#almost as if her trauma excuses barely trying to get better

[rassvetsky]

Make It Proper

part one | part two

robert "bob" floyd x fem!reader

"I was raised to love, you know? Not just love— but to love well. And my ma always told me that I should make a lover feel special, treat her even better if she treats me right." One of your hands went up then, to cup his face as an offering of solace. "I don't know if I succeeded in makin' you feel that way yet, but you're special to me. And I intend to respect you as such."

[4.8k] | fluff fluff fluff, lovesick bob :(, dude's so in love it's insane, anyway unprotected sex lol, cunningulus, fingering, and more of bob being absolutely adorable he's literally the sun itself. dedicated to @hangmanapologist because robyn you need to marry me

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread. also @alinasmcu i hope you like it loml

Robert showed his true nature in subtle ways.

With the way his hands laced with yours as he held them both against the gear shift while he drove, with the excuse of "warming them up" as if the weather could get any warmer. Like when a quiet 'aww' escaped his lips upon the sight of a squirrel by the trees on your way to the restaurant he told you all about, despite trying so hard to appear a bit more serious, at least. Or like all those times that you caught him stealing a glance and then smiling to himself, acting as if his attention was on the menu he held instead. He ended up exchanging fun facts about the squirrels with you however, and the genuine smile on your lips worked as a clear indicator— he didn't have to act as if he's someone else with you.

Needless to say, the date was wonderful. An absolutely delicious bottle of Rosé in your glasses, stories exchanged for hours and cheeks hurting from smiling a bit too much. It was perfect, he was perfect— a true gentleman by all means, with the way he never made you question his respect towards you, and listened so attentively that you found yourself skipping over your words whenever you saw that beautiful smile reach his eyes.

He was in the middle of a story about Phoenix not-so-accidentally kicking Hangman on the balls when you suddenly reached for his hand over the table, curling yours over his with a smile so beautiful that for a moment he forgot where he was, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a smile from breaking out. He reached in a bit closer to the table then, lifting your hand to press his lips against the pulse point on your wrist, eyes on yours all the way through. "Where was I?"

"Hangman trying to play it cool," you replied straight away, caressing his hand so delicately that he could feel his heart beating against his ribs forcefully. "God, I wish you had a video of that."

"Me too, but he's oddly against videos like that," he chuckled. "Something about 'em being forever, I don't know. I don't really listen when he talks."

A soft giggle left you. "Good for you, it's not often that he says anything useful outside of missions anyway." you sighed, free hand going forward to join the other. "I have a lot of Jake-induced traumas, unfortunately."

He didn't reply to that, but instead, lifted both of your hands this time, nuzzling his face against them with a tender smile on his lips, eyes closed momentarily. "I missed your touch," he sighed out. "I hope that's not weird."

"It's barely been a week, Floyd, keep it in your pants." you chuckled, brushing your fingers against his skin, watching the comfort in his expression carefully. Your fingertips slid over his lips, witnessing them part upon your gentle touch, and it took all sorts of self-constraint on your end to not just push a little further and feel his tongue against them. Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, he hung his head a little; and you could feel the curl of his lips against your palm when he smiled right against your skin. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm just— surprised, I think."

"Why's that?"

"When we all first got together, I didn't think I could be friends with you." he spoke with his voice barely above a sigh, and you probably would've had problems hearing him if you could focus on anything else around you, other than him. But all of your senses were directed straight at Bob, as his gentle eyes trailed over the streaks of the oak table. "You're so— you're like, beaming. Whenever I look at you. I try to find you in the room and you're over there, laughing and having fun and you just look like… the beauty that you have inside and out, it makes you look like you could make a grown man cry."

His eyes met yours then, a questioning gaze directed at you as if he was waiting for your confirmation on whether that made sense or not. You bit back a smile, watching as Bob brought your hands back down to the table, covering them with both his palms. "Is that a bad thing?" you asked, smile giving away the lighthearted nature of your question.

"No! No." a chuckle left him. "Just kinda felt like you wouldn't be interested in me while— you know, you could hang out with someone else."

It squeezed at your heart how precious he was; with his carefully picked out words and eyes unafraid of being vulnerable; it was clear that he felt comfortable enough to not restrain anything about himself around you.

You promised yourself that you would never break his heart, right then and there. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing the same when you met his eyes, his shoulders light with the amenity your company brought.

Even after all those hours spent on that same table, Robert wasn't ready to let go. The date was amazing, probably the best he's ever been to— and just the thought of calling a halt made him uneasy. He wanted to hear more of your stories, anyway!

But the genuine happiness in your face whenever your eyes met told him that there'd be plenty of time to tell all the stories possible, to know one another in a level in which nobody else does, to carry that trust with your entire soul. He felt at ease, knowing that your attention belonged to him, and his to you.

Which is why he didn't regret anything when he pulled up by your door, engine of the car still rumbling through and a street light illuminating just enough of your smile. "Guess that's it, huh?"

The sweet sound of your laugh tugged at his lips to widen his grin. "Hey! That sounds like you're leaving forever."

"Nope, don't you worry about that. I'm not leavin' ya anytime soon." he spoke, hand reaching out to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers, so gentle as if you'd break apart easily. "I had the most wonderful time. Thank you."

"I should be thanking you, Floyd." you shook your head, giggling to yourself before taking his hand in yours, pressing your lips right against his palm with a fond sigh leaving your lungs. "And perhaps I should thank you upstairs with some coffee?"

The embarrassment was evident in the way his cheeks flushed immediately, as he chuckled a bit to himself. "You were the one who told me to keep it in my pants."

"Pervert," you laughed, shaking your head to both sides before reaching in to press your lips right against the tip of his nose, pulling away with a grin. "Coffee and conversation. We don't have to do anything else, you're free to set the pace. Whatever makes you comfortable, Lieutenant."

A soft exhale burned through his lungs, pure appreciation in his eyes as he stared at you. In a way, be felt cared for— with how you let him know that you respected his boundaries and such, and God, he wanted to slap himself for being a coward and not talking to you anytime sooner. It had barely started, whatever it was between you two— and he already regretted not just jumping on you and bombarding you with love from the first moment he laid eyes on you, at the beach right by Hard Deck.

His entire body was still hot with the earlier flush when you led him through your living room and even told him which couch was the most comfortable —you even cared for his butt, he thought—, and he watched you beeline to the kitchen in order to prepare some coffee for the both of you.

Bob didn't sit down straight away, instead choosing to walk around the living room a bit— the whole area felt personal, with the photos on the walls and plants well-cared for. There was a photo of you— no, the child you right in front of a Fokker Dreidecker fighter aircraft with your arms crossed across your chest and a bright smile on your lips, another one with you and a bunch of other aviators, with your helmet snug between your arm and waist. And a lot more with what he supposed, family and friends.

He wondered if he'd ever get to have a photo of you and himself around here somewhere. Maybe taken during a trip to the Mediterranean coast, maybe with his arms around you, maybe with him in a suit reserved for the most important day in a person's life—

"Your coffee is ready, my lord!" you exclaimed happily, ignoring the fact that he visibly flinched when you suddenly appeared by him —or probably that grin on your lips was the indicator of a sinister plan, did you mean to scare him?— and he took one of the mugs from you with gratitude. "I see you've found my shrine."

"Is that you?" he asked, pointing to that picture of you in front of the old aircraft. A chuckle left you at that and you nodded, earning a soft laugh from him. "A Dreidecker? Somebody knew what they were doing before joining the academy."

"Every child has a fascination with something." you spoke, getting a hold of his free hand to lead him towards the couch, a content smile on your lips. "I just acted on it, I think. I was devastated to find out that they don't use those planes anymore, though."

He laughed and laughed, eventually laughed a bit more as hours passed through the both of you in a blur. He spoke to you about his childhood, that tiny park on the way back home from school in which he used up all of his daily allowance buying girls taffy apples, his neighbor's scary German Shepherd whom he eventually became best friends with, those specific cookies that his mama used to make once a year which he couldn't ever get the recipe for, his first kiss, first fight, first pet and eventually, although not exactly the topic, the first time he saw you. And how you managed to ignite a fire within his soul that he didn't think was possible.

Your mugs were long-empty, the beige foam of the coffee left behind to dry by the peak of the porcelain; but the conversation was far too enticing to break apart for a refill. You were close enough to see the tiny, rare freckles on top of the rosy glint he carried on, the pads of his eyeglass sitting snug on both sides of his upper nose, the oceans and seas and a thousand lakes he kept in his eyes, and the kindest smile anyone has ever offered your way.

Robert was beautiful. Beautiful in the way he put his feelings out to words, beautiful in the way his hand found yours on top of the couch, beautiful in the way he leaned in to press his lips against yours mid-story just because he thought the sight was too pretty to hold back from. You smiled up at him then, a bit awestruck, before your arms eventually found their way around his neck just so you could lay your head on his chest.

He still felt like his heart would burst whenever you moved so close.

"D'you wanna stay the night, Robby?" you asked, voice a bit muffled by the shirt he wore. He was taken aback for a split second before you decided to continue. "You could hug me all night."

"Ah, God— you have no idea how happy that would make me, sweetheart." he chuckled a bit to himself, thankful for the position of your head because he could feel his cheeks and neck burning up. "If, well… if you're okay with that, I don't see why not."

"Yeah," you sighed, peaceful. "I'm more than okay with that."

Bob genuinely didn't know what to do with himself when he opened his eyes in the morning, only to find himself buried against your skin and the soft, sleepy exhales you let out surrounding his entire being. With all your limbs tangled together, it was hard to pull the blanket up to cover your shoulders but he managed to do it, before pushing himself up on the bed a little to lean against the frame. He could see you better in this position.

But his innocent little plans of watching you sleep and going crazy all by himself were cut off short with the little yawn you let out; he noticed how your arms tried to tug him back on top of you, yet he persisted. He had a clear view of you being absolutely adorable and in your most vulnerable state —and you trusted him with it, the thought got him all fuzzy inside—, he wasn't going to give up the chance to engrave it into his mind.

You let out an incoherent mumble, causing his smile to get wider as he hummed back, hand gently reaching your face to push away the strands of hair on the way. "Gonna wake up?" he hummed, now opting to caress your cheek with the backs of his fingers. "C'mon, I missed you. Get up."

"You missed me?" you yawned again, sleep still evident in your voice and you hadn't even opened your eyes— yet a smile found itself home on your lips anyway. "We've been sleeping."

"Yeah, and I missed you in my sleep." matter of factly, he declared. "In fact, I might drop dead right here if you don't kiss me in the next ten seconds."

Your sleepy giggles mixed up with his, as you rubbed your eyes a bit before slowly pushing yourself up for your lips to meet his cheek. A dramatic exhale left him after that, as if his life truly depended on that kiss alone, and he finally gave in to your constant tugs. Now with your arms around him and with his face buried on your neck, the two of you could relax again.

"Thank you for lettin' me stay." he mumbled against your warm skin after a while of serenity, and your first response was carding your fingers through his hair to massage the nape of his neck.

"I was the one who offered you to stay."

"I'm blessed." he chuckled, before raising his head a little to plant kisses across your chin. "Truly blessed with you."

