at best.

The insertion of more characters is again very frustrating. Why make such strong main characters and then switch povs or distract with insignificant side characters? This might be my preference for small casts and following my favourites, but still. When you insert new povs, it should bring something to the plot or theme, and not drag away from the really interesting parts you read the book for. Or the new cast failed to be interesting, which is a flaw of it's own.

Obviously Rachel likes to go on quest with side-characters, she made separate books for them in the Tuyo series and several short story collections following Black dog side characters...but I def like it more, when the sidies get their own book and space and don't clutter the main storyline and the spotlight.

I'm also getting tired of the lore. Could it be that after years I have finally reached my limit with fantasy books, feeling like all the made up stuff about hunting demons and witches just doesn't bring me anything? Fantasy lore is supposed to be fun, right? Does it have to do anything else? Is it required to teach you something? I don't think it does, but it certainly helps if it does. In a by the way way. Plus authors often have to figure out and learn a lot of real research stuff to build their worlds and lore...I guess I usually don't feel so frustrated about learning so obviously useless made up things? It it flawed fantasy world enjoyment or does is it not supposed to teach anything and I have been keeping with one genre for too long?

Or is it that I'm again more interested in the relationships and less in the plot? The first book managed well enough, but the climax fell kinda flat. Disappointing. I didn't feel anything. The aftermath rocked though.

At the same time I feel like the slice of life filter stuff about cooking and Christmas shopping really drags in the short stories, so what exactly is the issue? That the characters don't seem to be involved with anything else other than their supernatural parts of the world? They are fun urban fantasy demonic werewolves parts, but really, you gotta have other interests than that right.

In any case, I def enjoy the killing, hunting, danger situations more than the slice of life stuff of this book. But I also get tired of the lore, the repetitive artificial tensions I don't believe in after knowing the characters so well, and the addition of new povs and focus on new characters is just frustrating. I don't care about you! I want my fave ones! This issues is what comes with writing a series. When you read a book series, you expect to read the same world and characters, have continuation of their journeys (or different adventures in episodic plots). Not to have change of POVs - you would read a new series or it's own series or books for that.

Also the third book focuses a lot on human politics and military and senators power abuse...and I guess it's a good reminder why I don't like urban fantasy with the fantasy world disclosed to humans. Cause of this byrocratic political human nonsense. If I read a book about werewolves, I don't care what weak little humans are doing. Esp if they are just doing stupid stuff at the supernatural creatures complete mercy.

On the other hand if humans do get dangerous I get disappointed that the supernatural cherries aren't winning...ehhh.

There is a human brother to the three supernatural siblings main characters. The author works so hard to make him stand out despite his lack of powers...or maybe it's him trying to stand out and be useful and valued as much as possible, which makes sense, but it's still annoying. You are trying too hard, buddy. It just pushes on my disbelief too much to have a 17 years old control and boss around tactical werewolf leaders, cause he is so smart. Pche. Especially since I don't really see him say or think anything all that excellent, he just constantly underlines his smartness...and conveniently his siblings go WAY too much of their way to remind us how incredibly smart he is. To ridiculous degrees.

If you have a human character among overpowered magical ones, and you want to make them special, make sure they actually know something extraordinary and not just have everyone around them repeat that they do.

#writeblr #bookblr #black dog #rachel neumeier #fantasy books #review #spilled ink #book thoughts #maybe I should make a sorting of the characters that might help

[krakrac]

hiiii time for an OC rant because thoughts have been thought and i need to scream about them into the void 💥💥

i have been thinking for some time now, about yrsk and the fact that he could be read as a DID system; with an emphasis on "could" since i never planned on writing him as a system and i myself dont view him as one and i probably never will (but who knows, he has already changed A LOT since he came into existence).

(had to add read more because god DAMN i will NOT shut UP)

to show what the hell i mean by that: first thing, he goes/went by at least three different names (it used to be just two but some development with the story has been made) and he treats each one of these names as a separate personality of sorts that acts in a certain way. they don't exist simultaneously – two of them are of the past and the third is his current one which would be named "yrsk". sometimes, yrsk does or says things (be they morally questionable or not) that remind him of the way he used to act when he still called himself one of the past names and he tries to avoid responsibility by attributing the "bad" things to one of the past names. basically saying "oh that wasn't me that was this fucking guy" to himself. also he does this more or less subconsciously and only in his mind, he never speaks about this with anyone (this might change as i write more chapters tbh, i can see him talking about it with nyr at some point in a distant future). of course each of these personalities behind the names is still him, the same person, and he is aware of it.

the second thing is how quickly his attitude can change. he could be all chatty and content one second, and harsh, tense and often emotionless the other. which could evoke switching between alters but it's actually just him switching into survival mode. "oh fuck there is danger, enough of shits and giggles i gotta concentrate on keeping my ass alive" kinda deal. since he has been dealing with danger (both short- and long-term) too often, he had to create a defense mechanism for himself at some point to not lose his mind out of sheer fear and stress, which was even reinforced by his mentor as some form of self-control was required by the martial arts he has been teaching yrsk. if you asked nyr, he would definitely agree that yrsk on the run or during a fight feels like a different person and that he could even notice a slight change in his voice.

also, there is this third thing going on with him, which could be a combination of the two points above, or you could very well view it as an actual alter switch (and i honestly wouldn't even be against making it canon because i actually have no idea what da hell was that): yrsk gained an opportunity to finally exact revenge on an enemy who has more or less destroyed a huge part of his life and he took this opportunity without hesitation. in that moment, he was in the survival mode but at the same time one of the "personalities" behind the past names sort of emerged (or possibly both tbh) – the one that wouldn't bat an eye at torture because that was exactly what he did to the enemy. he snapped out of it after the deed was done and needless to say he was horrified by it and infinitely disgusted by himself; it really fucked him up subsequently. hard to say if it was because he was aware it was him doing it, or because he wasn't aware of it.

ik in this case there is this stereotypical "bad and EVIL alter that KILLS people and is VERY fucked up" thing but again it wasnt written with DID in mind.

anyways rant over i guess 🫡🫡 i might've wanted to talk about more stuff but it's almost 3am and im starting to feel tired so i forgor what it was

also im not much more knowledgeable in DID than an average person so i will gladly welcome any thoughts on this rant, if anyone actually read allat lmao

#kélas #oc: yrsk #good lord never ask me about ocs because we are gonna end up like this (im lying i NEED TO TALK MORE) #also yes i purposefully didnt reveal the two past names #because friends who actually read the book follow me and i dont wanna spoil #oc #ocs #original characters #original character

[kadetjaina]

Writers, Have You Ever:

Rules: Tag the person who tagged you, then bold the things in the list which you have written.

Nobody tagged, I just felt like procrastinating my writing.

First Person

Second Person

Third Person

Omniscient POV

Past Tense

Present Tense

Future Tense

A complete story

A story longer than 1K

A story longer than 5K

A story longer than 10K

A story longer than 50K

A story longer than 100K

A story longer than 150K

A story shorter than 1K

A story shorter than 500 words

Fanfiction

Original Fiction

Fantasy

Science Fiction

Historical Fiction

Dystopian

A story in the Romance Genre

A Story With No Speculative Elements At All

Non-fiction

A children’s book

A story about vampires

A story about werewolves

A story about robots

A story with a non-human protagonist

A story with a main character based on yourself

A story with a character based on somebody you know

Male POV

Female POV

A POV character a different gender from yourself

Animal’s POV

Multiple Viewpoints

POV character under age 15

POV character over age 30

A story told in non-chronological order

Story with a happy ending

Story with a sad ending

Death of a minor character

Death of a major character

Death (offscreen)

Death (onscreen)

Antagonist death

Protagonist death

Villain gets a redemption arc

Kissing scene

Sex scene (offscreen)

Sex scene (onscreen)

Swears (Mild)

Swears (Heavy)

Violence (PG or under)

Violence (PG-13 or over)

Fight scene

Torture scene

A flashback

A dream sequence

A scene that made you cry actual tears

A scene that made you laugh at your own joke

A prologue

An epilogue

A story with more than 30 chapters

A chapter with fewer than 100 words

A poem

A prophecy

Story that takes place in the future

Story that takes place in the past

Story that takes place in a world that is not Earth

An anti-hero

An anti-villain

A parody

Description of male character’s scent

Description of female character’s boobs

Character with eyes of a non-natural color

#writing meme #what this showed me is #I cannot write long things #I've done almost everything in my 20 years of writing #and I am pretty sure I might have touched some of the ones I didn't bold #but I don't remember #2nd person I wanted to write #but I can't remember if I tried #animal's POV? probably #but I am not animal stories writer #I might have used future tense in some chapter or part of the story #I tried poems but I am not a poet so I will forever avoid that as much as I can #I've written some stories for children #but again #it's not my main focus #and I for sure had some weird characters #and did describe boobage and scents #absolutely when writing smut

[shurisneakers]

harmless (v)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, ghosts, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, rats

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: why did i like this chapter sm someone explain. anyway!! y’all are so passionate about these two i love it mwah

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He dislikes the subway. 

Other than his other valid reason to have disdain for trains, the subway is dark, it’s shady and he’s sure he’s seen rodents fight to the death here on several occasions.  

Still, he’s following you down the stairs of the station, watching as you whistle along to the song blasting through your headphones. There’s a backpack swung over your shoulders, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie and converse doing a skip every now and then. There’s a bandana that’s tied across your face, acting as a mask to hide your identity. 

He realises that you’re dressed like a commuter. Were you going to dress the part every single time?

You walk along with the crowd. He follows, a few feet away.

Until you stop. He abruptly stops too, leading someone to walk right into him. 

“Watch it, dumbass,” they hiss with the courage of someone who has no idea who he is. He ignores them. 

He looks on as you dig around your backpack and pull out a roll of paper. A poster, he realises soon when you peel off a layer from the back and press it to the wall. 

Was it legal to put up posters in the subway? He wasn’t quite sure. 

He observes as you turn around and continue down the path. He waits a few seconds before trailing up to the poster.

Volunteers needed!

If you’re interested in being turned into a ghost for a couple of hours, this is your chance! Should be okay with being on camera so that we can make money off of taped paranormal sightings.

Paid opportunity. You get to pick your outfit. Randos don’t apply.

He yanks the poster of the wall before continuing down the same place you did.

He finds another poster along the way. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling it down. You were advocating to kill people. 

He knows he’s going in the right direction because more posters creep up along the wall.

The both of you are on the platform by now but to him, something changes about the placement of the posters. They were growing in frequency, the distance between them decreasing as they were situated close to each other.

He pauses in front of the next one, hand hovering over the paper.

All it reads is ‘STOP’.

He furrows his eyebrow, pulling it down before peering over at the next one.

‘TAKING’, is all that it says.

It doesn’t take him very long to make his way through all the posters in the hallway. 

‘THESE’

‘DOWN’

The train’s arrived by now but a quick scan over the crowd and he knows that you haven’t entered. That, and he knew that you were too dramatic to leave without a trace or a small conversation with him. 

‘DICKHEAD’

Tasteful, he thinks. 

“It took effort to make them, stop ruining it,” you whine from the end of the hallway. It’s empty, given that rush hour was over a while ago. 

Even though the mask covers half your face, it’s obvious that there is mischief etched under it. The twinkle in your eye is telling. 

“You’re literally killing people.” He holds up the poster. Not the ‘dickhead’ one. He pockets that for later. 

He knows there are a few minutes before the next train arrives and more people flood the station. The eccentricity of today lay in the lighting from the incandescent lamps and acoustics of the platform. It made his voice echo like a movie scene. 

“I very much am not,” you huff. 

“You’re turning them into ghosts. That’s what a murderer does,” he says pointedly. 

“Well, only if you keep saying it like that. You’re making me look bad.” You cross your arms across your chest. “What are you, Fox News?” 

A scurry next to him earns his attention. Two rats nibble at a piece of fallen food. He wonders when they’ll starting brawling. 

“Explain this.” He waves the poster around. He isn’t taking it too lightly he hopes. If it’s actual murder then it’s going to be an issue. 

You pull out a black cylinder, slightly bigger than a pen. He can’t really see any more details, but you hold onto it like a wand. 

“I’m turning them into ghosts. I’ll post videos of them doing stupid shit. I get famous and then boom, cash money.” You rub your index finger and thumb together. “I’ll give you a share if you volunteer.”

“You’re not explaining the death part.” 

He can feel it. You’re about to start derailing. 

“Winter Soldier, the ghost story. Literally.” You grin, yanking down the mask from your face to prove it. It pools around your neck. “That’s so funny, c’mon, it’d be amazing.”

It’s been years since he’s heard that. Never in this context. 

“No,” he says sternly, “and I’m going to have to bring you in if you’re going to kill people.”

The rats were ignoring everything that was going down like the hardened criminals that they were. They had probably seen worse. He can’t stop paying attention to them.

“I’m not killing them, bro.” You raise your hands in exclamation. “I’m just moving some molecules around, some frequency shit. They’re alive, just ghosts.”  

He’s always been one for science. Straight As throughout high school, attended science conventions as a hobby, alive even at 100 through some mad experimentation, definitely seen some weird shit during his lifetime. 

But this doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he repeats. “Give me the thing.”

“Fine, I’ll show you.” You roll your eyes. “Since you have absolutely no faith in me.”

He does a quick review of his surroundings. 

No one’s around, which is good. 

But that just leaves him in front of you, which is bad.

“Don’t you even thin-” he starts, muscles tensing as he shifts into a defensive stance.

You whip out the little pen thing from beside you but before he can react you turn around and duck. 

The click of a button releases a bright light, small but intensely stronger than the fluorescents in the station.

He reels back, feet carrying him away from where you’re crouched. His eyes quickly look down at his body. 

Nothing’s changed. 

He lifts his hand to check, runs it over his face. Still alive. He thinks.

“Behold,” you declare, “Ghost rat.”

He looks to where you’re pointing. The two rats from earlier were still nibbling on their food but something was off about them. 

He could see the faint outline of the tiles on the wall behind them, almost like they were... translucent.  

You aimed at the rats, not him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the fake threat.

He watches as they move. They don’t look hurt or injured.

“Cool, huh?” you say smugly. 

He can’t stop staring at them. 

“Bring them back.”

“They’re fine, look how abstract it is.”

“Bring back the rats.” He can’t believe this is what his life has come to.

Bucky Barnes, Rodent Protector.

You aren’t fazed by his indifference, instead wonder filled eyes gaze at the animals. “Astral mice, sarge. Embrace the miracle of modern science.”

“You killed them.”

“They’re alive, they’re just ghosts.” You raise a finger to point. “Look, they’re still eating. Biological functions are still taking place.” 

 Which was true. But still. He doesn’t know what is going on.

“Bring them back to... non-ghost alive.” 

“You sure you don’t want one? That one kinda looks like you.” One hardened glare after you realise the answer. “Jeez, alright then.”

You dig through your bag before pulling out a matte black replica of your current invention. 

“Sexy colours, right?” You hold them up. “I modelled them after your arm.”

He looks down. Sure enough the gold and black matched his cybernetic limb. It was oddly flattering. 

“Say thank you, Y/N, for letting me be your muse-”

“Un-ghost the rats.” 

“Ungrateful,” you narrow your eyes at him. 

Still, you comply with his demands, ducking down to their level again.

A click of the button, a bright light and the rats are back to normal. Non-transparent normal.

“Okay, give me that.” He takes a step towards you. 

“Nuh uh.” You pull your arm back. His mouth twitches at your response; what are you, five?

The black one is stuffed back into your bag but you wave around the gold like a threat. 

He sighs, making a pass for it. In a second his arm is twisted and shoved against his back, forcing him to spin so that he’s facing away from you. His eyes widen.

What the fuck?

“Now we’re having a good time,” you whisper into this ear. 

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist to rotate his own out of your grip. 

“Since when can you fight?” he asks.

“Are we getting to know each other now?” You raise your leg to give him a semi gentle kick in the side, using his momentary distraction in blocking it to give him a knock on the head with your free hand. “This is so romantic, sarge.”

There’s a low rumble in the distance and he knows the train would soon start pulling into the station. It was still a distance away, but his heightened senses warned him that it wouldn’t take much time. 

He groans. How much longer would he have to go at this?

He could easily win this fight and he knew it. But something in him itched, pulled him back from doing it.

He blocks another attempt at his head. “Stop that.”

You grin. “You know what’d be fun?”

He knows you’d reply even if he didn’t encourage it. The lights from the train light up the tunnel around the corner. 

“This.” You don’t give him a second to recover before you flick your wrist away from him.

The device flies out of your hand and right onto the track. The both of you watch, you in glee, he in horror, as the train runs right over it, unleashing the brightest light he had ever seen. His eyes shut instinctively before it blinds him.

He forces himself to pry open his eyelids, look at the damage caused. 

The train, sure enough, is translucent. He can see the posters on the other side of the platform through the carriage, through various people holding onto the poles for support or seated on the seats.

“Ghost train!” you cheer. He’s mortified.

“Fuck no,” he mumbles, yanking the backpack off your shoulder. He rummages through it, looking for the gold version.

“You lookin’ for this?” you ask nonchalantly, holding it up in your hand like it isn’t the solution to stopping a bunch of ghosts from wandering around New York. 

“Turn them back.” He gives you a chance. 

“Do it yourself, coward.” You grin, holding it above your head. The train is going to stop and he needs everyone to be alive and non-ghost before they leave.

He doesn’t wait this time, instead turning to you. The thing is still held in your grip above your head. He rolls his eyes, doing a quick assessment before grabbing your free hand, tugging you closer and plucking the device out of your hand before you have the opportunity to retract it.  

“Great, now figure out which button to press.” You’re dangerously close to him. He can feel your hoodie brush against his tactical jacket. “Also if you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you could have just asked.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, letting go of you as you give a loud laugh. He looks down at the device. It has several buttons, littering up and down the side. Each look the same. 

The train’s slowing down. 

“They’re both the same device; this version is not a magical solution to the other one. If you press the wrong button then both of us are going to be fucked.”

The last carriage is getting closer. 

“Say I win this round and I’ll fix it.” 

There’s a gleam in your eye. He knew this was exactly what you wanted. 

He wishes he was as stubborn as Steve, just run through each button until the right one worked.

“You win this one.” He hands it back. He wasn’t like Steve and judging by the number of items the idiot jumped out of planes without a parachute on a daily basis, Bucky was glad about it. At least Bucky did it sporadically.

“Yay, two each for the both of us, then,” you say, taking it from him and twisting, eyes running down the sides. “Close your eyes, old man, or else your cataract’s gonna get worse.”

Right as the train pulls to a stop, you press down on the button before throwing it and the blinding light that emanates from it. It lands on the top of the train right as the doors open. 

The passengers start stepping out. Some of them are looking at their hands and legs in a little disbelief, most just push through the crowd to leave.

He can’t see through them. It’s a good sign. 

He turns to look at you but you’re not there. Instead, the weight of the small device weighs down in his pocket.

The sound of a thud on glass draws his attention. 

He looks up at the train. The window of the carriage in front of him has a bit of fog on it. You trace a heart in the condensation and blow him a kiss before pulling your mask back on.

The train starts moving, leaving him alone in the platform again with your invention.

He lets out an exhale, wandering outside to grab a sandwich before waiting to catch the next train to go home. 

Later in the evening, he catches hold of a bit of tape and the ‘Dickhead’ poster finds a place on Sam’s door. 

He doesn’t appreciate it.

So now it’s tucked away in the shelf of Bucky’s bedside table along with a freeze ray, a ghost-inator, and some discount Pym Particles. 

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[makeste]

some follow-up thoughts on BnHA 285

1. “at that moment...”

you guys. I still can’t get over this. just -- guys. this is Kacchan telling the story.

he’s not the first character to narrate, mind you. characters like Twice, Tomura, Ochako, and Kirishima have all narrated in the past. but it’s always been past-tense narration of their own flashbacks, or else present-tense narration explaining their thoughts (e.g. Twice in chapter 115). Kacchan himself has done present-tense POV narration before. but this isn’t that. this is past-tense narration of an event that’s happening now. this is the future Kacchan narrating the present day Kacchan’s story.

has any other character done that, aside from Deku himself?? am I just crazy overreacting here, lol. idk but either way it’s cool.

2. “...there were no thoughts in my head.”

there was a post yesterday talking about Kacchan’s big moment at the end of this chapter being a little disappointing because of it being an automatic “my body moved on its own” save on Kacchan’s part. the argument was basically that it made the moment less meaningful because of it being a subconscious thing rather than a conscious decision on Katsuki’s part.

but I disagree! for me the “my body moved on its own” is actually way more impactful. and rather than describing it as “subconscious”, I think the word that fits better in this case is instinct. first of all, even though he says there were no thoughts in his head, we know that’s not exactly true, as we can see for ourselves the images that were flashing through his mind. I’m just gonna list them out:

“I’ll even surpass All Might and become the best hero out there.”

“why was it me who put an end to All Might?”

“I made a pledge! I will achieve absolute victory, every time! we’re taking this 4-0, no casualties! the strong don’t settle for anything less!”

“I’m not gonna lose... I can’t afford to stay a loser!”

“you... you looked like you needed saving.”

thoughts about what it means to be a hero. what it used to mean to him, and what it means to him now. thoughts about rescuing others. about saving to win. thoughts about his failures. thoughts about him and Deku. and last but certainly not least, vivid memories of a moment when he needed someone to save him, and Deku was there.

he has these thoughts, but he’s not aware of himself having them. it happens too fast for him to be able to process. but all the same, his body isn’t just moving here of its own accord. it’s simply that in this instance, it’s not thought that’s driving him, but emotion. at the risk of sounding INCREDIBLY CORNY, it’s not his head that makes the decision, but his heart.

and that’s why it’s so meaningful to me. in this moment, it’s not conscious thought that’s driving him, but emotion, instinct, will. he sees the attack, sees that it will hit Deku, and he just reacts. something at the core of him screams that he can’t let it happen, and he just moves. and to me that’s even more powerful than him consciously doing the math and making the sacrifice play (though I’m not saying I wouldn’t have enjoyed that as well). specifically because it’s a moment where he doesn’t have a chance to think or analyze or panic or doubt. it’s a moment that shows us who he is when you strip all that away from him. he doesn’t have time to get in his own head; he doesn’t have time to feel any fear; he doesn’t have time to think about himself at all. he takes himself out of the equation. he sees that Deku needs saving. and the rest is pure instinct. it’s the most heroic he has ever been.

3. “even if One for All is a cursed power... at the same time, it’s...”