"Getting all sappy after a night together?" your teasing tone had him hiding his face on your neck again, and the gesture was so heartwarming that you had to bite back a wide smile from breaking out. "Wonder how you're gonna get after a different kind of night together. Although, you did say it's not proper, didn't you?"

"I said it wasn't proper in the car!" lifting himself up on his arms above you, he pouted down at you. "Without even taking you out on a date. I'm not raised that way."

"Care to elaborate on how you were raised?"

The momentary scrunch of his nose as he looked away to think was sacramental to you, to say the least, and when he looked at you again with that familiar shy smile, you knew that he was going to blurt out the sweetest words the humankind has ever heard.

"I was raised to love, you know?" he was down on his elbows now, too close, but not nearly close enough for you. "Not just love— but to love well. And my ma always told me that I should make a lover feel special, treat her even better if she treats me right."

One of your hands went up then, to cup his face as an offering of solace.

"I don't know if I succeeded in makin' you feel that way yet, but you're special to me. And I intend to respect you as such." the way he got a bit quieter towards the end in embarrassment was so endearing that you chuckled to yourself, fingers brushing against the flush on his cheeks as he not-so-snugly followed your touch.

Robert was so perfect to you. With his hopes, fears and everything that he believed in; he was so pristine. And now with his cerulean orbs staring right back at yours with a boyish expectancy and thrill, elbows holding his weight up just so he wouldn't make you uncomfortable with the pressure— you couldn't think of anything else but kissing him.

And that's what you did— a harsh tug to the back of his neck just so his lips could meet yours, feeling one of his arms snaking around your figure to hold you so delicately as if you'd break apart. Perhaps that was one of your favorite traits of his, the care— how he's so gentle, so careful with the way he picked out his words and held you, touched you. He never failed to make you feel like the only person in the whole wide world, like nothing else but you could ever matter to him.

The way he kissed you back was tentative, as if he wasn't sure where exactly that kiss would lead. But you couldn't help a quiet whimper leaving your lips when he experimentally grazed your lower lip with his teeth, the sound giving him enough courage to nibble on the soft flesh before finally letting a bit of his weight rest on yours, all close and warm. The arm which he was still using to keep himself up moved downwards with that, feeling your body through the thin layer of clothing that covered it and gently leading your thighs around his lower waist.

It made him feel like your bodies were made for one another. How electrifying, he thought.

Neither of you were in a rush, it seemed, when he pulled away with a radiant grin only to tug your t-shirt upwards. You moved in sync with him to get rid of the article of clothing, your upper body completely bare before his very eyes— but not even for a moment did you think of hiding yourself from his curious gaze. Bob's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together before he let his lips latch onto the skin of your neck, leaving short little pecks all the way to the valley of your breasts. A soft sigh left you, stomach churning with anticipation and the type of flutter that you missed so much.

"You'd tell me if you wanted me to stop, yeah?" his eyes were so bright when he looked at you again, chin millimeters away from your stomach and you nodded, giggling a little. "Good, that's good. 'Cause, um— you're so pretty and I jus' wanna kiss you all over, to be honest."

"My heart's gonna burst if you don't keep going, Floyd." you whispered back, earning a lovesick glare from him before he bit down on your skin, right by the side of your waist— pulling yet another giggle out of you before he could get rid of the rest of your clothes.

He made a quick work of it, letting your underwear fall to the ground with his hoodie —yours, actually, you never thought that your oversized comfy hoodies would come in handy like this— following suit. You traced the outline of his pecs with your fingertips, and the way he sucked in a deep breath only egged you on to continue.

You followed along the barely visible happy trail, hooking a finger on the waistband of the boxers he wore to sleep, teasingly pulling on it a bit before letting it snap back into place. "This won't be fair if you have a mind to play with me, sweets." he spoke, trying to sound all intimidating— yet he sounded like he was barely keeping it together, a smile tugging on his lips as he stared down at you. You smiled back at him, head tilting innocently.

"It's really not fair at all that you're still not touching me where I need it," you mumbled, the sweetest of all pouts on your lips which he desperately wanted to kiss away— but instead, he returned to his former position, face hovering over your hip bones only to plant kisses on the twin peaks. "Rob, please."

"Patience," he hummed, his lips now on your upper thighs, carefully letting one rest on his shoulder as if he was testing how it'd feel wrapped around him. He seemed to like the idea though, since before you knew it, a playful glint was evident in his eyes while he stared at you and softly blew on your bare core, taking mental notes on your reaction to the sudden cold. "You need my touch here, is that it?" you nodded rapidly.

"S'okay sweetheart," the way his breath hit against your core with each of the words he let out was about to drive you absolutely insane. "Gonna take care of you, don't worry."

And Bob was a man of his word.

Because the second his lips met your clit, he was grunting and panting against you and God, you wondered if he knew just how much he affected you. With soft whines leaving your lips, you tried to buck your hips up a bit to meet him a bit more forcefully, but he already had two arms wrapped around your upper thighs— he easily pinned you down again, only to let his tongue run through your folds with a drawn out hum. The taste of you taking over his senses drove him to the point of insanity.

"Fuck, Robby, keep going— please keep going." you whined out, continuous sounds leaving you at that point— and Robert absolutely basked in them, the pride of knowing just how good he was making you feel making all the blood rush to his cock, painfully hard against the mattress— just like that evening in the car with you on his lap, lips all swollen from the harsh nature of the kisses you two shared. "Why the fuck are you so good at this—"

His method of shutting you up was a bold flick of his tongue against your clit while he let go of one of your legs, only to push your folds apart with his fingers and spread your essence with his middle finger. It slipped in rather easily, allowing him to push in a second one— and you were really thankful at that moment that you never noticed just how big his fingers were, otherwise the thought would've made you a lunatic.

His fingers got caught on a slow yet steady pace, and he took your slightly distraught state as an opportunity to push his body up and to plant his lips against yours. His fingers did wonders inside of you, but magically, his lips felt even better— the amount of emotion he poured out into the gesture had your senses flooding with nothing but adoration towards him. Swallowing your moans and whimpers, he curled and uncurled his fingers, exploring you until hitting a spot that felt just right, and the way you shook against his hold left a grin on his lips, into the kiss.

You were surprised by how unphased he was, completely focused on his task of bringing you pleasure while he could very well get it all over with and call it a day— he didn't budge even when you clawed on his back, wrapped your arms around his shoulders just to pull him impossibly close. He didn't budge when you broke the kiss away just to tell him —in explicit detail— what you wanted him to do to you, and how much he was affecting you.

If only you could hear his internal screams, though.

His lips were by your neck by the time the constant twitching of your legs and the warmth taking over inch by inch started becoming the indicator of an upcoming orgasm, and he could feel it from the way your walls clenched around his digits so hard— the thought of you clamping down on his cock like that pulled a soft sigh out of his lips, drowned out by your constant drawled out moans. "Shh, that's it," he whispered, lips right below your ear now. "Gonna come on my fingers, yeah? That's a good girl, so loud and pretty for me."

And if the abuse of your sweet spot wasn't effective, his words definitely did it— lighting up the sparkler waiting to erupt, making an overwhelming mix of clarity and fogginess take over your entire mind for the minutes to come. He helped you ride it down as gently as he could, still whispering sweet nothings to your ear before pulling his fingers out. And to your absolute surprise, he pushed himself up a bit, putting on a show of how he licked his fingers clean— with eye contact all through.

Bob was going to be the death of you.

So you only gave yourself a minute or two to catch your breath before pushing him down on the bed, wet core sitting snugly right on top of his clothed length when you straddled him. He stared up at you, expression a bit surprised, maybe even starstruck with how a smile won over so quickly. "I was getting to it, you really lack patience—"

"Rob, sweetheart, you take too long," you huffed out, earning a chuckle from the other as he grabbed your thighs, squeezing the flesh under his palms. "Did you want my heart to burst or something?"

"A taste of your own medicine."

"Oh, shut up. Not funny." you spoke, still laughing a bit nonetheless. Getting up on your knees to pull his underwear down just enough to pull his length out, you gave him a couple of jerks, palm tight against his flushed pink tip moist with precum. "You have no idea how much I've been wanting this."

"Is that why you asked me to stay the night? How scandalous—"

"Robby!"

"Alright, alright," a breathless chuckle left him, eyes trained on the grip of your fingers around his length and the way you lined him up with your entrance. His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when he first felt your warm core on his most sensitive spot, the glide through your folds and the shaky breath you left out. He wasn't in a much better situation himself, afraid of letting go of the breath he held just in case his lungs would give out— but he decided to speak up again nonetheless, still a lot of things to say but never enough time. "For the record, me too. I thought about this a lot."

"Did you, now?" your voice was nearly shaking when you started sinking down on him, a slight hiss leaving your lips. "What'd you think about?"

"Thought of you exactly like this. On top of me, starin' at me like that— drove me crazy."

"Just the thought drove you crazy?"

"Yeah, you do that to me, baby."

"Aha! Oop— here we go. God damn it—" the sight of Robert, all soft with his hair all over the place and a spatula in his hand was incredibly endearing, but watching him try to balance blueberries on top of the stack of pancakes for five minutes now wasn't exactly your desired breakfast activity. You were drained and starving— the blueberries could fuck themselves.

"Bob, we're gonna eat 'em anyway," you whined, elbows against the kitchen table when he turned around to flash you a smile which quietly told you not to worry about it. You were too hungry to not worry about it. "I'm gonna die. Feed me or I'm calling the cops."

Taking your words for granted, he turned around again, this time with the plate which he worked so hard for —and you appreciated it! Just wanted to appreciate it faster, is all—, watching another blueberry roll down to the plate with a sigh before setting the plate down on top of the table. "I swear I'm better at this."

"Balancing blueberries is a shit skill, I wouldn't be disappointed if you weren't."

"Hey! Stop disrespecting my skills!" with a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, he pushed his glasses up a bit on his nose, sitting down on a chair right next to yours as a soft grunt left him. You giggled, letting your head find its spot on his shoulder and feeling an arm wrapping around you securely— and a kiss to your hair, of course. "I'd walk through fire for you and you're out here judging me for trying to make the perfect breakfast."

"Any breakfast would be perfect with you!"

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #tagging this guy is so hard #bob top gun #top gun bob #like which one #anyway #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick

[crvptidgf]

Bad Blood • pt. V

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

➸ summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, you find it difficult to let go of the past. Your trauma lies deeper than you think. When when you meet somebody who understands your pain, your journey of self-discovery and healing begins to set sail. For once, everything in your life seems to click.

➸ warnings/notes: reader is of romanian descent, afab! reader, mentions of trauma, descriptions of death and traumatic events, profanity, friends to lovers trope, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (18+), trauma bonding, eventual mutual pining, mentions of the golden trio being dicks for the sake of the story

word count: 2.6k

————————

I FELT AN agonizing, nauseating fit of anxiety the next day. I didn't have a chance to talk to the Gryffindors after my little chat about uniting the groups in the common room. Not that I minded - I was honestly kind of dreading bringing the idea up.

Truthfully, I didn't think they would take it too badly. Sure, they wouldn't be ecstatic about it, but I'd hoped it would run somewhat smoothly.