I was wondering what was up with this part, lol. Caleb’s translation makes it much clearer; to Katsuki, OFA is both a blessing and a curse right now. the “cursed” part is becoming more and more obvious with each new chapter. it’s putting Deku in danger; it’s made him a target; it’s destroying his body; and there are other, darker and more dangerous factors also at play that Katsuki doesn’t even know about but fears nonetheless. I honestly feel like he’s been anxious about all of this ever since he learned Deku and All Might’s secret. it’s been on the back of his mind for months now.

but at the same time, OFA is what brought him and Deku back together. sorry, am I getting cheesy again lol. BUT IT’S TRUE THOUGH. All Might’s quirk gave Deku the chance to compete with Katsuki on equal footing for the first time. it forced Katsuki to acknowledge him. and both he and Deku have grown so much on so many levels over the course of this past year, and all of it stems back to Deku receiving this quirk.

and just... fucking look at these flashbacks, though.

unless I’m reading this completely wrong, the gist of this scene is that Katsuki is grateful for OFA because it’s what lifted Deku up and allowed him to try and achieve his dream. the scenes of Katsuki bullying Deku and burning his notebook are contrasted with the scenes of Deku standing up to him and vowing that he won’t be his punching bag anymore. Deku before OFA, contrasted with Deku after. I get the sense that Katsuki feels a lot of gratitude for fate stepping in and working to undo his mistakes before he himself could finally get his act together and start atoning for them as well.

and then that last page is really interesting, because it’s like the “blessing” and “curse” parts of OFA all together in a single image. Deku is going all out against Tomura, giving everything he has, ready to sacrifice himself if that’s what it takes. there’s so much strength there (even though he looks completely insane lmao), but at the same time it’s literally killing him. mixed feelings, for sure.

4. “Katsuki Bakugou: Rising”

last but not least! so there’s quite a bit of discussion going on about what exactly a “rising” chapter actually consists of, lol. Momo is the only other character who’s had one before (at least if you don’t count the movies, and the movie spin-offs). so it’s hard to say for sure with such a small sample size, but if I had to guess, I’d say the “rising” chapters are about characters coming into their own as heroes. Momo’s chapter was all about her letting go of her insecurities and starting to believe in herself. and this chapter was all about Katsuki letting go of both his fear and his pride, and just getting the job done.

in the span of a single chapter, he lets go of every single thing that’s ever held him back. I felt like we really got a glimpse of the hero he can -- and hopefully will, if future!Kacchan the Narrator is anything to go by -- become. he was amazing. he took charge; he came up with a plan that absolutely would have worked if Tomura wasn’t LITERALLY FUCKING UNKILLABLE LULZ; and when that failed, he didn’t hesitate to make the sacrifice play. Bakugou fucking Katsuki, He of Zero Rescue Points, made the fucking sacrifice play. do you even know how much I love that you guys. I love it so, so much.

but of course, when you make the sacrifice play it tends to have the not-so-surprising side effect of getting you ALL FUCKED UP afterwards. so perhaps a less ideal outcome than he would have hoped. but he still did good. and he stopped Deku from getting murdered, and so now hopefully Deku and Shouto can mount some sort of aggrieved revenge counterattack to do their fallen friend justice. time for my other two sons to get to work! maybe Shouto can make Deku some new arms out of ice.

#bnha 285 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

[shycoconutt]

I Found My Light: Chapter 3 (Kakashi x Reader)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

A/n: Sorry for the delay! Wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this but it came to me in the shower (as all good ideas do). Hope you enjoy it! This story is far from over.

Summary: You attend the group training session where, to your dismay, Kakashi is in attendance.

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: fem!reader, SFW (but won't be in future chapters), violence, angst

Fanart!: Please check out this fanart inspired by this fic by the talented @szamasza <3

If this training session goes like any other typical training session, you are in for a long one. Training usually begins around mid-day and lasts several hours until everyone feels like they’re on the brink of death. Then, when face down in the dirt, Asuma tries to convince everyone to head to the bar on the main street that gives discounts to shinobi. After a few minutes of resounding I’m-too-tireds and maybe-next-times, everyone gives in and spends the remainder of the night into the next morning crammed in a booth getting absolutely sloshed.

This night was like any other night, except not because your anxiety was at an all-time high.

Kakashi showed up about an hour into training, aloof as ever. You were deep in your spar with Genma when you saw him out of the corner of your eye. Genma must have noticed your distraction, as he didn’t hesitate to spit his senbon at you with full force. Luckily you were refocused in less than a second and caught it between your fingers.

“Nice try, buddy,” you teased him, “It’s going to take more than that to throw me off.”

Genma raised his eyebrow at you. “I don’t know, (y/n), you seemed a little distracted,” he teased.

And just like that, you were back at each other’s throats.

Kakashi ended up finding a spot sparing Gai. Typical of him, as usually Gai is the only one who can keep up ability-wise. Although, Kakashi hasn’t seen how much you’ve grown and a part of you is hoping you’ll get a chance at him. You still have yet to use your chakra sword-whip, your most brutal weapon, in front of your fellow shinobi. It’s remained in its sheath strapped across your back, waiting to be used against the most brutal opponent.

“Alright, alright,” Genma pants, curled up on the ground holding his left side where you just landed a forceful kick, “Please show me some mercy, (y/n).”

“Only if you admit that I’m a better shinobi than you in every way,” you say smugly, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes, you are a better shinobi than me in every way. You're stealthy, quick, strong, intelligent, adaptable, beautiful, and, most of all, kind. Which is why you’ll give me my senbon back.” He pleas, still laying on the ground with his hand out to you.

“Mmm, fine,” you tease, pulling the senbon from your hair where you used it to hold it in a bun. “It does make a great hair accessory though. I think I might have to get one for myself.” You help Gemma back up to his feet and stick the metal needle back into his mouth.

He gives you a smirk, still grasping onto your hand. “You should see my collection. I have at least two hundred of these,” he boasts, taking the senbon out of his mouth to twirl it in his fingers. “I‘ll make sure to pick one out for you.”

“I would be honored.” You smile warmly, squeezing his hand.

At this moment you could sense a set of eyes staring at you from the other side of the training field. Well, one eye, you should say, as Kakashi is staring directly at you while he holds Gai in a headlock. His expression is unreadable as his eyes flicker from you to Genma and then back to you. You could swear that you saw his shoulders drop a bit before he brought his attention back to Gai who is currently struggling to breathe in his grasp.

“Ka-ka-shi-ple-ase-le-t-me-go-” Gai gasps, holding onto Kakashi’s arms currently wrapped around his neck. Kakashi’s eyes widen when his attention is brought back to his opponent and he immediately releases Gai from his grasp. With a thud, Gai drops to the floor and sucks in one big breath.

“Are you trying to kill him?!” Kurenai yells as she runs to tend to Gai who is sitting on the ground rubbing his neck. Everyone else on the field stops what they’re doing when they notice the commotion and circle around Gai wondering what happened.

“I’m sorry-” Kakashi starts, hands back in his pockets still staring at Gai wide-eyed.

“Apologies are unnecessary my rival!” Gai cuts in, still gasping for air. “Flashes of my youth came to me as I was falling out of consciousness. It reminded me how much there is to live for. I thank you for the near-death experience, Kakashi!” Gai quickly recovers and stands up, dusting the dirt from his green jumpsuit. “You win this round, but I wouldn’t get used to it!” Gai challenges, holding out a hand for Kakashi to shake.

“Yeah, sure Gai.” Kakashi agrees sheepishly, accepting Gai’s hand.

“Damn, Kakashi.” Genma starts, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. “The Anbu made you a pretty ruthless fighter, huh? I didn’t realize friend-killer Kakashi applied to us too.”

You could hear everyone in the circle try to hold in their gasps after registering Genma’s statement. Kakashi’s whole body stiffened and you could see the appearance of a grimace form under his mask. He is visibly uncomfortable. Yet, instead of looking at Genma who just addressed him, he is looking at you.

You suck in a breath, feeling terrible for Kakashi. Rumors spread, nicknames are formed, it’s all a part of being a shinobi. But “friend-killer Kakashi” is on a whole other level of petty.

That jerk.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Genma?” You turn to him and yell. “What makes you think you can say shit like that?”

“Oh c’mon!” Genma retorts. “We were all thinking it! This is the first time he’s been back training with us since the Anbu. You’ve heard what people have said about him. I’m surprised one of us isn’t already dead!”

This time no one was able to hold in their reactions as gasps escaped everyone in the circle.

You are fuming.

“Actually, Genma, the only one you should be worried about killing you is me because I am a second away from shoving that stupid senbon down your throat.” You take a step forward, challenging him.

“Hey, hey,” Genma retreats, taking a step back with his hands up in defense. “I was just trying to look out for us, for you especially. I mean out of all of us, you should be the most concerned. You know, with the whole situation that happened with Ri-”

You close the gap between you and Genma in seconds, grabbing the collar of his vest, you yank the senbon from his mouth and hold it against his throat.

“If you finish that sentence it will be the last words you ever speak.” You threaten. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea the details of what Kakashi has been through. What Rin went through. What I went through. It isn’t your place to speak about a situation you know nothing of. So do us all a favor and shut up.” You let go of his vest and shove him back a couple steps.

“Wow, damn, okay, sorry.” Genma apologizes, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I was just joking around. There’s no need to be so serious about it, (y/n).”

“My hand went through Rin’s heart,” Kakashi speaks up from his silence. “There’s nothing to joke about.”

Hearing Kakashi speak this hard truth sends a sharp pain through your heart, and you instinctively grasp onto the part of your shirt lying over your chest.

You turn and look back at Kakashi, who meets your eyes.

Pain.

So much pain.

You turn to step towards him, but he’s already retreating from the circle.

“I think that’s it for me today guys. I’ll catch you around another time.” Kakashi says as he turns away from the group giving you one last glance. Heading towards the forest, he reaches around to his pouch and pulls out his Icha Icha novel, bringing it in front of him to pick up where he left off.

After a few silent beats, Asuma claps his hands together to bring attention to him.

“So,” he starts, “drinks anyone?”

Everyone immediately becomes more relaxed now that the focus has shifted. You, on the other hand, are feeling so tense that you start to hear ringing in your ears. You get that Asuma is just trying to relieve the tension in the group, but you can’t help but be annoyed that he’s trying to move on from what just happened so quickly.

Kurenai meets your gaze and can read your annoyance. She gives you a pleading look that says drop it for now, (y/n).

Everyone in the circle, including Genma, give a resounding “yes” and head in the opposite direction of Kakashi back towards the village. You're left alone standing in the middle of the grounds as they make their way out.

“(Y/n), are you coming?” Kurenai calls out to you.

You contemplate for a second and begin to wave her off.

“I think I’m going to stay here for a minute. You guys go on ahead, I’ll meet up with you later,” you reply. Honestly, you have no intention of getting back together with them, as any place where Genma is hanging out is the last place you want to be.

“Okay,” Asuma shouts back at you, “we will be at that one bar on main.”

“As always.” you joke back, trying to sound light-hearted.

Once they are out of sight you turn to look back at the trees that Kakashi exited through. You have absolutely no idea where he could be headed to or how fast he could be traveling through the trees. It might be a waste of time to head out after him. After all, if Kakashi doesn’t want to be found, you have no chance of finding him.

Feeling slightly defeated, you plop down to the ground and sit criss-cross in the dirt. You sit up straight and put both of your hands palm-up on each knee. Taking a deep breath in, you feel the breeze rustle through your hair. Taking a deep breath out, you hear the sound of the trees flowing in the wind.

If he wants to talk, he will come to me. In the meantime, I will meditate.

The next time you open your eyes, it’s dark out.

Damn, how many hours have passed?

You close your eyes.

More time passes.

The next time you open your eyes, Kakashi is sitting a few feet across from you mirroring your position.

His eyes are open.

As if your thoughts are mirroring each other as well, you both speak in unison.

“I’m sorry.”

#kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfic #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi fluff #kakashi imagine #naruto fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi one shot #kakashi x yn #kakashi sensei #i found my light

[youarejesting]

Sly like a… ? Part 8

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 2.2k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

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With Yoongi hauled up in his room, you began speaking with each of the boys and discussing where their learning levels were, you started with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok, you sat them at the table and started to teach them the basics of the Korean language and Maths they were quick to learn as they weren’t children and by the end of the week, you had them at a mid highschool level.

You taught all of the Hybrids about internet and phone safety, not giving out their number to random people they didn’t know. They all agreed and after a long discussion on scammers and voice phishing, they all seemed to understand.

Learning how to use computer documents and the internet and more, you explained virus’ and online shopping and you explained that you wanted them to have free reign. So, if they had something they wanted to buy to go to you.

“Unless it is something you are not comfortable asking from Y/n then please feel free to ask me instead.” Jimin said, “I can also get you things you might want or need?”

“Okay, now onto the final topic of today is finding a degree, you don’t have to choose exactly what you want to do with your life right now,” You stressed, hoping they knew they had plenty of time to explore their options. “but, maybe think about jobs you might have seen in movies or read about or heard about and I will help you achieve that dream”

You placed down a few booklets of jobs and they looked at you, “Yoongi you are already halfway through your degree and you said you wished to continue it, so you start next week, please let me know if there is anything you need.”

“And afterward if you ever need a job, if this program gets approved, I will need someone like you in my team.” You smiled, ever since the outing to the shop, Yoongi has been quite cold towards you and it hurt but you knew he would understand soon.

Namjoon told you he wanted to be a businessman, you signed him up for a bachelor of commerce and he was speeding through the classes like they were a children's book. But though he knew everything he didn’t exactly understand the point of the essays and assignments.

You talked him through it and explained that they wanted him to show off what he learned so they knew he was smart enough to pass, he still had three more weeks before school started and you were worried he would have already finished all the essays and assignments.

You heard Taehyung saying he wanted to be an actor or maybe a photographer and you wanted his dreams to come true. “if you finish an acting course, maybe Jimin and I can put in good words in some agencies?”

That got you thinking where was the calico, he hadn’t left the house, maybe he was in his room listening to music or something. Your focus was taken up by the two young men in front of you both flicking through the booklets of perspective courses and careers.

“Ooh directing would be fun?” Jungkook pretended to film Taehyung who immediately started acting out a rather elaborate scene worthy of any K-drama, the two laughing at the silly monologue, “or maybe gaming?”

The cheeky grin on Jungkook's face made your heart flutter. He was almost twenty-four, his birthday nearing and if you remembered correctly so was Namjoon’s. They were all classified as adults but were they ever given the chance to just be giggly, playful boys?

It was almost dinner, you stood up and as you walked past the two hybrids you ran your fingers through their hair. Leaning between them, you held their shoulders.

“I will be back, keep thinking and mark any pages with these sticky notes, purple for Kookie and green for TaeTae,” it was strange but both young men turned their head into your neck and nuzzled you for a second a low purr from the feline and a rhythmic wag of the tail from the canine. You went to leave, your heart stuttering at their affection before anything awkward happened.

“Y/n smells nice, doesn’t she?” Taehyung’s voice was low and Jungkook’s answering purr left you feeling a little warm under the collar. The ghosts of their tiny breaths against your neck would not leave you, the skiing tingling under your touch.

Shaking your head trying to clear it of anything that could be deemed impure and strolling the hall until you reached Yoongi’s door. Knocking softly the door opened to reveal Jimin smiling.

“Hello love,” Jimin flashed the dangerous eye smile and you wondered if the boys were nearing their ruts, that would be a conversation after dinner. Yoongi was sitting on the bed looking at the unopened box of headphones, phone, and laptop.

“Am I interrupting something, I can come back later?” you rambled, gesturing down the hall, “I was just wanting to see where everyone was as I was thinking about starting dinner.”

“Yoongi and I were just talking, but I think we have both come to a comfortable conclusion of topics.” He smiled patting the older feline's shoulder, “Thanks for the talk, it's nice to finally have some brothers.”

“Yoongi, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi interrupted you and his cheeks were dusted pink, he didn’t look up from the bed where all the devices sat. His tail curled around onto his lap and his ears twitched listening intently for your reaction. “Jimin said you weren’t like that and you really just wanted to get us nice things,”

He opened the special hybrid headphones and grinned as they sat on his head like a headband and cupped his ears gently, you opened his phone and found his favorite song hoping to test the headphones.

“Tell me if they work okay, or if they need charge,” standing in front of him you turned the headphones on and attempted to Bluetooth them to the phone. Making sure to turn the volume down before playing the song. His eyes lit up and his tail gave a long elegant swish, he looked so cute and you had to suppress a laugh at how his hair was all bunched up in the headband.

You moved a little closer still and began running your fingers through his hair until it fell over the headband, Yoongi tensed and surprised you by clutching the hem of your overall shorts and nuzzled his face into your stomach, his neck bright red. You froze and gently finished with his hair and stepped back and smiled pausing the song.

“I fixed your hair, cause it was all caught in your headphones,” you explained and he looked down growing almost impossibly red. You reached out and carded your fingers through his hair affectionately. In a gesture that had often calmed Jimin as a child, you rubbed your bare wrist against his neck.

A purr almost ripped through Yoongi as his tail swished dangerously. You stepped away heading for the door, “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to help me make dinner?”

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#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #btscreatorscorner #castlebangtan #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #bts hybrids #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid series #BTSsly #bts hybrid x reader #bts x reader smut #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jin x reader #suga x reader #jhope x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

[mearcatsreturns]

Okay, so you KNOW I'm now inevitably forced to ask for the actual fic prompt of Ivan trying to give his boss romantic advice, casual-like. (No need to confine yourself to 100 words. I mean what.)

I thought I could just write a thousand words of jokes, but then all these fools came and had the audacity to put feelings up in here. *Ivan voice* Disgusting.

Initially I was going to have this all as one chapter, but it was getting crazy long and I wanted to publish it tonight, so you get chapter 1 of 2, with the rest to follow in the next day or two.

Without further ado, Ivan, Interrupted:

Looking back, he should have seen the signs. The Sun Summoner is trouble and has been from day one.

He called that one, at least.

It’s not his fault. How is he supposed to recognize the stupidity of heterosexuals? He and Fedyor fell in love as young teens and haven’t parted in anger since. They look out for each other and try to spoil each other in all the small ways the other enjoys.

The General and Alina Starkov are a different story.

&&&

Ivan is there when the oprichniki drag Alina into General Kirigan’s tent in Kribirsk. She looks all for the world like the otkazat’sya he’s fought near the border of Shu Han. He can’t hold it against her, though; he knows better than anyone that appearances can deceive.

What he can hold against her is her denial. Even after twice showing that she can indeed summon sunlight, the little fool somehow believes she’s not Grisha. General Kirigan, a human amplifier and probably the most powerful Grisha on the planet, touches her and confirms it, and she still clings to her past. Ivan can’t understand why someone would want to deny something so intrinsic.

More worryingly, he sees his commander’s face as he tries to figure out the Starkov girl. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on Kirigan’s face, and it fills him with dread. The bemusement at her reply to his questioning about what she is turns to something...joyous and darkly yearning, in the General’s understated way.

People consider Ivan stoic and difficult to read, but he learned from the best, and his boss is the best.

Ivan is very discomfited to see Kirigan showing signs of experiencing emotions.

&&&

His unease only grows when Kirigan commands him and Fedyor to escort the Sun Summoner to Os Alta.

“Ivan, I need you and Fedyor to accompany Miss Starkov to the Little Palace. Make haste, and use all your formidable talents to keep harm from coming to her.”

“But the mission to West Ravka—”

“Will have to wait. Everyone in a twenty-mile radius saw her light show, and that may well include some of Ravka’s enemies. She—this—is more important than anybody knows. Keep her safe, and I’ll keep you and Fedyor off the front lines for six months.”

Ivan clears his throat.

“Yes?” Kirigan asks with a lift of his brow.

“Will you be staying, or do you need me to send word ahead that you’ll be arriving as well, sir?”

The General’s face smooths into its usual mask of power and calm. “No, I imagine I may well arrive before you all, as you’ll be taking my carriage.”

“As you say, General.”

Kirigan dismisses him, and he stomps off to find Fedyor so they can leave posthaste.

Ivan’s exasperation only grows when the Starkov tries, of all things, to stay and find some tracker friend of hers, tries to deny who she is. She even questions the General’s judgment, something not even Ivan dares to do.

(Privately, he agrees that this whole endeavor is a mistake. Alina Starkov is trouble, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that all their lives are about to change in ways no one can predict).

He hauls her into the carriage, plopping her on the seat across from the one he shares with Fedyor. Perhaps one of them ought to sit next to her to make sure she doesn’t get into any further foolishness, but Ivan’s crabby enough he wants to sit next to his husband.

Once they get out of Kribirsk and on the Vy, she settles down a bit, but she radiates nervous energy and it puts him on edge.

Fedyor, bless him, does his best to put the Sun Summoner at ease. But she’s resentful and afraid, and it irritates Ivan. He knows he should try to be understanding, but with all the fear and resentment he’s put up with from the otkazat’sya—his own family, even—he struggles to find the patience to explain why she should trust in the General and the Grisha. Nonetheless, he tries to soothe her the only way he knows how: by reminding her of the power she now holds.

Ivan’s thoughts drift to what might await them all in Os Alta, but his ruminations are interrupted by the shouts of the oprichniki warning them of a blockage in the road.

The dread he was feeling dissipates in the face of the familiar. He’s ready to fight against an ambush by Ravka’s enemies. He’s not ready to confront the existential questions Alina Starkov brings.

And fighting side-by-side with Fedyor never grows old. His blood sings, his heart pounds with the fierce excitement of a fight with his beloved at his side.

The fucking Fjerdans. Ivan hates the drüskelle for their hatred of the Grisha, and that fire burns hotter when Fedyor is hit in the leg. Fear twists in his belly as he examines Fedyor’s wound, though he claims it’s fine. Ivan, the most feared heartrender in Ravka, can’t concentrate enough to tell how many their enemies number, so he delegates it to Katya. He remembers the Summoner in the carriage, and issues a command for one of the other Grisha to protect her, but the screams fade into the background of his mind as he does his best to heal Fedyor.

Then he senses the shadows that accompany Kirigan—the reason the people mutter in fear, call him the Darkling—and the Fjerdans melt back into the wood. Shame mixes with his fear for Fedyor, and Ivan swears to himself when, after a few moments he hears the General speak to one of the Etherealki who’ve made it back to the carriage.

“Tend to the wounded. Then tell Ivan to make sure everyone gets back to Little Palace as quickly as possible and report to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. He had one job, and she’s now riding off in the General’s arms.

Alina Starkov is definitely trouble.

&&&

They finally arrive back at the Little Palace late that night. Once everyone, the Grisha and the horses, are all seen to, Ivan makes his way to General Kirigan’s rooms. The oprichniki guarding the door nod at him and make way for him to knock. The General calls out in that even tone of his for Ivan to enter. He does so, anxiety and defiance mixing in his chest.

Nonetheless, Ivan is deferential. “Sir.”