I was wrong.

"You want to what?" asked Ron, the bewildered expression on his face growing by the minute.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" asked Harry, his eyes fixed on Ron's.

I sighed, feeling stupid for even suggesting it. I knew they wouldn't like it, but I held out hope that they would at least consider it before saying no. Looking off behind Ron, I caught Theo's eyes across the table. He gave me a reassuring nod before looking away.

"Okay well they're willing to get to know you guys. Why can't you just try?" I mumbled, my mood already dropping.

I felt Hermione lean her shoulder against mine from beside me.

"You know we just want what's best for you."

I quickly stood up, Hermione almost falling over from my brisk movement. I'm not sure what came over me. Maybe it was high time I stood up for my newfound friends, because deep down I knew that if the Gryffindors didn't eventually come around, I was going to have to choose. My house and my blood, or my friends.

"Not all Slytherins are bad! Look at me," I said as I pointed to myself, "I have never done anything to make you believe in all the stereotypes and assumptions - so what is the problem?"

Hermione went to grab my hand but I yanked it away. "It's not that. They're Death Eaters."

I scoffed. "Their parents were. They didn't choose for any of this to happen, so why blame them?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him. I couldn't be bothered to listen to any more of their stupid excuses. I just wanted a peaceful lunch. To be able to sit down and enjoy myself without hearing a rude remark about my house - just for once.

"Ginny's on her way. Tell her I said hi."

With those last words, I picked my bag up and made my way to the Slytherin table. I felt like I could finally breathe as I sat down next to Pansy and Enzo, my shoulders slumping almost immediately in relief.

My phone buzzed in my bag but I ignored it. Instead I filled my plate with sandwiches and continued on like the conversation I just had did not happen.

"Didn't go well I presume?" said Theo.

I only sighed, putting my head in my palm as I picked at the bread in front of me. "What does it look like?" I asked, my tone more harsh than I had anticipated.

Theo threw his hands up in defense, making a funny face at me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, "I guess I just hoped it would go better. Now I feel stupid."

"Alright. None of that," said Pansy. "If they decide to come to their senses - great. But if not, then you always have us."

I chuckled at her statement. Although I appreciated the sentiment, we barely knew each other. "We only met like a day ago."

She scrunched her face up. "So what? Slytherins look after each other. We always have."

I nodded before taking a bite of my sandwich, not even realizing how hungry I was until the flavors settled on my tongue. Nothing would ever top Hogwarts food - even in secondary school it was always my favorite.

"Movie night in the common room today?" asked Theo, his eyes scanning over everybody at the table.

He was met with a bunch of nods and yes's as the group agreed to his idea. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad. I could get to know Pansy, Draco, and Blaise some more - and maybe even extend my friendship to them as well. This would be good for me.

"See you guys then. I've gotta get to class," Theo said as he stood up, beckoning Enzo to join him. "Nothing better than a good ol' lesson from Binns, huh?"

Enzo groaned as he got up, offering me a shoulder pat as he left the table. I finished my sandwich, just barely listening to the conversations around me. It wasn't long before the rest left for their classes, too.

Deciding that I should get some study in, I stacked the plates at the table and began to make my journey to the library. That is, until my phone buzzed. Again.

I pulled it out to mute it, presuming that it was Ginny or Harry texting me - instead I notice Mattheo's name pop up in the notifications.

- - -

- - -

My feet carried me up the stairs faster than I normally would, as if they had a mind of their own. The spiral staircase usually felt like a long trek, but today they're surprisingly easy to get through. Maybe it had something to do with what - or who - was waiting for me at the summit.

Heart thrumming against my ribcage, my legs finally got a break as I reached flat ground again. My breathing was erratic, but instead of waiting it out and calming myself down, I kept walking until I saw those familiar brown locks.

Mattheo was leaning against the railings, smoke pluming around him as he stared out onto the castle grounds.

"Fancy seeing you here," I said as I threw my bag onto the floor.

He jumped a bit as my voice broke the silence, but he smiled at me nonetheless, his body relaxing once he saw it was me.

"You want one?" he asked as he raised the cigarette.

I've smoked before, but I wouldn't say I made a habit of it. The only time I really do is when I'm stressed - or sometimes I only do it socially, and right now I would say both of those cases were true.

"Sure, why not?" I reached my hand out as he pulled one out of his pack. I wet my lips before putting it between them.

I felt Mattheo lean over to me, his palm covering the wind away from me before he flicked the flint, his fingers flexing as he did so. Shit. He had nice hands. The flame heated up my face momentarily as the lighter came into contact with my cigarette.

"So," he said, leaning back against the rails, "I uh- I heard about what happened today. I'm sorry it didn't go down well."

I waved my hand dismissively. "It's fine, really. I wasn't expecting much."

My elbows rested against the cold metal as I inhaled the smoke, the slightly familiar burn in my throat bringing back memories of the first time I smoked. Enzo and I were 13 and we had asked one of the older students to get us a cigarette. Not a pack, not two, but one. We took about 2 puffs of it together before we decided to never do it again - the half full cigarette thrown out onto the floor outside. I took up smoking again when I was 17. It was my way of coping with what had happened, but even then I couldn't bring myself to make it a common occurrence - it reminded me too much of the relationship that me and him had lost.

"Yeah? I'll be honest - me neither," he said before mumbling a quiet 'sorry'.

The sun rays beamed against my face as I laughed softly. "It's okay. You weren't exactly wrong..." I trailed off, getting lost in my thoughts. "I don't know. I just wish they tried to understand me more."

Mattheo nodded, flicking his butt off the tower, watching it gain momentum before hitting the ground below. We sat in silence for a second before he started to speak again.

"I get that. Just remember that you can't wait forever for them to change their minds. At some point you have to focus on yourself and find other people who will care about you just as much - if not more."

He was right. But I wish he wasn't. I've been feeling so conflicted as of late. I love my friends, but I'm really liking the new ones I'm making. If I'm not able to be myself around the trio then how will I ever break out of my shell? How will I ever recover from the trauma I endured during the Battle?

"I guess it is nice seeing Enzo again. I missed him... and I don't really like how things were left off between us," I said, my eyes not meeting Mattheo's. I felt too much shame and guilt to even look at him.

I heard him shift beside me. "What happened exactly?"

My brows furrowed at this. I would've expected him to know already; or at least the majority of the story.

"Enzo never told you?" I asked incredulously.

Mattheo shrugged, his body turning towards me now. "I don't think he likes talking about it. He only ever told me good things about you."

I felt a soft feeling settle in my stomach knowing that Enzo always harbored the same love I always held for him. I'm glad that even then, he thought of me as a sister - even when I didn't act like a sister should have. My guilt eased a little bit at this information.

"Oh..." was the only thing I managed to say. "It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time," he said before checking his watch, "30 minutes to be exact."

Letting out a breathy laugh, I threw the rest of the cigarette away before sitting down on the floor and resting my back against the barriers of the tower. I patted the concrete, motioning for Mattheo to sit beside me.

"My parents and his parents used to be really close. Like, I was at their house every summer kind of close - but when they found out that his parents joined the Death Eaters, they started acting like they didn't exist. I had to stop talking to Enzo, and distance myself from the rest of my house. It wasn't safe anymore, everybody's parents were turning to the Dark Lord, so the only way my parents thought to keep me safe was if I befriended other houses and left my friends behind. Including Enzo..."

Mattheo only nodded, urging me to continue. His eyes were trained on me as he absorbed every word I said. It felt so good to get it all off my chest.

"But that wasn't the last time I spoke to him," I took a deep breath and continued, "It was the end of our 4th year..."

- - -

Enzo and I were paired for a project in Muggle Studies - it was something I couldn't escape, and I couldn't ask the teacher to change it no matter how hard I tried.

I begrudgingly made my way to the library where I was supposed to meet Enzo. We were only 14 or 15 at the time. My books slammed onto the table as I sat next to him, feeling weird being beside him after not speaking for almost a full year. It wasn't that I didn't want to be friends with him - but I was scared. Scared of what my parents would say, and scared of what his parents would say.

"Let's get this started," I said as I opened my book.

Enzo's eyebrows knitted together. He closed my book right in front of me, hand resting against the leather bound cover.

"What is your problem?" he asked, his voice cracking as he silently begged me to look at him.

"I don't have a problem," I said as I nudged his hand away and opened the book once again, "I just don't feel like failing this class."

Enzo scoffed, and I could see him shaking his head from my peripheral. "Right..."

It wasn't until after we finished our draft of the project that he started asking me questions again. He ran after me as I shoved my books into my bag, the library doors closing behind me.

"Y/N!"

I kept walking.

"Y/N, c'mon, please," he said, his voice sounding out of breath as he fast walked beside me. "Tell me what's wrong. Why won't you talk to me? I keep trying but your friends never let me get anywhere near your table."

"Maybe you should stop trying then."

His steps faltered a bit before he continued. "Did I do something? Whatever it is, tell me. I can fix it."

I suddenly stopped in my tracks, my head whipping to look at him for the first time in the past hour.

"I don't talk to Death Eaters," my bitter voice came out. Everything in me screamed to stop, to apologize to him and go back to how everything was last year. I missed my best friend, and all I wanted was to feel normal again.

The pain in his eyes made my stomach drop. I couldn't believe I was treating him like this.

"What? I don't understand-"

"Enzo stop! You're just like the rest of them, and it's only a matter of time before you end up like your parents. Don't come crying to me when you have the Dark Mark plastered all over your arm," I whispered the last part at him.

Enzo shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. "You know I would never - I wouldn't... Just please, listen. I didn't want this, I didn't want any of this."

I screwed my eyes shut as I turned away from him for the last time, ignoring his quiet sniffles as I went to join the Potter group for our free period.

- - -

I let out a shaky breath as I finished retelling the story, my chest squeezing every time I remembered the look on my best friend's face as I practically tore his heart out and stomped on it.

"Wow..." said Mattheo as he took it all in, "That's harsh."

"Yeah..." I said, my hands fiddling with the dead skin on my fingers, picking and plucking at anything that I could.

Mattheo took one of my hands, pulling it away from their attack on my cuticles. He rested it on his lap, his palm laying on top of my wrist before moving it to rest on the back of my hand.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Everyone was confused and more importantly, scared. Your parents were telling you one thing, but your brain was telling you another. You were only 14 - 14 and dealing with the impending doom of a wizarding war."

I nodded, my eyes starting to prickle with tears as I tried to blink them away. The feeling of warmth spread across my arm as Mattheo inched his hand under mine, flipping my hand over as his fingers came to interlock with my own. He squeezed it tightly.

As his thunb rubbed across the back of my hand, my skin grew hot with each graze of movement against me. "Now don't cry sweetheart, we still have a movie night to go to," he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Theo's movie taste better not suck," I said, my voice still wobbly from the tears threatening to spill.

Mattheo only laughed as he stood up, pulling me along with him. "No promises."

As me and him left the astronomy tower, our shoulders brushing against each other ever so gently, I noticed that my heart felt lighter than it had in years.