Those dark eyes sweep over him from head to toe, and where there’s normally amusement or quiet affability, he’s unreadable as he is when meeting with the tsar and tsaritsa. “I see you’ve made it back. Are you well?”

“Yes, sir.” Ivan begins to sweat under the woollen collar of his kefta.

“And Fedyor?”

“Much better. He’s recovering.”

“Good,” the General says, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment before continuing, “now, perhaps you could explain why you disregarded my clear, express orders to guard Alina.”

Alina, he notes. Not “Miss Starkov” or “the Sun Summoner.”

Ivan’s jaw tenses. “My apologies, moi soverennyi. Fedyor was shot while we were attempting to protect the carriage. I thought we’d be better able to protect her with both our powers.”

The Darkling—for that’s who he is at this moment—turns to face the windows. It’s black as pitch outside, but it wouldn’t surprise Ivan if Kirigan could see through the shadows of the night. “I don’t want excuses, Ivan. Had I not been nearby, Alina would have been lost, and Ravka would have lost its greatest hope in centuries.”

Ivan waits, knowing there’s little he can say.

Kirigan turns back. “See that it doesn’t happen again, or I will see to it that you and Fedyor are put on different assignments for the foreseeable future.”

Anger rises in his throat, but Ivan stomps it down. It will do him no favors to argue. The only thing he can do is go to bed, hold Fedyor close, and hope things settle soon. “Yes, General.”

&&&

The next day, a contingent of the Grisha accompany General Kirigan and Alina to the Big Palace. Ivan is used to walking by the General’s side, but Alina is there instead. With Fedyor still recovering in their rooms under the care of the healers, Ivan is alone, distant from the group. He feels a pang of melancholy so fierce it threatens to overwhelm him.

The Sun Summoner looks much better today than she had when he last saw her, and it seems Kirigan thinks so too. After he greets the King and Queen, he can hardly take his eyes off the girl, that same awed, wondering look in his eyes again.

Through the shadows his boss conjures, Ivan sees the way he looks at her, the way he leans over to whisper in his ear, the gesture nearly a caress. The Summoner lights up the darkness, and Ivan can’t take his eyes off the two of them. Alina Starkov smiles at Kirigan, and instead of the polite, unknowable smile he’d normally return to a courtier or even one of his rare mistresses, Kirigan looks back at her like she’s his every dream come true.

After the display is over, the King tries to bumble his way through negotiating over Alina’s training. And in front of the entire court and a good number of the Grisha,the General claims Alina. She will stay in the Little Palace with him, Kirigan states, his tone brooking no argument, not even from the sovereign ruler of Ravka.

Kirigan takes Alina’s hand and leads her away from the throne, and the two pause to speak in quiet tones. Ivan can’t hear them, but Alina’s eyes glow with admiration and the General is looking back at her with...warmth.

It’s not right, Ivan thinks, even as the General departs and the Grisha welcome Alina. This situation is getting more and more troublesome.

&&&

When Ivan arrives back in their room, he’s relieved to see Fedyor awake, though he’s lying in bed with a book. Fedyor sets the book on the bedside table and smiles at him, and Ivan feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away.

“Why so grumpy, my love?”

“Not grumpy, Fedya. Worried.” He takes off his boots, middle of the day be damned, and climbs into the bed next to his husband.

Fedyor opens his arms, and Ivan goes to him, snuggling in and leaning his head against his shoulder. “About what, Vanya?”

He shrugs as best as he can while in his favorite person’s embrace. “The Sun Summoner is dangerous.”

“So are all of us Grisha, and even the otkazat’sya with training.”

“Not like that. I mean...I-I think General Kirigan has feelings.”

Fedyor had been running his hand through Ivan’s hair, but he pauses. “In general? Or for Alina?”

“For Alina. Fedyor, it was very strange. He looked warm and like he wanted to kiss her, in front of all those people. And then he held her hand.” The Darkling has had lovers, and Ivan is very aware of this, but he’s never seen him act this way around any of them.

With a huff that might be a laugh, Fedyor says, “He deserves a chance at love, too, especially after he’s been so good to us. He tried to help us when we were younger and more foolish.”

That’s true; Kirigan has been nothing but supportive of them when not everyone else has. He even tried to advise Ivan when he was sorting out his feelings for Fedya more than a decade ago. It hadn’t been good advice, but an attempt had been made, at least.

“He seems...lonely,” Fedyor continues.

Ivan nods. “There is no one like him, no one at his level, so who could stand beside him?”

“Maybe Alina.”

Fedyor seems to like the girl, but Ivan isn’t convinced. Is she strong enough to stand next to their leader who has done so much for not just the Grisha, but for Ivan and his beloved?

&&&

The next day, Ivan joins the rest of the Grisha for dinner. Kirigan is off doing something statecrafty and Ivan has the place of honor at his boss’ right hand, so he is ostensibly in charge of the gathering in the General’s absence.

Except he knows Alina was given the choice to sit in Kirigan’s seat in his absence, or to sit at his side were he here. Instead, the girl chose to sit with the other Etherealki. She’s there laughing with Marie and Nadia, indulging in this opulent meal provided for the Sun Summoner, because apparently their usual hearty peasant fare wasn’t good enough.

Resentment curdles in his stomach as he reads out the casualty list, staring down Alina the entire time. She looks stricken, but her concern seems to be more for the otkazat’sya than her fellow Grisha.

Something in him snaps. “Why are you here eating figs? Hmm? You should be training every waking moment to tear down the Fold.”

But when he sees her face, hurt and downcast, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled this.

Kirigan will not be pleased.

&&&

It turns out that Fedyor isn’t pleased either. He had accompanied the General to the dinner he’d gone to, as Fedyor is far more diplomatic than most of the senior Grisha. It’s because of that diplomacy and open friendliness that it takes him less than three hours to hear about Ivan’s outburst.

Ivan is sitting in his chair in front of the fire, doing his best to wind down after the day. Fedyor enters the room, closing the door behind him.

“How was dinner and politics?”

Fedyor scowls at him, and his heart sinks. “Don’t try to be cute and solicitous. I heard about what you did to that poor girl. Badly done, Vanya, badly done.”

“Can we go back to the part about me being cute, please?” Ivan rubs his hands over his face. He and Fedyor rarely disagree, so when they do…

“No. Alina Starkov just found out days ago she’s Grisha, and she’s been pulled away from the only life she’s known, from her friends and comrades. She’s fended off the volcra, almost been murdered by the drüskelle, and has had to get used to a new training regimen for skills she barely knew she had, to say nothing of the high stakes of her every move now.”

“She’s an orphan of Keramzin. How is this not better than anything she’s ever known?”

Fedyor stops pacing for a moment. “Ivan, that’s why we should be kind. She’s never known the love of a family beyond that of the First Army. And you know what they whisper about the Grisha. We were children when we got here, and our families sent us here out of love. It was easier for us to adjust. She’s grown up her whole life hearing the lies most of the otkazat’sya believe about us. She needs time and understanding.”

“But we don’t have that much time. Zlatan is agitating in West Ravka, Fjerda is worse than ever, and Shu Han is causing as many problems as ever. Why can’t she see that unless she is at her best and soon, Ravka is in danger? The Grisha are in danger?” Ivan is furious, but more than that, he’s exhausted.

At that, Fedyor softens. “Ah, my love. You carry a heavy burden. But she’ll have to bear an even heavier one soon,” he says, coming over and placing a warm hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan reaches up, placing his hand over Fedyor’s. “I just want her to be ready.”

“She will be.”

With a sigh, Ivan pulls Fedyor into his lap, nuzzling his neck. He’s ready to make up.

“Ivan?”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize that people also have to eat in order to be able to train, don’t you?”

&&&

He knows he should, but Ivan can’t bring himself to apologize to Alina. He does try, however, to be more understanding of the enormity of what she faces, the pressure on her to succeed. He tries to be kinder, less abrupt. But he can’t change who he is.

Fortunately, General Kirigan seems more amused than anything else at Ivan’s dinner outburst. It’s a week or so later, and Kirigan is ready to dismiss Ivan for his next couple of days off. “I would tell you to enjoy your time with Fedyor, but maybe you’ll be training instead, since that’s apparently what we all must be doing every waking moment.”

Ivan shoots him a panicked look, but calms down when he catches the amusement in the General’s eyes.

“Indeed. We will train ceaselessly and closely, moi soverennyi.” Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face.

Kirigan just snorts, and Ivan is extremely disgruntled when he mutters under his breath about needing some of that kind of training of his own.

#sab #sab ff #shadow and bone #heartrender husbands #darklina #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #ivan #fedyor kaminsky #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #alina starkov #ivan x fedyor #to be clear I don't think Alina or the Darkling or straight #but I think Ivan thinks they are #my fanfic #missing moments

[cherripeach]

Chapter 15

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:113 Two Shots of Vodka

Finishing up the tarts with a little twist.

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurities

Words: 1.7k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

You don’t think you ever saw Deuce’s fists leave the two kids before their faces turned purple and their legs gave out on them.

Deuce landed one final hit before the white haired boy pulled as far away from him as possible and screamed while whipping the blood now on his face from his bleeding lip, “Fuck, this guy’s a total madman! That was more than 6 hits, you liar!”

The red haired student was not faring any better with a black eye and clutching his stomach, “Oh, crap! Let’s run! I’m so sorry, Mr. Chicken!!”

Deuce had no speck on him, standing firm with his hands on his hips, “Apologize to the eggs a hundred times before you stuff your faces next time, dumbass!!”

“Okay uhhhhhh,” You could not lock eyes on anything that was in front of you; be it the two students close to the ground clutching parts of their bodies and apologizing or the kid who you thought wouldn't hurt a fly standing proud forcing apologizes from people.

Grim agreed with you with a shriek and a skirt behind you.

The two boys after bowing their heads for several seconds gathered their last dignity and ran out clutching their stomachs and arms from the beat down.

Deuce, finally, lost his other persona and squatted down and cried out, “Ah!!”

Grim popped out from behind you after he realized that Deuce was back to normal, “What happened to you!?”

Deuce stood up with his hands over his eyes, “I did it again…” He began lightly rubbing his eyes. “I promised myself that I’d be a model student for sure this time, and yet…!” His shoulders finally relaxed while he let out a breath.

Grim stood still confused, “Eh?”

“It’s okay, Deuce. One mistake will not kill your reputation,” You knew this kid was freaking out about nothing, “Also, in my opinion, I think honors students would fight those who prey on the weak.” You winked at the sullen looking boy, walking closer to him.

Deuce huffed, “I wanted to be different from who I was back in middle school… “ He flinched slightly when you placed your hand on his shoulder, “I always skipped classes, and I got into fights every day. I didn’t show respect to teachers and I hung out with a bad ilk of seniors. Even my hairstyle was pretty wild back then, too. I fought with anyone who I could fight with… I used magic even on guys who couldn’t use magic. I was an over-all bad person then.” He rolled his shoulders back to escape from your grip, but he never seemed to lose it.

Grim paid no attention to the air, “It totally doesn’t look too obvious now, though.”

“You can continue talking if you want Deuce. No one is here to stop you,” You smiled light, “I would love to hear more about you.”

Deuce nodded, “Thanks.” He finished up his story now comfortable with your hand on his shoulder, “But one night while I was hiding myself from view… I saw my mother cry and talk to my grandmother about it. She was asking her where she went wrong with raising me, and about whether she was a bad parent for how I turned out. But that’s not it at all. She’s not to blame!” Deuce’s red eyes with some tears in them locked onto yours , “Everything’s my fault! That’s why, when the black carriage from the prestigious Night Raven College came to pick me up, I made sure that I will never take that smile away from my mother again. I made up my mind to become a model student that my mother can be proud of. And yet… Damn it…!” He stomped his foot onto the ground and curled his fists but still none of that anger was even remotely portrayed at you or anyone but himself.

“Deuce, sweetie. I need you to listen to me to understand this. You were a bad person in the past. Past. Not now. You realized your mistakes and now you want to fix them. Is that right?” Your smile never faltered even when Deuce tensed up more or he stepped away from you.

“Well, yeah,” Deuce spilled out.

“Then, I think you are being the best honors student you can.” You reached out your hand to offer some of the bags to him, “No one is born with any traits that an honors student would have. The fact that you now know that you want to change and that you strive for being an honors student proves that you are one.”

Deuce stares at you with widened eyes, “What?”

You grabbed his right hand and opened it in order to place some of the bags into it, “No one is perfect either. Even honors students make mistakes, but fighting for the weak and protecting me who would get hurt if I even tried to fight them even though I wouldn’t be scared, shows you care. Deuce, you are a great person. You just can’t realize it yet.”

Tears spilled out of Deuce’s eyes while he whined, “You make it sound easy.”

You raised your hand to wipe Deuce’s eyes, “It’s not. Believe me. But starting is the hardest, and once you get there, I know you can do anything.” After wiping his tears, you stepped back and grabbed Grim by his belly, “You just have to keep going forward.”

Deuce wipes his eyes one last time before smacking himself on the check, “You're right. Me becoming an honors student won’t happen overnight. I’m not gonna stop because of some stupid assholes.”

“Exactly,” You threw a thumbs up.

Grim smirked, “If it were me, I’d have punched those delinquents ten more times, yanno? But you took care of it before I could.”

“That’s definitely not what we are trying to get at,” You rolled your eyes.

Deuce snorted at the two of you, “You guys…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You placed Grim back onto the ground and your groceries on a bench before going over to the bag of broken eggs, “Let’s stop the mushy gushy and get back to business.”

“Got it…” Deuce threw his hand up in salute before chuckling, “Hehe, the chicks will probably feel at ease now, too, huh?”

“Chicks?” You turned to face Deuce fully, “There are no chicks in these eggs. Chicks can’t be in an egg that’s not fertilized.”

“Wh-what?!?!?!” Deuce ran and grasped your shoulders, “You’ve gotta be kidding me!!!!!!”

“Why would I joke about this?” You raised your shoulders in a confused gesture.

Deuce, silent, fell to the ground with his knees crashing to the floor.

Grim ignored the crisis, “Let’s just get back to everyone soon.”

You nodded picking up the remaining trash before taking a trip back to the store while Grim and Deuce just waited in the same position you left them in.

The trip back was complete silence with Deuce walking several steps behind.

Ace was the first to react when the three of you stepped through the door, “Oh, they’re finally back. What took you guys so long?”

“That’s a long story,” You sighed.

“Let’s get this over with” Trey clapped his hands, “shall we?”

Everyone besides Deuce who was still in a trance joined in, “Let’s make some marron tarts!”

You laughed, “Damn what simulation are we in?”

“Shut it for once,” Ace scowled before turning around to let out a snort disguised as a sigh.

Trey read over the recipe once more before voicing the next step, “All that’s left is to mix the marron cream into the tart.”

Grim jumped after hearing that, “Will we be able to eat after this!? I’m getting excited already!”

Ace seemed to be the same, “Alright, let’s finish this in one fell swoop!”

Neither of them, however, were hanging onto the words that were coming out of Trey’s mouth, leading to the two of them taking a bit too long in their part of the job.

Trey was still trying to get their motivation going, “Don’t lose focus now, got it?”

Ace’s motivation was there, “You got it!” He dropped the spoon into the batter. His mind was not there.

Grim mimicked Ace, “Yeah!” while almost falling off of the counter top.

“I don’t think you two have full focus,” You continued to add the batter to the crusts.

Grim hissed and did his best to contribute, “Nyaha! What ‘bout that!”

Trey encouraged all of them more, “You guys are good. Keep up that pace.”

Grim boasted, “Hehe, anything’s easy-peasy for the future great magician, Grim!”

Ace countered him, “You get carried away too easily!”

“Quite the hypocrite, Ace.” You joined in the little argument.

Deuce was mumbling to himself through his internal crisis, “Eggs don’t… turn into chicks…?”

Ace wondered about Deuce, “What have you been saying, man!?”

“It might be better to ignore him,” You mentioned to Ace.

The rest of the process happened with relative quiet with some chatter.

Your group finally finished backing the tarts.

Ace had the brightest expression on his face with tall shoulders and a high head, “Alright, perfect!”

Grim eyes the tarts, “It looks so good!”

Trey finished his clean up before thanking everyone, “Thanks for the great work, guys. All that’s left is to put some marron glacé on top.”

“Me, me, pick me! I’ll do it!!” Grim waved his little paw high in the air almost hitting your face.

Ace jeered, “Don’t mess it up, okay?”

Grim took the glacé and began to spread it out on the tarts, “Leave it to me! There we go! As expected from me! This is gonna be the best tart ever!”

You just hoped that this tart was not ruined with how much effort some of your friends put in.

Trey grabbed the glacé from Grim and gave him some powdered sugar, “Alright, the last step is to sprinkle some powdered sugar on top and then…”

Maybe the tarts would be good.

~~

Little shorter than normal, but it okay. Midterms be killers.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #trey clover #deuce spade #ace trappola #twst grim

[starlightsearches]

Eyes On Me Ch. 2

Masterlist

Modern Armitage Hux x F! Reader Warnings: RC is a sex-worker, discussions of sex, language.

AN: Hello besties! Here's the smutty second part to this thing. As I mentioned before, I've only got a vague idea where this story is going to go, so if there's anything you'd like to see, please let me know! I'm already planning the next chapter (we're gonna meet Brendol 👀) but otherwise my plans are up in the air!

18+ only, minors will be blocked. PIV sex, oral (f and m receiving), clothed sex, lots of feelings, insecurity, we're getting fucked on the blue couch 😏. Let me know what you think!!

It’s a quaint neighborhood.

Sturdy little brownstones, lined up in neat rows, slumber on either side of the street, their large picture windows reflecting soft squares of moonlight over the vacant sidewalk. A warm breeze brushes past, carrying with it the scent of his neighbor’s lilac bushes as it kisses your bare shoulders. The night is silent and still, the world empty of any human influence—except for the soft sound of your breathing, and the jangle of Armitage’s keys as they almost slip again from his hands.

It’s late, and you’re alone; it’s only natural that his nerves would begin to show—a steady crescendo as the night dragged closer to this moment—although he did an excellent job at masking them during dinner. The tips of your fingers tingle, itching to reach out, to calm him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, but you resist. It would probably just make it worse.

The lock gives with a click, and he sighs in relief, gesturing for you to enter. You step over the threshold, letting your eyes adjust from the silver-tinged moonlight, slipping your shoes from your feet as you take in the orderly little entrance.

There are no pictures or paintings on his grey walls, no photographs resting in frames on the dark-wood table by the door. Instead, he has a white ceramic bowl—into which he drops his keys—and a small stack of mail. There’s a soft little cat bed underneath the table, and it’s occupied by the fattest ginger cat you’ve ever seen. It stares up at you with round, sleepy eyes, meowing indignantly, like it’s waiting for you to introduce yourself and completely unnerved that you’d be so rude to keep it waiting.

He gestures towards the furry little creature as she stands from the bed, stretching her spine luxuriously before winding around your legs, examining you with a haughty air, “that’s—”

“Millicent—I remember,” you finish for him before crouching down to pet her. She nudges her tiny head against your hand, sniffing your palm, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. Her judgement must lean in your favor, because she nuzzles in close to you, chirping contentedly when you scratch at the fur around her chin. Armitage watches uneasily, then lets his gaze drift, examining the little room the same way you did, discreetly drying his palms off on the fabric of his pants.

He still hasn’t kissed you. Some men skip past that part, of course, going straight for a handful of your ass, but most stole a kiss after the first meeting—sampling the goods, or whatever.

Armitage hasn’t tried anything yet, and you can’t help but be disappointed. You’ve had little else to think about now that you’ve been freed from the rest of your work obligations, and the anticipation it’s built has made you tense and jittery, like a teenager on a first date. All night you’ve been staring at his mouth, chest full of buzzing nerves, trying to picture how his lips would feel against your skin. You hardly heard a word he said during dinner, had to restrain yourself from jumping him in the back of the cab, watching him gnaw nervously at his plush bottom lip.

The waiting is painful, but the thought of cutting it short is absolutely unbearable. You couldn’t deprive yourself of it, seeing what he would be like the first time he tasted you.

Would he be shy, still? There has to be a commanding aspect somewhere inside him, and the idea is thrilling. What would it take to get that out?

You’re still contemplating the idea when you brush past him, venturing deeper into his home. There might be some future time where he’ll be the one in control, but until then, you’re happy to take the lead.

The living room is equally bare of any personal touch, decorated like a stage setting in a luxury furniture store, with one surprising statement piece. You run your hand over the back of the velvet couch, letting the soft fibers caress your skin. It’s the color of the sky, right before sunrise—a pure, bright blue.

He lurks behind you in the doorway and you turn to him, offering direction.

“Why don’t you get comfortable and pour us something to drink while I take a moment to freshen up?”

He nods, shoulders dropping—probably grateful he still has a few moments to collect himself—and points you in the direction of a quaint little guest bathroom off the entryway.

You move through your checklist methodically, familiar with the process: brushing your teeth, fixing your makeup, fluffing your hair and reapplying perfume. When everything else is satisfactory, you reach into your purse for your secret weapon.

The golden tube catches the light, the lid sliding off smoothly before you set it on the marble counter. The inside holds a perfect teardrop of dark red lipstick, like an animal in a gilded shell. It’s the color of wet cherries, glistening like blood.

It glides smoothly over your lips, tracing down along the edge without feathering, it’s untouched surface contoured perfectly to fit within the lines. You stand straight, admiring the effect in the mirror.

It’s time to go to work.

Armitage almost feels like he’s alone.

With a glass of wine in his hand and Millicent sleeping contentedly nearby, this could be any other evening—if every nerve in his body wasn’t in uproar, agonizing over your presence only a few feet away.

He knew this was coming, obviously; he shouldn’t be so nervous. Isn’t that why he contacted you in the first place? No guesswork, no fretting over ghastly first impressions. He wanted something logical. Transactional. Right now he’s feeling the opposite.

“Do you want me to turn on a light?”

He jumps, practically out of his skin, when he realizes you’re in the room, just barely managing to keep the wine in his glass and off the couch.

“No . . . no.” He should say something else, but he’s lost the capacity for speech.

You sway towards him with a smile on your face, a goddess of the night—like a specter in a story that preys on foolish young men before stealing their souls, or ripping their still-bleeding hearts out of their chests.

It’s an illicit transformation—he no longer feels like it would be safe to take you out into decent society, not just for you, but for him. He observes the minor changes: the slight tousling of your hair, the dark lipstick, the way the strap of your dress falls down over one shoulder. He wonders if it happened naturally or if you placed it there yourself.

Regardless, it has its desired effect.

He skims his palm over his thigh, the muscles beneath his fingers tightening when you fall onto the cushion beside him. You take the other glass of wine from the coffee table without breaking from his gaze.