#college!au #slow burn #mutual pining #friends to lovers #mattheo riddle series #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #slytherin reader #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys #harry potter fancast #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #hp fanfcition #mattheo riddle x you

[levitatingbiscuits]

I love some of ur atla metas revolving katara sm! People are really hard on her, when in reality she suffered the most in the show. I think people try to use her to prop up sokkas barely existing issues so he's more relevant, and as a way to excuse aangs flaws, but you don't do that.

Thank you! I am, first and foremost, a Katara stan. I'm like Aang straight out the iceberg. 10 year old me saw her and was like OH YES SHE'S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE and that hasn't changed in 13 years.

People tend to play suffering Olympics for this show specifically to shit on katara, even though it's primarily her trauma that the narrative focuses on as a lens through which to explore the war. Tellingly, most of her suffering she goes through alone, without the support she offers to everyone else.

People try to play whataboutism with Aang and Sokka's trauma, even though the show straight up tells us that she is their living emotional crutch and the reason they were able to move on. Katara can't move on. No one helps her move on. When she tries to take matters into her own hands, to heal herself the way she heals others, she's condemned by the fandom (and Aang and Sokka that one time), called selfish and cruel and a million other things.

I especially hate when people bring up the Air Nomad genocide as a gotcha, when Katara is also the sole survivor of a genocide, a genocide she personally witnessed and was in danger of dying in. People forget that bloodbending is very obviously a metaphor for the generational trauma she inherits ON TOP of the traumatic murder of her mother, who died in her place. Katara knew very well that Yon Rha was there to kill her for her bending. Her survivor's guilt is actually worse than Aang's, even though it's less focused on, because she never truly gets over it. She spends the rest of her childhood trying to fill the empty space her mother left. And she SUCCEEDED. For her father, her brother, for everyone else she supported and mothered. For the child she named after her mom, a child that carries on the almost extinct legacy of Southern bending the way Tenzin does for Airbending, even though her importance is just as downplayed as EVERY OTHER ASPECT OF KATARA'S LEGACY INDEPENDENT OF AANG'S. Katara fills that empty maternal, caring role for EVERYONE in the gaang but zuko and herself, then she plays the same role for Korra because she's Aang's successor.

That's why it's so galling that she never got to resolve the bloodbending story herself. Sokka and Aang do it for her while she's busy trying to repopulate the Air Nomads, because God forbid she be allowed to do anything separate from her husband. Legend of Korra shits on Katara almost as much as the goddamn fandom. "She doesn't get a statue because she didn't do anything after the war but mother Aang's kids" is the actual justification bryke gave for no one honoring or idolizing her the way they do for the rest of the gaang in LOK. And God forbid she get a fight scene or even attend her own granddaughter's mastery ceremony. After all, that's Aang's legacy, not hers. She was treated like a convenient broodmare still pining for him 2 decades after his death and training and healing his successor and being neglected and isolated by her kids, because of course she's not allowed to move on and be content without him. Katara is never allowed to heal from her losses. She's always, always left to suffer in silence and deal with her pain alone.

No wonder this fandom props up Aang and Sokka by undermining Katara. The creators did it first :/

People didn't used to be such weirdos about Sokka. This is 100% a result of the ex-klance people latching on to zukka due to the superficial aesthetic similarities. Remember all those Lance stans who would insist that he's the one who suffered the most and would shit on every other character to make him look better? And transplant the character traits of other characters on to him, ESPECIALLY the girl of color popularly shipped with his supposed love interest? (Waterbender/moon spirit sokka is just altean Lance with a fresh coat of atla paint.) That's literally what they did to sokka in the "Renaissance." Before that it was primarily the hard-core kataang/aang stans insisting that Katara's narrative mattered less than the male characters'. I still remember the rape and death threats I got back in like 2018 for arguing that she deserved better than to end up a permanently benched housewife healer propping up Aang's legacy rather than securing her own in LOK. Then the zukkas came along and insisted their misogyny was woke because it was in service of fetishizing a gay ship with barely any basis in canon. (Cmon guys, jetko is RIGHT THERE and their interactions are not exclusively about one guy's various girlfriends. Just saying. Hell, Zukaang has the most basis of any atla slash ship, but people aren't attracted to Aang so they don't bother. Mark my words, the upcoming atla movie is gonna cause a zukaang Renaissance.)

That got long lol. This is probably gonna be controversial but I don't care, I'm right. Appreciate you nonnie!

#pro katara #katara deserved better #katara defense squad #fandom wank #anonymous

[the-cult-of-russo]

Such a Softer Sin (Part 14)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: Is the slow burn killing you guys yet? Lmaoooo

—-------

You watched people walking around, getting things set up for later. There was going to be a celebration tonight for the success of the mission just a few days earlier. It had been Micro’s idea, adamant that people really needed a morale booster and you had to agree with him. With the war looming over you all and the added stress of not shifting, everyone was restless and agitated. Not everyone would be celebrating though, some people had to keep watch and they’d volunteered so the others could have a good time. You’d volunteered to keep watch too but Kos had told you no and given he was your Alpha, you listened to him. He told you that you needed a break and that you should just try to have fun. You were just looking on with an amused smile as two warriors argued over where to put a table when you heard your name. You turned around and came face to face with Aurora, the last person you expected.

“Could we take a walk?” she asked hesitantly and you just gaped at her, blinking dumbly and wondering if you were imagining it.

“Uh… sure,” you muttered, eyeing her warily as the two of you started walking aimlessly. You had no idea what this was about and a petty part of you wanted to tell her where to go given how she’d been behaving. You knew you'd regret it though, your curiosity was eating at you.

“I’m sorry for being so cold and rude. I know I haven't made the best first impression and that’s not what I wanted,” she started carefully and you glanced at her as you both slowed down.

“I… I had a hard life, much like you have. My parents were murdered when I was young and some other wolves in my pack raised me but they weren’t the kindest. I know it’s not a good enough excuse for how I’ve been behaving but… I just don't deal with people well. Finding your mate can be really overwhelming and the idea of having a new family is scary. I barely even settled in here and I’m pretty sure most people don’t like me. I can come across as rude but really… I’m just anxious and don’t know how to speak to people. I feel really awful about it all and I want to be part of your pack, part of the family because you’re Atti’s family and I know how much you mean to him,” she rambled and your feet took root on the floor. She was looking at you with a guilt ridden expression on her face, almost as if she was waiting for you to tell her off. You were surprised by her admission but you were grateful she finally spoke to you. It made more sense now why she was the way she was. You were somewhat similar, maybe not as rude, but you also struggled with people outside of your pack although you’d gotten a lot better since coming here. Childhood trauma could really do a number on you.

“Thank you for speaking to me, I appreciate it. You’re family now and all I ever wanted was for us to be able to bond. I get it now and I hope this means we can start being friends,” you murmured and she smiled in relief with a shaky breath she’d been holding. 

“I’d really like that,” she nodded and you gave her a smile. 

“I’m gonna get back to Atti, but I’ll see you at the party later,” she grinned before she turned on her heel and left. It made you feel a bit better and you knew it might take work for her to come out of her shell but you started to think maybe there was hope after all. You had something in common to bond over, something that would give you an understanding of each other that most others wouldn't have unless they’d been through it. You knew you’d have to get used to the lonely nights and not spending so much time with Kos and Atti now they found their mates but you felt like you’d eventually deal with it if you still actually got to be with them. You didn't want to feel excluded and pushed out and it would only hurt more given the fact you hadn’t found your mate yet. You felt like the spare part. But if both mates were going to make an effort to bond with you then it would only mean your family expanded and you had more people to care about and that made you happy. You looked forward to seeing her and Atti at the party now, you’d figured they wouldn't be attending.

You weren’t quite sure who would be going. You hoped Karen would be there but you’d not seen her too much as she’d been working hard with some of her witches to try and figure out the moon debacle. The kidnapped witches were weighing heavily on her and she was trying to locate them so she could send you guys in. The times you had seen her, she’d looked completely worn down and you felt sorry for her. You knew if the vampires were holding your people captive you’d feel the same way, you’d probably be running around like a psychopath trying to get them and killing anyone in your way. One other person you weren’t sure would be there was Billy. You hadn’t seen him once since you all got back which was strange. You presumed he was busy but the last time he'd been busy you’d seen him around the grounds as he worked with the worried frown on his face. This time he was just gone like a ghost. You had no idea where he was or why. You found yourself thinking about him a lot in his absence and you really hoped he’d be there, you missed him.

Once the sun went down, the party was in full swing, complete with music, food and alcohol. 

“Here you go,” Kos smiled, handing you a weird pink looking drink.

“I’m good,” you snorted, putting the drink on the table and Atti huffed, glaring at you from where he sat opposite with Aurora.

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. It’s a party, Y/N. You’re not on watch, so drink it and relax,” He urged, pushing the drink closer to you.

“The fuck’s that?” Frank asked, raising a brow at the pink drink.

“I have no idea, Karen gave it to me for Y/N,” Kos admitted with a shrug and a grin. You were pretty sure he was already three sheets to the wind. 

“Nah, a lady like this doesn’t drink weird, pink, fruity drinks. She drinks this,” Frank smirked, moving over to another table before coming back and slapping a jar in front of you so hard that some of the liquid sloshed out.

“What the hell is that?” Irene giggled and Frank grinned.

“Moonshine, made it myself,” he said proudly. You looked at the jar and then back at him and he had this expectant look on his face. You’d been wanting to keep your wits about you but Atti was right, you weren't on watch and who knew the next time you’d be able to relax and have fun like this. You picked up the jar and Frank’s grin almost split his face.

“Atta girl!” he laughed and you rolled your eyes with a snort before drinking a big gulp. You gasped, eyes shut as the burn felt like liquid fire going down your throat and Frank laughed harder.

“Is it that bad?” Atti asked with an amused smile.

“It’s worse,” you choked out, eyes watering. 

“Glad you like it,” Frank smirked, clapping you on the back before he sauntered off again, presumably to find Karen. Kos looked at the drink curiously before taking the jar, sipping the tiniest amount and he started coughing. It made you feel a little better, he was reacting worse than you and the table broke out into laughter. As the night wore on, the jar became empty and you had to admit, you were absolutely drunk. Your head was fuzzy, your vision a little woozy and you were pretty sure if you stood up, your legs would wobble. But you felt good, calm and relaxed, even as you found yourself sitting alone at the table. You watched with a smile as Kos and Atti danced with their mates and the booze helped to quell the bitter feelings that may have been there otherwise, the pang of envy you knew lay under the layers of alcohol. It was nice to see though. They seemed happy as they laughed and danced and you felt good that they had found their other halves. 

“Need some more moonshine?” you looked over to see Frank sitting next to you, you hadn't even seen him come over.

“No… I think I might die of alcohol poisoning if I do,” you snorted wryly and he grinned, shrugging as he sipped at his own jar. 

“Where’s Billy?” you asked curiously. He hadn’t turned up despite you hoping he would. You thought he might have at least showed his face. Frank looked away, his mouth floundering for a moment and you squinted. Even with your alcohol soaked brain you could tell he was being weird.