“Should we make a toast?”

“A toast to what?”

“Hmm—” you smile at him teasingly, “I have one in mind but I don’t think you’ll like it. It’s a bit vulgar.”

“Now I have to know,” he whispers back without thinking about it, parroting your manner. He’d probably follow you into oncoming traffic if you flashed a smile his way and took the first step.

You tip your glass against his with a soft clink, the red liquid inside it swirling around its edges. “To getting fucked.”

He swallows, heart leaping in his chest. “To— to getting fucked.”

You take a sip of the wine, pulling the glass away to admire the neat half-moon of lipstick you’ve left behind on its surface. It looks black in the darkness, an impression of your mouth so perfect he can almost feel it.

He doesn’t think about it first, and that in itself is an achievement. He takes in the passing sensations as he moves in—the smell of your perfume, the heat of your skin, the little gasping noise you make when you realize how close he is—and then he’s kissing you.

It’s so, so soft. Too soft, given the circumstances. There’s no doubt, he is hungry for you, but this is what he’s been deprived of: a kiss—something gentle and good. Something innocent that can’t be taken away or lorded over him, crushed in his father’s grip like the petals of a long-dried flower.

Your fingers cup his jaw, delicately, at first, your grip growing insistent as you pull him closer.

And then the innocence is gone.

Your skirt pulls tighter against your hips when you shift, until he can feel the curve of your breast on his arm, and the weight of your thigh against his. He gasps, razor sharp, placing his hands at your waist. You must feel the way they shake.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you promise, the words falling against the skin of his neck as you kiss down, down, down, your smeared lipstick leaving a path of sticky bruises, “we can do whatever you like.”

You're gripping at his thigh, fingers digging in against his flesh. God, you’re good at that—driving him wild with the faintest touches. He jumps in his seat, back arching away from the couch when you trace along his jaw with your tongue.

“It’s, god, just been— so long.”

Jesus, as if you didn’t already know that.

Your dress slips higher up your thighs as you shift from the couch, planting your knees in the plush carpet. “Why don’t I help you relax?”

Fucking hell. His jaw pulls sharply towards the ceiling as he leans his head back, fists pressed tight against his legs. You brush his hands out of the way, stroking up and down his thighs—a familiar feeling from his own hands, but not from yours.

Your left hand continues its travels, giving a wide berth to his very apparent hard-on, gripping the tail of his tie in your fist. You give the piece of fabric a slight tug, and he bends, pliant under your scrutiny.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You search his face with solemn eyes, brow furrowed, like you’re solving a puzzle, or deciphering a code. He wonders if he’s left the answers for you written across his skin, if you’ll be able to translate what he’s feeling just by looking at him, like the impression of a pen pressed too hard into the paper.

“I’m afraid.”

What is it about you that makes him tell the truth so easily? You’re the last person he should be honest with.

Well, maybe not the last person.

“Why?”

“I’m—” he pauses, trying to formulate a coherent answer out of the horrified screaming inside him, “I don’t want this to be horrible for you.”

You brush the concern aside with your free hand, offering him the ghost of a smile. “I don’t believe in bad sex. You know, do what you love, and all that.”

And you’ll never work a day in your life. He huffs a laugh against his will, and you smile wider, knowing you’ve caught him off guard.

“This won’t be horrible for me, but if it makes you feel better, I promise to be honest with you. And if somehow you are completely shit at sex—which I absolutely don’t think you will be—we can find a way to fix that.”

Your words are entirely sincere, without malice or judgement. Maybe you should have been a therapist, or a hostage negotiator. There's nobody in the world who would want to hide from you.

He breathes once, twice, and then settles, the nerves draining from him like the helium in a week-old balloon, there and then gone.

You twist your hand, wrapping the fabric of his tie around your palm, pulling him closer, keeping your eyes open. He melts against the press of your lips, lurching forward in his seat in a sloppy attempt to deepen the kiss, but you pull back, slowing the tempo, nipping teasingly at his skin when he lets you take the lead.

Oh. He can do that. It’s nice not to have to take charge, to do something without a pack of inquisitive eyes upon him, ready to work only once he’s given direction.

He waits for your next instructions, shifting in his seat when you stroke your hand up over his thigh again. Hesitation grips his chest, but he pushes it aside, parting his knees around your waist, no longer keeping you away but caging you in.

You undo the buckle of his belt with one hand, fingers skimming over the soft swell of his stomach as you work at the button on his trousers. He could be embarrassed if he wanted to, but there’s so many other things to feel, and so many of them are good. You take him in your hand, freeing him from the too-tight confines of his clothing. The air is cold against his cock, and colder against the tip, bright red and already leaking.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, leaning in closer, running your tongue against the seam of your lips.

His mouth is too wet, but he can’t swallow past the tightness in his throat. “Really?”

“I told you I was going to be honest.”

You moisten your lips once more, and then part them in a soft o, bring them to the head of his dick.

Oh god. There’s heaven in your mouth, in the way your tongue moves against him—warm and wet, and so gentle as it explores the tip of his cock, tasting his skin and his spend. You gag a little—did someone teach you how to do that?—taking him farther down your throat, his cock jumping against your lips when the head nudges against your soft palate.

You hollow out your cheeks, your hand sliding up and down the base, finding a rhythm, your lips dragging deliciously over his skin and it takes everything in him to stay present, to stay conscious.

Does every part of you feel this exquisite?

As soon as he’s thought about it, he has to know. His hands are in your hair, at the back of your neck, his voice hardly a breath when he speaks.

“Stop, please, stop.”

You pull back, your vision a little blurry with unshed tears and mouth slick with spit; he’s bigger than you expected. You know there must be lipstick smeared across your cheeks, but he looks at you so gently, cupping the back of your neck in one hand, begging sweetly.

“I want to be inside of you.”

Your knees ache, but you stand anyway, pulling your dress out of the way as you straddle his lap.

He tastes so good, every part of him, but you can’t get enough of this—of his soft mouth, the clear tang of desire when he presses his tongue against yours.

The men you work with always wanted sex—obviously—but not necessarily with you. They craved release, or some semblance of power, but sex was just the way they accessed whatever it is they truly wanted, and regardless how picky some of them managed to be, in the end it wasn’t about you at all.

It feels different with Armitage, and that alone is frightening. When he puts his hands on you, whatever bubble, whatever shield you kept with the rest of them is gone. When he touches you, you feel it.

You feel it now, his hands at your waist, pulling you close enough that the weight of his cock presses low against your stomach, and you grind down against it, just to be a tease.

He catches you by surprise, shifting your weight off his lap and onto the couch. You land on your back, shoulder blades pressed deep into the cushions, and he keeps your hands trapped, thrown over the armrest, pinning your wrists in his long fingers.

Damn. He’s really good at that.

“Is that alright?” he asks, and you nod, trying to catch your breath.

All of the urgency from before is gone, his movements delicate and unhurried. It’s possible he’s just stalling, trying to regain his control so he doesn’t cum on the first thrust, but the look in his eyes says something different.

His fingers skim against the edge of your thigh, catching the hem of your dress and moving higher, higher, until his palm rests at the curve of your waist.

“Black lace.”

His eyes are on the swell of your hip, lips just slightly parted as he slides his hand back down, pulling the edge of your underwear back and letting it snap lightly against your skin. Your muscles pull tighter in response, thighs pressing together unconsciously until he slips his fingers down the front of your lace covered mound, pulling back the lacy edge and uncovering your slick cunt with one finger.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, shifting forward, storm-colored eyes intense when they meet yours.

“Yes.”

Your eyes are on the ceiling; you count your breaths, paying close attention to the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper in his hand, the soft velvet of the couch beneath your shoulder blades. When did you become the nervous one?

The head of his dick is at your entrance, his hips shifting forward until he’s inside you, leaning over you with one hand braced on the couch cushion, his fingers on the other hand gripping tightly at your hip.

Then he starts to move.

He thrusts into you, slow and steady, but there’s a surprising amount of power behind each movement. The couch shifts against the floor with every snap of his hips, and your eyes roll back the deeper he goes, hitting a spot inside of you that makes your vision go dark at the edges.

You should do something—kiss his neck, or run your hands through his hair—but you can’t move. Your arms stay leaden, draped behind you and buzzing with blood loss, and you can’t think, head cloudy like you’ve had too much wine. There’s no room inside you for pretense, no room for anything but him.

A few pathetic little moans fall from your lips, without the charm or passion of artificial cries. You’re too close, whole body tight like an elastic band, ready to give.

It’s just not close enough.

He finishes with a groan, his breath hot and wet against your neck when his arms give out, chest crushed up against yours as his release courses through him.

He stays that way, lips traveling against your neck, stopping when he feels the thrum of your racing pulse.

He rolls off of you, removing the condom and throwing it into the trash before tucking himself away.

“Did you finish?” he asks between ragged breaths, his head lolling against the back of the couch so he can look at you.

You’re still struggling to catch your own breath. You told him you wouldn’t lie, but he deserves more than just a shake of the head. It’s true that you didn’t finish, but that’s not the whole of it. You can’t remember ever feeling like this before, vibrating on a different frequency just because he put his hands on you. It’s not an orgasm, but you’ve had plenty of those, and you’d have plenty more. This is something rare.

You definitely can’t say that, so you stick to the manageable truth.

“No.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping in a gesture you might mistake for defeat, if he didn’t immediately shift onto his knees, resting both warm palms on the tops of your thighs. He presses his fingers against your skin, urging them apart. You place your hands over his own.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He strokes his thumb in slow circles over your skin. “I know.”

His hands slide underneath your knees, pulling you forward, his trembling fingers cold and slick as he slides the black lace down over your skin, baring you to him.

Soft kisses across your inner thighs, the trace of his tongue and sting of his teeth—this is all new to you. He’s gentle in a way that feels dangerous, too vulnerable, like he could cut you open with the barest touches.

His tongue licks softly at your clit, and he moans, the vibrations traveling through your stomach, and it takes work to breathe. Whatever he lacks in experience he makes up for it in persistence, his nose buried deep in your folds, his mouth hot and wet as he kisses at your core. The look in his eyes is so earnest, like he truly cares about your pleasure.

It’s too close. He’s too close. This won’t end well.

But it’s difficult to be so fatalistic when you’re melting from the inside out, body wracked with molten pleasure. You’ll be better next time, but for now, you’ll allow yourself this: your fingers threading through his hair, your eyes on his as you succumb to the feeling he's giving you.

He sits back down beside you, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, staining it with smears of lipstick and your spend.

“So,” he says and his heavy breathing slows, growing shallow and calm. He probably wonders if you’ll leave now. You don’t want to go.

You straddle him, sliding the zipper of your dress down your back before slipping the straps off of your shoulders.

“We could go again.”

A few hours later, Armitage stands on the small front porch, watching the first inklings of morning spread its fingers through the dark blue night. You’re standing beside him, eyes down the road, gnawing absentmindedly at your bottom lip when the taxi turns down his quiet street.

“I think that’s for me,” you whisper, turning to face him. You’ve wiped the lipstick from off your face, mouth soft and swollen, the last reminder of what happened here tonight.

He nods, and you press a kiss to his cheek, taking his fingers in yours.

“Just let me know when you’d like to see me again; we’ll make plans.”

You take the first step down the stairs, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “You’ll tell me,” he asks, although he’s sure he probably shouldn’t, “when you’re home safe?”

You pause, mouth gaping, and it confirms he was right in thinking that he's crossed a boundary. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.” There’s more that he wants, but he’ll settle for this. He learned long ago that money can't buy everything.