“He’s not feelin’ too well, he’s just takin’ it easy in his room,” he answered and you nodded with a frown. The idea of him laid up in bed sick was unpleasant and you thought back to how Aurora was sick not too long ago. You wondered if maybe there was a bug going around. When you glanced back to your side, Frank was gone as if he was never there and you blinked slowly, wondering how long you’d been deep in thought. It felt like just seconds. Thinking of Billy all alone while everyone else was having fun, you stood on shaky legs, trying to steady yourself as you took a deep breath and made your way to the castle. 

Climbing the stairs wasn’t easy. You didn't trip or fall but it felt like it took you a lifetime to get to where you need to be, like it took extra focus not to fall and break your neck. As you walked down the hallway, you narrowly missed bumping into a table with a small statue on it and you snorted to yourself. It reminded you of when you and Billy had met and you didn't even realize you had a dopey smile on your face. When you got to his door, you lifted a hand and knocked firmly but you got no response. You tried again and still got no answer and you huffed, shifting on your feet. Barging in didn't really feel like the right thing to do, but you were drunk and he was also your friend. You figured he might forgive you for wanting to check on him. You pushed the door open and the room was dark, the light of the not quite right moon the only light shining through the windows. You could hear everyone having fun outside and you closed the door, hovering a little just inside the room. You couldn't see him, he wasn't in bed though his covers were all bunched up and then the smell hit you. You’d know the smell of an Alpha in his rut anywhere, it was pretty strong and recognisable and Kos had them too. And while with Kos you’d feel a biological pull to it, as would any female wolf, you were always able to reject it, always able to block it out until he locked himself away during them. This was different. You found yourself overtaken by it, almost making you feel even more drunk and in some kind of daze. You felt lightheaded but not from the alcohol and your heart started to beat rapidly in your chest. 

“You shouldn't be here,” Billy’s rough voice made you jump and your head whipped to the closed bathroom door it came from. He sounded strained and you could clearly hear the need in his voice. You swallowed thickly, knowing just how Alpha’s could get when in their rut and with your hazy mind, you became very aware of how your body was responding to those thoughts as you felt yourself getting wet. You heard a deep and feral growl from behind the door but you couldn't move. Something in the back of your head was telling you that you needed to leave but you couldn't, you didn't want to. Your wide eyes were glued to the door as your chest heaved, body aching in a way you’d never felt before. You open your mouth to try and tell him you were coming to check on him but nothing came out but harsh breaths. You felt a high similar to that when you fought, only this was far more powerful, far stronger. The bathroom door opened and your breathing hitched when you saw him standing there in nothing but his pants. His eyes were silver. A tiny part of you was worried he might shift, knowing that everything could go wrong if that happened yet your feet still didn’t move. All you could do was look at him with wide eyes and dilated pupils. 

Billy was close to snapping, so close to losing control and he was powerless against it. He could smell your arousal in the air, could practically taste the sweet like honey slick that he knew was between your thighs and it was killing him. His wolf wanted his mate and he was cursing you for being here, cursing you for showing up. Anyone else he could have resisted, anyone else he could have sent away, but not you. Never you. 

“Why are you here?” he growled, his voice raw as he started to stalk towards you. You were just staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights and it did little to ease the predator that lay inside of him.

“I… Frank said you were sick… I just… I wanted to cheer you up,” you murmured in a daze. He could smell the alcohol on you but the scent of your arousal was far stronger. If he was given a choice right now, to have the war end instantly, to have the entire vampire population vanish into thin air and never have to worry about them or to have you, he knew he’d pick you without hesitation and let all of his people die and he hated it. He’d never felt so weak in his entire life before. The pull to you was killing him and his wolf was snarling viciously, slamming against the walls in his head trying to break free, to get to his mate. He couldn't think straight, couldn't make sense of all the restless noise in his head and he started backing you up to the wall. For every step he took, you took one back but you didn't look scared, you looked the opposite. He caged you in, both hands on the wall either side of your head as he stared down at you and his breaths were coming in ragged and sharp.

“How am I supposed to restrain myself when I can smell you like this?” he bit out accusingly, as if it was all your fault. Not only could he smell how much you wanted him but he could fucking feel it and it only added with his own. He couldn't tell what was him and what was you anymore and his whole body felt like it was on fire from the inside out. You looked up at him with a half lidded gaze and his whole body was shaking with how hard he was fighting for some control.

“What if I don’t want you to?” you whispered. Any resolve he had snapped as he crashed his lips to yours, kissing you desperately. You kissed him back with as much need as he felt and he moaned into the kiss, gripping your jaw as his tongue devoured your mouth. A voice in the back of his head told him this was a bad idea. You were drunk and under the influence of his scent in a rut, that he was taking advantage of you. But he could barely hear the voice over everything else going on in his mind and he couldn't stop. Not when he needed you so much that he was feeling physical pain. He broke the kiss for the single fact he needed to breathe, or he would have kissed you forever. You chased after his lips with a whine and he moaned, his hand on your jaw tightening as he looked at you with your swollen lips and dazed eyes. He couldn't wait any longer, he didn't have it in him and he started to quickly rid you of your clothes. He was pleased when you took the initiative to do the same to him, pulling at his pants to get them off him. 

Once completely naked, he picked you up before stalking over to the bed and laying you down. He took a moment to really look at you as you lay there blinking up at him. He’d never laid eyes on anyone more beautiful. You were absolutely perfect and made just for him. The thought made him growl, chest burning hot as he climbed on top of you, kissing you again. You kissed back insistently, your hand going to his hair as you threaded your fingers in it and tugged a little. He had to stop himself from just slamming into you, barely just registering this was your first time and he didn't want to hurt you no matter how much he needed you. He kissed your lips as his hand trailed down your body, down silky soft skin until he reached between your parted legs he was between. He lifted himself slightly to have better access, eyes on your face as he started to circle your clit. You were absolutely soaked and it made his cock ache for you, watching as a moan left your lips, surprise etching on your angelic face. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, watching how you reacted to the pleasure he was giving to you. He toyed with your clit faster and you moaned again, squirming against his hand and he groaned. 

“That feel good, Sweetheart?” he rasped brokenly and you nodded, your lips parted in delight.

“Yes,” you moaned, looking almost amazed by the sensations you were having and it spurred him on even more as he got faster and you kept moaning. Knowing he was the first to bring you any kind of pleasure soothed the raging wolf inside of him. You were his and only his. He wanted to get you good and ready for him, wanted to make it hurt as least as possible, wanted to make you feel good. He pushed a finger inside of your soaked heat and you gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. You were so deliciously tight and he was throbbing at the thought of being inside of you. He fucked you with one finger for a moment, your moans like music to his ears before he added another and you let out such a sinful noise he was shocked he didn't cum all over you. Feeling like he got you as ready as he could and also feeling a desperate impatience clawing at his skin, he slid his fingers out of you and your eyes fluttered open, watching him with wide eyes as he greedily sucked his fingers clean with a groan. He’d taste you properly another time, he couldn't wait anymore or he’d snap completely. His hand moved to your face, the other propping him up as he kissed you deeply, wanting you to be as relaxed as possible. His hand trailed down your face, neck and down your body again before he gripped himself, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance. He slowly started to push into you, a sinful moan ripping from his throat at how tight you were around him like that and you gasped, fingers biting into his shoulders. Your body was trying to fight the intrusion as he slowly pushed further and he kept peppering your lips with kisses, trying to ease you so you’d take him easier. When he finally bottomed out, it took every ounce of self restraint to stay still and let you adjust for a moment. You were panting, eyes shut into a small frown and he stroked your cheek, resting his forehead on yours.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. Won’t hurt for long, alright?” he soothed, so conflicted in knowing this was hurting you yet not wanting to stop, he felt ripped in two. You nodded, breathing deeply and he started to feel you relax more. His movements were slow at first and while it was maddening to him, it still felt euphoric. Every push and pull felt like he was drowning in you and he didn’t want to stop, he wanted to stay like this with you forever. He could tell when the pain started to ease for you, felt how your body seemed to melt under him, arching back against him, heard how your breathing hitched. When you started gracing him with soft moans, he picked up his pace a little, unable not to. You whined but not in pain, as you tugged on his hair, making him growl. He was caught off guard when you pulled his face to yours, capturing his lips in a sloppy and desperate kiss. He felt feverish and upside down, all turned inside out and delirious wrapped around you like this. He broke the kiss, your moans and pants mingling together as he started to rut into you like an animal. His wolf was precariously close to breaking to the surface and all he had to ground himself was you. Your moans were getting higher in pitch, more frequent and demanding and he let out a guttural groan at the delightful sounds. He buried his face in your neck, your scent strong and enticing as vanilla and peaches coiled around him like a snake and he licked at the skin there, almost purring as he felt himself nearing his release.  

“Billy,” you moaned. His name rolling off your tongue like a fervent prayer made him explode, an obscene noise getting ripped from him at the same time a keening moan left your lips and you came together. He bit down on your neck, moaning as he spilled himself inside of you and you relaxed around him. He thrust a couple more times before he lay there with his face in your neck, his chest heaving as he felt like he was suspended in time and space. He’d never felt like this before, never known pleasure quite like this.

He moved to sit up a little, looking down at you. You were passed out now, a completely serene look on your face that he wanted to capture forever. He stroked your cheek, his chest aching fiercely with the amount of love his heart held for you. The lust filled haze his rut had him in started to clear, like a veil lifted from his eyes as he started to come back to his senses and then he saw your neck.

“No… No, no, no,”  His whole body felt like it seized up, dread hitting him like a wrecking ball and he couldn't tear his eyes away. He’d mated you. You didn’t even know you were mates and he’d gone ahead and completed the ritual. He felt sick and like he couldn't breathe. His chest felt far too tight and he clawed at it as he pulled out of you, scrambling off the bed and almost falling over. He stared at your sleeping form in his bed completely naked and his chest caved in. You’d hate him for this, you’d think he put a claim on you. Claiming and mating weren’t the same thing but the bites looked almost the same. A wolf could claim another even if they weren't mates and it was usually what wolves did if they found love after their old mate had died or hadn't found them at all. But not all wolves had good intentions and some would claim another just to mark them and say they belonged to them. It was something frowned upon as often if someone had been claimed, if they eventually found their mate then their mate wouldn't want them anymore. They’d be ‘tainted’. He knew that's what you’d think of him and he couldn't bear it. The only other alternative was to tell you the whole truth and it made him feel like he was drowning, only this time in a bad way. He had no idea how you’d react to it because you felt nothing for him and he’d been lying to you this whole time. He tugged at his hair in panic, his lungs burning as he tried to breathe. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was going to lose you before he ever really had you and it had been his own damn fault. He wiped his face, quickly realizing he was crying as he grabbed his pants off the floor, sniffling as he put them on quickly. He really couldn't breathe and he stumbled into the dresser, almost knocking things over as he gasped for air before he fled the room. What had he done?

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@on-ya

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

#billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #billy russo

[elialys]

Per your lovely, lovely flawed show tag, I am curious what you think the flaws of Fringe are?

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer, I got distracted!

Fringe definitely had its share of flaws. I won’t even address the ones that can “be excused” by the fact that it was a show made before/early 2010s in terms of representations/inclusions, because you know, it is what it is.

I think my biggest ‘regret’/annoyance has always been the writers’ tendency to…shove traumas under a rug, or to not properly (if at all) talk about the consequences of some events that happened. I get that they had to make the characters go through a lot of drama because that’s the point of stories, especially on TV shows that have over 20 episodes per season, but the characters suffered through some terrible stuff time and time again, and they were just FINE. And it’s not like they didn’t know how to do it!

I’ve always loved the first few episodes of season 2 because they showed recovery. Olivia had a bad car accident, then she had to kill “Charlie”, and it took her time to get better from all of that, not just physically but emotionally, too. And yet, over and over again after that, she goes through horrible things and there’s…almost nothing? Like, I adore Marionette, I think it’s a brilliant episode through & through, but I still can’t believe Olivia went through all the shit she went through Over There (and coming back) and didn’t have some serious PTSD, on top of EVERYTHING ELSE she’d already gone through (aka why I wrote Shivered Bones). Peter too was barely allowed to mention what Walter did to him after he came back at the end of season 2, barely ever allowed to mention what Altlivia did to him either, except in some awkward bits of dialogue (I will discuss Peter’s character a bit more later).

Also, the whole REWRITING THE TIMELINE at the end of season 3?? Biggest cop-out. I mean, I’ve never hid the fact that any kind of ‘amnesia’ plot is honestly one of my LEAST favorite tropes, in anything. From the moment that season started airing and Peter reappeared being a complete stranger, I just disliked that so much on principle. But what will always pain me is how by doing so, the writers completely erased not just Peter but THE FIRST THREE SEASONS.

Like, poof, gone.

(adding a 'keep reading' because this is long 😂)

Conveniently, it erased Baby!Henry in the process, which the writers might have felt would be too much of an issue? Personally I would have loved to see that unfold. I know I’ve discussed this before on this blog, probably more than once, but they could have kept SO MUCH of season 4 the way it was, as far as the Bridge was concerned, could have come up with a brand new Vilain to do all the “NEW UNIVERSE” stuff Bell/Jones tried to do, while our core characters had to deal with the consequences of everything that happened in season 3 (including Peter being a dad, WITHOUT trying to force a stupid ‘love triangle’ down our throats, thank you). It would have made for great, impactful family drama, because who are we kidding. Anyone who loves Fringe typically loves it because it is such an emotional, family drama. So yes, I will forever mourn the universe(s) we had season 1-3, and endlessly daydream about what could have been.

Now let me talk about Peter Bishop, it’s been a hot minute. Peter Bishop, who was hated basically the entire time the show was airing, and still now is strongly disliked by a lot of viewers, and honestly, I can’t blame them? I’ve had over a decade to analyze his character, have spent hundreds of hours writing stories from his POV, explaining his traumas & mistakes, have written giant meta posts about him back in the days to explain his behavior, so I’m not exactly objective, but I’m also very honest about how flawed his character is. Not (just) as a human being, which is normal because humans are flawed. I mean, he’s flawed in the way the writers used him/wrote him.

He’s probably the most inconsistent of all the characters. He’s the character who suffered the most from the ‘let’s make this person act out a certain way to make sure it fits our plot’ syndrome.  I will never forgive the writers for how…clueless (for lack of a better word), they wrote Peter in early season 3 during the Switch. Yes, Peter was traumatized as a kid, yes he was in love, yes yes, I know all of that, I’ve written endlessly about it to explain his cluelessness so I know.

Still, Peter should have figured it out. Peter as we saw him in season 1 and 2, especially second half of season 2, would have figured out. He figured out BY HIMSELF that he was from another universe, ‘just’ from his dad and Olivia’s weird behaviors and the fact that he didn’t go ‘POOF’ on that bridge in 2x18. Peter went to another universe, he met Olivia’s alternate. He’d just spent weeks running from his life, trying to accept the fact that he was lied to all of his life. At best, he was suspicious, at worst, he was paranoid (as was mentioned in 2x20 in Northwest Passage). Literally 3 days after he gets to THAT OTHER UNIVERSE, and 3 hours after meeting Olivia’s doppelganger, Olivia ‘I hide from my own emotions’ Dunham comes tell him he belongs with her and smooches him, so he goes home. Yet the writers want me to believe Peter would not have still been reeling from EVERYTHING that just happened in his life, and not be a bit on edge?

Like, ‘damn, the woman I love and have come to know quite well these past 2 years is suddenly SO DIFFERENT? ALMOST LIKE SHE’S ANOTHER PERSON? A BIT LIKE THAT ALTERNATE VERSION OF HER I MET 48H AGO, THAT’S NOT A COINCIDENCE AT ALL’. But nope, Peter just accepts it, EVERY CHARACTER on that side just accepts it, when Lincoln and Charlie keep on looking at our Olivia like “Is this chick for real? WHAT IF THEY SWITCHED THEM?”

I’m forever frustrated. It just doesn’t feel believable to me, never has. It feels like the writers went “we want everyone, and especially Peter, to be clueless the entire time so we can write our drama the way we planned it.” And that’s a shame, honestly, because that whole damn arc is already so good as it is. But it would been even better if Peter HAD figured it out, if he’d kept on pretending for a bit, if HE’D conned Altlivia the way she conned him. Like I mentioned before, Olivia already went through so much trauma during the Switch, they could have found ways to make her miserable upon coming back, without Peter having slept with her alternate for a few weeks—and the knowledge that he didn’t realize what was going on. More daydreaming on my part about what could have been.

I could go on when it comes to the way they wrote Peter honestly. The whole “maybe Peter has feelings for the other Olivia” crap in the second half of s3, and “the universe that will survive depends on which Olivia Peter chooses”, excuse me??? Altlivia basically abused him??? She used him in so many ways, including sexually. She wasn’t even herself, she was pretending, playing him the whole time. HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FEELINGS EXCEPT A LOT OF SELF-LOATHING AND MORE UNRESOLVED TRAUMA?

Anyway, I think you get my vibe and why I’ll forever be sad/mad about this. As a writer & storyteller myself, one of my strengths and favorite aspects of writing is figuring out the characters’ motivations, what drives them, and how it makes them behave. Peter’s character is just…wobbly, during those arcs. He’s inconsistent from plotline to plotline, and it feels off to me. He’s a lot more true and consistent to how I understand him in season 4, but in season 3, he’s a hot mess, meant as a plot device more than anything else, and that makes me sad. Characters are what drive stories and shape the plot, not the other way around. So yeah, I don’t blame people for always having such strong opinions/dislikes where Peter is concerned.

I could come up with more things, but this is already long enough 😂 In case that wasn’t clear, those flaws don’t stop me from having the deepest love for this show. What it did well, it did extremely well, and even all those years later, I still cry rewatching it, because the emotions were real. They're still real.

Plus it gave me Olivia Dunham, so really, it wins just for that.

#fringe #fringe meta #kinda 😂 #also called 'ambre is ranting at 13 year old plotlines that made no sense' #meta

[strscrossed]

high school reincarnation au hcs ✨

okay so here are all the ideas I have so far for it! also excuse me if anything seems weird because I graduated high school in 2012 lol. this is a modern au so consider it a world like ours.

mikasa is adopted by kenny when she’s 9 because her parents were killed in a road accident on a rainy day

because she doesn’t have the warmth of the jaeger family, her life takes a different turn. kenny isn’t an emotionally present guardian and he’s away for work a lot so she basically raises herself. levi is a grown man and he does check in and call her frequently

because of no therapy and an almost non-existent support system, she develops some really unhealthy coping mechanisms. she breaks into kenny’s liquor cabinet often because he barely touches it. she starts partying and everything that implies. she smokes, she self-harms, and she’s disturbingly good at hiding it

her other hobbies are painting, reading, playing the keyboard, and singing

she and kenny move just before her junior year of high school (11th grade, grade 11, whatever year applies between the ages of 16 and 17) just so she’s in a better area with a good school because he does want to see her succeed

despite her alcoholism, she’s a star student. she’s one of those “read it once and absorb it like a sponge” types

eren is born to a doctor and restaurant owner. he has an older half brother and the family is actually very happy. he meets his friends who all make him work for it but they eventually forgive him. he also plays on the varsity soccer team because at a young age, his parents made sure he’s constantly active and busy. as a result he’s also a good student (shocking!!!)

he and lara meet and despite some bad blood, she looks like mikasa and he’s hot so there’s a mutual physical attraction with them becoming fwbs. it’s purely physical but lara is kind of clingy post orgasm and he goes along with it

when mikasa starts, she just continues on as she always does. she joins art club and book club. she avoids social contact because well, again, she’s severely traumatized and has convinced herself that she doesn’t deserve happiness

during a project for class she goes out into the balcony for fresh air and that’s when she sees eren and lara being too comfortable on the balcony (making out)

unfortunately for her, she moves back and hits something and they both hear it. and eren sees her. she makes a mad dash for it.

eren finds her the next day because he’s a weirdo who got her schedule and gets her alone. they talk and she says that she’s not ready to date anyone. they can be friends.

he respects that even though he’s not satisfied with that at all. he pulls her into his friend group and they’re all so happy to see her

but she’s off. she’s quiet. she seems out of it most of the time and she freaks out if anyone grabs her arm

eren finds out about her drinking problem and her issues because he takes her home one day and finds empty cans under her bed. they have a huge fight and after she tells him to leave and he only does because his mother calls him yelling

she’s pretty cold to him after that and all of their friends when they try to stage an intervention

she starts partying again and somehow she maintains her grades despite being so often due to going on benders more than usual

this is as far as I got. I really like angst and well, eren and mikasa end up fighting a lot here because she’s completely destroyed from her trauma and he just wants to love her.

#high school reincarnation au #tw: self destruction #again I was in high school in the late 2000s - early 2010s so this is the stuff I’m familiar with

[waywardxrhea]

Part Nineteen - The Past Revealed

[slow burn romance between Steve Rogers and SHIELD agent Emma Baker]

Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health issues, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, (potentially smut later on).

installment list

Word count: 5.2k

Steve and Emma (finally) talk about her past.

Over the next twenty days during the construction of the new Avengers facility, Emma tries to distract herself by keeping busy. She starts going all-in on her reporting of the construction of the facility, waking up at dawn every day to make the trip to where it's being built. She stays almost all day, interviewing the workers on their breaks, taking pictures of the fast-moving progress, and exploring the grounds surrounding the compound. She barely has any time for her personal life, and she's okay with that, because the less time she has to think about what happened, the better.

One night when Emma gets home completely exhausted after a long day's work, she sees Maria sitting on her couch waiting for her with a movie on. "Wait Maria, how-"

"You forget you gave me the spare key?" she asks while pausing the TV.

"Oh, right, yeah totally, it just slipped my mind," Emma replies as she sits her bag and drone on one of her partially packed boxes. The moving process was taking a lot longer this time because she didn't have the help of Sam or Steve. She feels bad not asking Sam for help, but she knows that if she was with him it would just remind her of Steve.

“I'm worried about you,” Maria says as Emma sits on a chair in the living room.

"Nothing to worry about, I'm fine," Emma tells her with a smile.