He watches you climb into the cab before going back inside, and he rests his head against the cool surface of the door.

He is so, incredibly, fucked.

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[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding IX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV  - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII

Content Warning: This chapter contains potentially triggering material, particularly aftermath of attempted suicide as well as discussions of bodily injury.

Cody woke up the morning after the...drunken keldabe still feeling uneasy. He spent half an hour attempting to read over reports in preparation for the Umbaran campaign before giving it up as a lost cause. He distracted himself for a little while by pouring over last night’s cantina surveillance, before giving up on that as well and sending a message to General Skywalker.

‘Any updates on General Kenobi’s status?’

He watched the comms as communications from everyone besides the General trickled in. He answered a few requests for requisitions, forwarded some medical reports, and ignored an irritating handful of overly-personal questions. 

Agonizing over it the whole time, he opened a comm-text link to Obi-Wan. It took nearly an hour, but he managed to send two sentences. ‘Hope you’re recovering well. Look forward to upcoming mission discussion.’

He immediately wanted to retroactively delete the message, mortified by every word and deeply concerned at every second that passed without a reply.

He spent the next 30 minutes hunched over, quickly closing every incoming CT and CC communication, justifying the time to himself as ‘technically on leave.’

He lurched forward when he finally received a General’s comm code, but slumped in disappointment when it was Skywalker, not Kenobi.

‘Not as drunk but still seems a little high. He says he wasn’t drugged. He’s taking the rest of the day off. I’m monitoring.’

Taking the rest of the day off. Did that mean he wasn’t carrying around his comm? Kriff. Should he more or less concerned that the general was actually taking a day off?

He decided to be more concerned.

‘Thank you for the update. Respectfully request information on any changes.’

Hopefully that would encourage Skywalker to keep him informed even if he stopped freaking out over his vod’s behavior.

Stowing the remote comm, he stood up and exited the temporary planet-side office, throwing himself into cleaning up the mess that was nearly 20,000 clone troopers simultaneously attempting to get the most out of a very brief R&R. 

Shortly before mid-day, he received another update from Skywalker.

‘Just managed to get him to medical. Healer cleared him of drug interactions but Obi-Wan’s still acting strange (not crying, but a lot of hugging).’

Cody stared at that for a long while.

‘Any other verbal indications of upcoming danger?’ he finally asked. Skywalker didn’t reply. 

Shortly after nightfall, his incident reports were interrupted by a call from an unknown temple number. He quickly opened it, and a holo of an unfamiliar Mon Calamari female healer appeared in miniature on the desk.

“Commander Cody. Thank you for answering so quickly. Are you somewhere private?” she asked, voice deliberately neutral.

The Commander tensed up. “Yes, sir. I’m in CC office space, alone. The room and the channel are both secure. Is this regarding General Kenobi?”

“Yes.” She replied. “My name is Master Bant Eerin; I’m a temple healer as well as a personal friend of Obi-Wan’s. He’s...he’s in the healing halls right now. We’re still trying to understand exactly what happened- I’ll tell you what I can but first we need to rule out any possible drugs he may have contact with. I need you to describe in detail anything he may have been exposed to that could have possibly had mind-altering effects.”

The Commander was a professional. He swallowed back his fear, his questions, and his demands to know what was going on.

“Of course. Everything on the Negotiator was GAR Standard, and I was with him when we left the ship. We went directly to the lower levels. The first time he was exposed to anyone outside the 212th was when we left our transport on level 3915. I...actually have footage of him the whole time night after that point. I’m sending it over right now, sir.”

“That would be extremely helpful, thank you.” He watched as she pulled it up on a second comm, sound barely audible. 

He continued with his report: “One of the boys took it without permission. He didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just an idiot; I’ve already issued a severe reprimand. In any case, he brought it to me after I issued surveillance on the cantina, it tracks everything the General did- as far as I can tell, he had a glass of house grub wine, two shots of rancor blood, and an unnamed mixed cocktail ‘on the house.’ You can see everything the bartender added- as far as I can tell nothing was slipped in. He just... blacked out suddenly after the fourth drink, and quickly startled awake, confused by his surroundings.”

“I see.” Her tone was still carefully neutral and Cody didn’t know how to read her expression. He waited, wishing he was wearing his bucket so he didn’t have to keep schooling his face into professional patience.

���You brought him back to the temple...correct?” 

“Yes, sir.”

She let out a deep breath, gills fluttering slightly. “We’ll probably have more questions later, but please understand our inquires are entirely based around determining how we can best help Obi-Wan. This call and any future ones are not intended, and should absolutely not be interpreted, as indications of blame. He’s actually spoken to me about you before, I know he has the deepest respect for you, personally and professionally. Someone will likely be assigned to talk to everyone whose spent time with him recently, including myself.”

The sick feeling in his gut from last night returned full force. “I...believe I understand sir. His condition is serious, then?”

Her gills fluttered again.

“Even now, I think we can safely anticipate a full physical recovery. He...there’s no easy way to say this...it appears he attempted to end his own life. Knight Skywalker got to him just in time, and he received bacta within minutes of the initial burn. I...like I said...we’ll began work to figure out why-”

Her voice broke and she stared up, large tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She hastily wiped them away.

“Rest assured commander, he’s getting the best treatment possible. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have right now. This is my personal comm link- please feel free to reach out to me at any point for updates.”

“I-” Cody cleared his throat. “Can I come to the temple? To...” he trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Not tonight, I’m sorry. The healers need to focus; he’s not allowed any visitors until he’s out of Bacta, I’m afraid.”

“Skywalker must be throwing a fit at that” Cody remarked numbly.

The healer winced. “Knight Skywalker is currently sedated. He was...injured in the struggle to keep Obi-Wan from further harm. Master Windu witnessed part of it, but we’ll have to wait until its safe to wake him to get the full story. I’ll be notifying Captain Rex of the situation after we finish speaking.”

“I’ll do it.” Cody offered immediately. “Tell me what happened.”

Eerin hesitated. 

“Please, Sir. It will be better coming from me and...if he’s the only other trooper who’s being informed at the moment...”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “We don’t know the full circumstances, but at some point in performing emergency care for Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker was stabbed in the lower abdomen with a vibroblade. It pierced his large intestine. The blade was pulled out shortly before healers arrived, causing some further damage and blood loss. He’s already finished surgery, and should only need a few hours of Bacta at most. Considering his extraordinary past recovery rates, he’ll likely be out of bed tomorrow and fully healed by the end of the week.”

“General Kenobi wouldn’t...” Cody trailed off again. He was having a hard time putting coherent sentences together.

Bant looked at the ceiling for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts.

“Psychosis can have many manifestations. Even with- with conventional injuries, people can mistake help for harm. There’s just too much we don’t understand, and only so much we can learn before they wake up. Are you certain you wish to be the one to inform Captain Rex?”

“Yes.” That was about the only thing the Commander was certain of right now. “Is there anyone else in the GAR I should inform of...anything?”

“The military aspect of this isn’t my area of expertise. If there’s someone you trust who can be a support for you, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to tell them in confidence. Some form of what happened is going to get out eventually.” she replied. “Please use your discretion, I suppose. It’s...not really my speciality but I imagine you’ll receive further orders on how much to release to the GAR once Obi-Wan’s stable.”

Right. Discretion. Because Obi-Wan wasn’t just Obi-Wan- he was a high general in charge of nearly 1/3 of the republic’s forces. If word of this got out to the wrong ears it would cause mass panic, maybe even an emboldened separatist advance. It was an insane amount of responsibility for one person, no wonder - he deliberately didn’t finish the thought.

“I’ll comm the Captain immediately. Thank you for the information, General.” he said out loud.

“Feel free to contact me for further updates, and tell Captain Rex he’s welcome to do the same. I’ll message you when its clear to visit the halls.”

“Yes, Sir.” Cody responded, saluting automatically. 

“Take care of yourself, Commander Cody”

The hologram blinked out. Cody sat motionless for several long moment before sweeping his desk off, sending the assorted flimsies and redundant comm-units of various designations to the ground.

He stared at the empty desk, then tapped a button on his wrist comm, opening a private audio channel. “CT-7567, please come in” he said calmly.

“Cody?” came the alarmed reply. “I’m here, what’s going on?” Why did he sound so panicked? He had deliberately used his calmest voice. Oh well.

“Please report immediately to CC Office 12 in Guard Headquarters”

“I’ll be there in 10″

Cody hung up. He stared at the blank wall. He knew something was wrong with how the General said goodbye.

He opened the single desk drawer and dumped the odd wires and coins inside to the floor. Eerin had said burn. That could mean a lot of things, but lightsaber was the most likely. 

Cody puked profusely into the empty drawer. He stared at the vomit for a moment before carefully closing the drawer. He still felt a little sick. He hadn’t even said anything back to the General, he just stood there, frozen. 

He stared vaguely at the wall across, wondering if he was going to puke again.

Rex burst into the room. “Cody! What’s going on?! You- kark, what is that smell?”

“I puked in the desk drawer” Cody explained.

Rex shut the door behind him and slowly walked over. He knelt down next to the desk, gently taking Cody’s hands in this own. “Cody. Vod. Talk to to me.” 

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

Rex’s hands tightened over Cody’s compulsively and Cody squeezed back harder. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Rex’s expression.

“Some of ghost company went out for drinks last night. Obi-Wan started acted oddly. We flew towards the temple. He started crying. We got to the temple. He Keldabe kissed me. He told me goodbye. I didn’t say anything back.”

“Oh, vod” Rex whispered. He gently pulled the slack Cody off the chair and onto his lap on the floor. Cody continued mechanically. “I did reports today. Skywalker said he was with him. I left Obi-Wan a message. I don’t think he saw it. He tried to kill himself. Skywalker must have left him alone. He saved him. Obi-Wan stabbed Skywalker.”

Rex froze, still holding on to Cody. 

“The healer called. Asked about drugs. They don’t think its drugs but they had to ask. She said they’re both going to heal completely fine. I have a link if you want to call the healer directly. That’s...it. I have reports to do now.”

Rex held Cody tighter. “Not right now”

“It’s war. People get hurt. People die. I have work to do”

“Not right now,” Rex repeated. “You have the right to be upset. You have the right to grieve. You’re a person, of course you have feelings.”

“Obi-Wan said that.” Cody whispered. Then he started crying. He continued to quietly sob for some time, hurt and bewildered and scared. They sat on the floor together; Rex barely moved, simply held on to his older brother as he fell apart.

Inevitably, Cody’s tears dried up and he pulled away. 

“I don’t know how to clean this,” he said gesturing at that closed drawer. 

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s just get you to bed. There’s CC bunks here, right? 

“Yes but...”

Cody didn’t really like sleeping so isolated, but he also couldn’t imagine facing the 212th right now. 

“I’ll stay here with you. We’ll go to the temple together in the morning.”

Rex shepherded Cody to the fresher. He stared at the mirror with a vague sense of recognition before automatically moving through a standard sanitation routine. By the time he finished, Rex had joined him in his room.

“What did you do with the vomit?” Cody asked, suddenly exhausted. They slipped into bed together.

“Swapped the whole desk with Pond’s. That bastard knows what he did.”

Cody let out a snort. Then, much to his surprise, he sank heavily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Part X

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #potentially triggering #attempted suicide #injury #all off screen this chapter #character is not actually suicidal but is severely divorced from reality due to space wizard plot device #starwars #codywan #angst #fanfic