"If you're fine then tell me why all your movies except the sad romance ones are packed up? Or how not even half of your apartment is packed up when we move into the new facility in less than two weeks? Also, why haven't you been answering my calls or texts until the ungodly hours of the night?"

"I've just been really busy 'documenting history' as Tony puts it. Did you know that they're on track to finish in twenty days? That's record time! Stark really can do so much when he sets his mind to it."

"You're getting off-topic, Em. All of this going and going nonstop is going to catch up to you sooner or later and that crash isn't going to be fun because when you do crash, all you'll have time to do is think about everything you've been avoiding," Maria tells her in a stern tone. Emma tries to defend herself with another excuse, but Maria interrupts her with, "Don't deny that you've just been avoiding thinking about what happened between you and Steve. You can't just ignore it and pretend it didn't happen because it did. And the problem won't go away by avoiding it either."

Emma sighs and gives in, admitting, "Fine, you got me. I've been working so hard because I don't want to think about what I've ruined. Because that's what I did. I ruined things between him and me. If I had just told him about my past in the first place or maybe if I didn't-"

"Emma, you can't blame yourself for all of it."

"Sure I can," Emma replies and laughs a bit, trying not to cry. "I guess I wanted him to see my messy past, to see my current struggles, and find me worthy of love, but with all these memories of my father resurfacing and then this, I definitely feel unworthy of any sort of love at all."

Maria looks at her friend with sadness in her eyes and says, "Emma, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I really think you need to get some help. This blaming yourself and shaming everything you do is stemming from more than what happened this month. I think you need to see someone and healthily unpack your past. You'll feel better if you do that, and maybe you can figure out how to mend things with Steve after you start facing your other problems head-on. I can't stand to see my best friend hurting so much, okay?"

At those words, the flood gates open and Emma begins to cry, something she hadn't let herself do since that day with Steve. Maria stands up and goes to comfort Emma, standing her up and wrapping her in her arms. After a minute or so, Emma finally speaks up with a small laugh, saying, "Damn, sorry I cry almost every time I see you, wow."

Maria laughs and tells her, "As long as you're feeling things I don't care. When you stop feeling emotions that's when I'll worry that your mind got taken over by witches or aliens or whatever else is out there." Emma can't help but laugh at the statement which stops her crying momentarily. After Maria gets Emma calmed down, the two go on to finish their night with movies and popcorn.

One day about a week before move-in day Emma goes out to a tattoo parlor when she's done with her coverage of the Avengers facility for the day. She had been doing a little bit of thinking for a while now about getting this tattoo, and after everything that's happened, she finally got around to getting it.

She walks into the parlor and approaches the guy she's been going to since she was eighteen for her two previous tattoos. "Emma! How are we doing on this fine evening?" he asks with a smile once he notices her presence.

Emma waves, replying, "Hey Travis, I've...been better, but that's why I'm here. Want to get some ink that has meaning, but I also need to feel something right now. Been a bit numb lately."

"I gotcha, what did you have in mind?" he asks as he leads Emma to a chair in the nearly empty shop.

Emma hesitates before saying, "I know it's cliche, and you probably get this all the time, but I want a semicolon. On the back of my neck. You know, the whole 'this is not the end of my story' thing. I've just been going through it and I need a little reminder some days."

Emma laughs at the end of her statement which earns a smile from Travis who says, "Whatever you want, I won't judge. And I'm here to listen if you want to talk, this is a private shop at this time of night."

"I actually have a person for that now, thank you though, Trav. I appreciate it."

"You got it, little lady," he replies and starts prepping Emma after she puts her hair up.

He's quiet for a little bit before breaking his silence by saying, "Okay, I have to ask, what's it like working with the Avengers? It has to be so sick right? Like all the jets and flying and super people!"

"Wow, you didn't hit me as the superhero type," Emma replies. She thinks about her response for a second before saying, "It's definitely got its ups and downs. Working with Stark tech is fantastic, he made me this drone for mission coverage, but put blasters on it so I can help out if I need to, it's sick."

"So are you kinda like an Avenger now then? Am I tatting an Avenger?" he asks, stopping momentarily in his process.

The question hits Emma and she says, "No, not an Avenger. Not really. I'm just kinda... there most of the time if I'm honest, but I'm starting to be okay with that. See, if I wasn't there, huge hero nerds like you wouldn't get the fix you need when the Avengers go out into battle."

"And we thank you for your service," Travis says as he starts on the tattoo.

A few more minutes of silence pass as Travis tattoos and Emma squeezes a stress ball before Travis asks, "So...it was a little while back, but what's going on with you and Captain Rogers? I always saw photos of you two out and about on the hero blogs I follow."

Emma's heart misses a beat at the question and she hesitates, "I uh-"

Travis senses the tension at the question and says, "Too personal, got it."

Emma thinks of what her therapist says about facing tough questions head-on and tells him, "No, no, it's okay. I mean...it is a touchy subject right now, but back during the time you were talking about, that's when I was assigned to help Cap get acclimated to the modern-day. I was kind of like a...professional best friend."

"Okay, you are now hands down the most interesting person I have ever inked. I can't even imagine getting to hang out with Captain freakin' America!"

"He's still a bit old-fashioned. Holds doors for us ladies, listens to his 40s music, still occasionally needs help with technology, but he's made a lot of progress." Emma's mind flashes back to those days when things were simpler and she smiles as she tells him, "It is pretty sick hanging out with him."

Travis finishes up the tattoo after a little while and tells Emma, "Well if you're ever too busy and he needs someone to show him another side of the modern-day, hit me up."

"I'll keep it in mind," Emma replies as she pays him before heading out the door. Before she goes, she turns to him and says, "Thank you by the way."

"Any time," he replies with a two-finger salute as Emma walks off into the night back to her car.

The cool air hits her skin as she heads to her car and Emma smiles. That was the first time since that day she had thought of Steve and it didn't end in tears. She laughs to herself at the thought as she sits down in the driver's seat of her car. She isn't ready just yet to talk about what happened with him, there was still a lot of unpacking to do first, but there finally seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

A couple of weeks later, everyone gets moved into the new Avengers facility upstate. Well, not everyone. After the Battle of Sokovia, Clint decided to retire to be with his family, Thor went off-world in search of answers to the vision he saw, and Tony was thinking of retiring to live a calmer life away from avenging, for Pepper's sake. And Bruce...well Bruce went missing in a quinjet with the stealth mode on and no one had any clue where he was. Emma wrote all of this for her latest article on the Avengers. She conducted in-person interviews with Tony and Thor and video chatted with Clint when he didn't have his hands tied up with his growing family. This took up the first few days of living in the compound after settling in, and now it was time for the in-person interviews with the new team.

Emma throws on her AI glasses and grabs her tablet before heading down to the training area where the team was supposed to be training together. As she walks there, Emma sets up everything into capture and report mode so she can get everything that is said so she can then transcribe it into the article.

When the door to the room comes into view, Emma's heart lurches. She hadn't spoken at all with Steve since that day, she was sure Rhodes still wanted her arrested, and Wanda was now part of the team. Needless to say, Emma was still a bit hesitant to be around her because of the vision she made her see. The rapid onset of anxious thoughts makes the music from the AI system play quietly in her ears, and Emma takes a deep breath before pushing open the door.

Sam, geared up in his Falcon suit, is the one to bring attention to Emma's presence by calling her name and waving like a five-year-old. Emma gives a small smile and waves as all eyes turn to her. She panics for a second before telling herself, You got this, it'll all go smoothly. After her pep talk, she announces, "Hey, uh, Tony asked me to do an article interviewing the new team. If we could maybe do that, whoever wants to go first, please follow me. I'll try to be quick and get out of your way shortly. Thanks."

Sam instantly walks over her way and Emma leads him to the corner of the room for the interview. Before Emma can start asking questions, Sam says with a smile, "I'm glad we're all living here together, you, me, and Steve. The Three Amigos back together!"

Emma tries not to show her sadness at the statement as she realizes that Steve hadn't told him what happened. Maybe that was a good thing? It could mean that there was still hope for them? She mentally shakes her head and smiles at Sam, saying, "Just like old times." Emma taps the side of her glasses and says, "SAM start recording please."

Sam has a look of confusion on his face but proceeds to pull out his phone as he says, "And here I was thinking you had all the fancy Stark tech."

Emma can't help but laugh at the statement and tells him, "Oh no, no the uh the AI is called SAM. Acronym for Saving Asses Mundanely. Tony named her."

"Perfectly not confusing," Sam says with a laugh while putting away his phone.

"Yeah, I'll have to end up just calling you Wilson or Falcon on missions."

"Works for me," Sam replies with a smile. He claps his hands and rubs them together before saying, "Now let's get on with this interview."

"Let's. So first, Mr. Wilson, Falcon, are you excited about your new post as an Avenger?"

"Oh absolutely. Ever since the mission of taking down HYDRA undercover in SHIELD I've wanted to join the team, but I had some other matters to attend to on Captain Rogers' orders."

"I see, thank you. Now, I know you have a background in pararescue with the US military, how do you think that will play into your role on the team?"

"Asking the good questions, aren't we? Well I think that my flight skills will serve the team well in terms of agility in battles that may be fought in the air as well as my rescue skills being used if anyone were to get injured. I would swoop in and save them. See what I did there?"

Emma laughs at the comment and asks a few more questions before dismissing him to go train with the rest of the group. She conducts the rest of the interviews with the team, making sure to stay professional with Wanda and Rhodes.

Knowing it would be her most nerve-wracking interview, Emma saves the one with Steve and Natasha for last. When they finish up, Emma approaches the two of them and says, "Hey Cap, Natasha, if you two are ready I can interview you both at the same time." After they dismiss the group for the time being, Emma cues up SAM again and asks, "So as the leaders of the new group of Avengers what's your opinion of them all so far as a team?"

"Well we're not the '27 Yankees," Steve replies with a slight chuckle while looking at Natasha.

"But we do have some hitters," Natasha points out.

Steve nods and adds, "Individually they're all good, but they're not a team yet. Everyone works well alone and has their special skills, but cohesion...we haven't gotten there yet. It'll take some time."

"I know we can beat them into shape though," Natasha says with a small smirk.

Emma nods, asking, "So, optimistic about it?"

Natasha elbows Steve in the ribs and says, "Giddy optimism is Rogers' middle name."

Emma nods as she continues, asking, "And what about each of you individually, are you ready to learn a whole new team dynamic? What with four of your original members not present."

Steve speaks first and replies, "As a soldier, you learn that you should never grow used to something, especially team dynamic. You have to be on your toes learning and adapting to new experiences. As long as I'm a soldier I try not to grow complacent about anything."

Emma nods as Natasha adds, "I was trained to rely on myself and myself alone. A team is good to have your back if things go wrong though, so it'll be good to have this group of individuals backing me if I need it."

Emma asks a few more questions before wrapping up the interview and thanking them. She considers finally breaking her silence with Steve about what happened but backs out before any words leave her mouth.

Before Emma can turn to leave to begin writing her article, Steve speaks up, telling her, "You know, if you want, our offer we made at Barton's ranch is still on the table. We can use all the hands we can get on the team."

Emma nods and replies, "Maybe soon, but for now, I need to get to work on this. I'll get back to you on that." She offers a small smile before heading off to her room to begin piecing everything together for an article.

For the next few days, Emma works on her article and begins training with the other agents and military troops that are stationed at the compound. With that on top of her visit back to the city to see her therapist, she barely has time for relaxing. One night when she enters the compound at around ten, she's stopped by Sam who has a couple of board games in his arms. "Hey, Emma! We were all about to play some board games, wanna join us? Nat wants to make it more fun with drinks."

Emma offers a small smile and replies, "Thanks, but maybe not tonight, I'm sorry."

"Oh come on, Ems! We've been living under the same roof and I feel like I never see you."

"I've just been really busy is all," Emma replies quietly.

"Too busy for your best friends?" Sam asks, giving her the puppy dog eyes. When Emma doesn't reply right away, Sam studies her and then asks, "Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

Emma debates whether or not to tell Sam, and then decides it would be best to tell the truth. "I guess you really don't know then. Outside of business things like that interview I did with all of you, Steve and I haven't talked in almost a month..."

"What? Why? And why didn't either of you tell me?" he asks, shock evident in his voice.

Emma looks at the floor and traces patterns on it with the toe of her shoe. "At the party at the tower, when Ultron came to be, he told everyone that I have...a bit of a dodgy past. He said that I broke the law, which, don't get me wrong I did, but he didn't know my motivations as to why I did the things I did. I had good reason, but all he was worried about was the fact that I did it. That didn't sit right with Steve, and when I went to talk with him about it after everything, he said he couldn't trust me because he didn't know me.

"Maria says it was probably a heat of the moment thing, and it may have been, there was a lot of secrecy among the whole team we came to find out, so maybe that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. It really hurt though, Sam. I want to talk with him so badly because I think I finally figured out what to say, but at this point, I'm not sure he would even want to talk with me."

"Wow," Sam whispers and shakes his head. "I had no idea...it all makes sense though. He's seemed kinda distant lately, but I just thought it was because of the thing in Sokovia and then having to lead a whole new team."

"God I wish Ultron never said a damn thing..." Emma mutters in frustration while rubbing her temples. "I never wanted to hurt him."

"I know you didn't, Ems," Sam tells her gently. "Here, how about this: later, I talk with him and tell him that I spoke with you and you wanted to get things cleared up. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I can just tell him that you want to patch things up with him. I'll be the bridge, the messenger."

"Would you not mind? If it's too much trouble I can suck it up and be an adult about it and approach him myself."

"No, no it's all good. I'll talk with him, then he can come to you when he's ready. So, are you ready to talk with him about it? Because once I tell him, there's no backing out."

The thought of finally clearing things up with Steve makes Emma smile, so she nods and replies, "Yes, I'm ready. I hope this can be the start of this fiasco being put behind us."

"That's the spirit," Sam replies as he shifts the games to one arm and pats Emma on the back with the other. "Now, you go get some rest. Next week's game night you can join us. I've been wanting to show Vision Just Dance, but it wouldn't be as fun without you."

"Sounds like a plan. Again, thank you, Sam." And with that, Emma heads to her room for the night.

The next morning, Emma is about to head down to the kitchen to get some coffee when there’s a gentle knock at her door. Knowing it was probably Steve, Emma's heart jumps in her chest. She takes a breath and slowly opens the door to reveal Steve standing there with his hands behind his back, looking a bit nervous. He offers a small smile and says, "Hey. Sam said you wanted to talk?"

"If that's okay with you," Emma tells him. Steve nods and she opens the door fully, welcoming him into the room. He sits in the office chair she has sat by her desk while Emma sits cross-legged on her bed.

Before Emma can start talking, Steve speaks up, saying, "I just thought I'd apologize for what I said that day, Em. It wasn't called for, I was just really frustrated over a lot of things and I took it out on you."

"No, no it's okay, I understand. I didn't tell you about a big part of my life, and I can see how that hurt you. I just...I wanted you to hear my side of the story. The side that Ultron didn't have access to because it wasn't on the web."

Steve nods his head and says, "I'm all ears. No outbursts this time."

Emma laughs a bit before she starts her story. "What Ultron said about me hacking police scanners and all of that was 100% true, I can't deny that, but I had a reason behind it. I apologize in advance if I get emotional talking about this, it's just hard to talk about because I always tried to forget about it all until recently. But yeah, it started when I applied to be on the NYPD journalist team but was denied and the job was given to some blonde chick with more botox than experience in journalism. I had a degree in journalism, a recommendation from my local newspaper where I had an internship, and was frankly pissed that I didn't get the job. I was new in town, my grandfather had just passed away, and after not getting that position I was just angry at the world, so I kinda hacked into the police radio system...

"Anyways, the cases I did, the ones I brought it upon myself to bring justice to, were almost always cases of domestic assault. The police usually disregarded the cases, tossing them out if there wasn't an active threat when they arrived, so I would go back the next night and put up a camera to capture proof of what was going on. I then would send in an anonymous tip and the scumbag would be busted within a few days."

Emma pauses and takes a shaky breath, saying, "I did these kinds of cases because I couldn't just stand by and let these things happen because I knew what it was like to be in that situation... You see, my father wasn't a good man. Far from it. From the time I could walk there were expectations of me that were wildly unrealistic, but I was always expected to live up to them. If I didn't meet his standards, he would yell at me, call me names, just all around be super awful, and if the task wasn't done well enough or fast enough, sometimes...uh..."

Emma closes her eyes and takes a break for a second, spinning the ring on her thumb furiously trying not to cry. "Emma, if it's too hard to talk about you don't have to," Steve says gently, his own emotions running high seeing Emma in such a vulnerable state.

"No, I want you to know the whole truth. I want you to know about my past, to know me..." She waits for a second more before continuing, "If I didn't complete the task to his liking, sometimes he would...hurt me. The physical side of things wasn't too often I don’t think, but it was enough to suppress a lot of my childhood memories. I still knew the feeling though, and I didn't want anyone to go through that hell. So that's what I did and why I did it.

"Somehow Fury figured out who I was and recruited me for SHIELD as a reporter. He told me that I had promise and skills that the agency could use for good, so he turned my life around. I never did anything illegal again, you know unless it was under orders from SHIELD. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant saving innocent people's lives though." Even though it felt good knowing she didn't have to hide the past from Steve anymore, Emma still feels guilty and avoids making eye contact with Steve as she says quietly, "Well, now you know what really happened and...I hope this can be the start of building the trust between us again."

After her statement, without thinking, Steve stands up and pulls Emma up into an embrace. Emma relaxes into his strong arms and Steve whispers, "God, I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Em." He pauses and admits quietly, "My father wasn't the best man either. He would try and hurt me but Mom always got in the middle of it to protect me. She was one of the bravest women I know. You're pretty high on that list too, Em, I hope you know that"

Emma smiles a bit and hugs Steve tighter as she says, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that Steve... As for me though I've been learning that everything happens for a reason. It may not have been the ideal life, but," she pauses for half a second before deciding to continue, "if it hadn't happened the way it did, I wouldn't have met you."

Steve smiles at the statement and he hopes that Emma can't feel his heart rate increase in response. He releases Emma from his embrace and tells her, "Thank you for telling me, Em. I'm glad you trust me enough to be so vulnerable and honest. And again, I'm so sorry I said what I did. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Hey, it's okay. And I know it may take a little bit of time to get where we were again, but...are we good?" She pauses and decides to crack a joke, asking, "Can I go back to beating your ass at Mario Kart with Sam?"

Steve chuckles and nods, saying, "Yes, we're good."

"Yay!" Emma replies with a smile.

She quickly wipes the excess tears from her eyes as the two exit her room and head to the kitchen together. Emma's mind is so busy trying to remember the feeling of being in his arms that she almost misses Steve asking, "Will you be joining us for meals and, as Sam dubs it, team bonding?"

"Oh I wouldn't want to intrude," Emma replies, snapping back into reality.

"I insist. You're as much part of the team as anyone else. It's been killing me not to tell you how well you did in Sokovia, by the way. For your first mission in the field, you did a great job."

Emma can't help the smile that makes its way onto her lips as she says, "Thank you, Steve. It means a lot. That night I was pretty pissed, so I got a lot of training in learning how to utilize SAM in battle mode."

"Well if that's what kind of work you can do when you're angry, I'd like to see more of it," Steve replies with a quiet laugh.

Emma huffs out a noise of amusement and says back, "I think we could find some other motivation to get me working that isn't anger-driven. I'd like to think I've been working hard with the other recruits in my physical training, so don't count me out just yet."

"Oh, I won't. Remember you're still part of the team. Once you get your basics down, Nat agreed that we should take you in to train with the rest of us. If you're okay with that of course."

"As long as I'd be accepted. I think Rhodes might not feel the same way about my past as others do. And," she pauses, not knowing how to phrase the next part, "and with Wanda, she's..."

Steve hums inquisitively and when he isn't met with an answer, he says, "Wanda's a changed person now, Em. She truly regrets showing all of us what she did in those visions." He pauses for a moment before telling her, "He didn't give me details, but Clint told me that what she showed you was the reason you walked out on the mission that night at the ranch. I can tell that she feels guilty for what she showed you the way she reacts when someone brings up the fact that you haven't been with us lately. You can be your own judge of character though."

"It just may take a bit of time," Emma replies.

"Don't rush it, some things just take time. While you're doing your basics, you can hang out with all of us and get to know everyone better. You'll see that she isn't who Ultron or HYDRA wanted her to be."

Emma nods as they get into the kitchen where Sam is having breakfast with Maria. "I see you two made up?" Sam asks with a hopeful smile.

Maria adds, "It's about damn time."

The pair smile and nod as Emma tells the two of them, "It's good to be back."

link to the next part

a/n okay holy shit I have way too much music for this post so I’ll just list them instead of putting the Spotify links (whoops) {and again, there is a playlist on Spotify already but if you don’t want spoilers via the music on there I would avoid it for now}

Matter to You - Sasha Alex Sloan

Reflection - Hey Violet

Missing You - All Time Low

Why - Read Southall Band

What Hurts the Most - Rascal Flatts

Secret for the Mad - Dodie

Famous Last Words - My Chemical Romance

Two Ghosts - Harry Styles

Close as Strangers - 5SOS

Little do you Know - Alex and Sierra

Easy on Me - Adele

forever fifteen - mothica

Still - Niall Horan

Arms Unfolding - Dodie

Sparks Fly - Hey Violet

Apple Pie - Lizzie McAlpine

#fanfic #marvel #captain america #slow burn #steve rogers #romance #fanfiction #writing #friends to lovers #steve rogers friends to lovers #steve rogers slow burn #protective steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers romance #steve rogers x oc #captain america fic

[hatecharredarch]

Brain  rot  thoughts  of  the  day  about  Toya's  childhood.  Its  a  canon  thing  that  he  was  very  small  growing  up.  He  was  nearly  14  when  his  flames  started  changing  colour  but  he  didn't  "properly"  hit  puberty  until  around  15,  which  he  was  entirely  comatose  for.  This  is  kinda  a  source  of  some  mental  trauma  for  him  because  honestly,  it  was  real  difficult  to  go  from  being  one  thing  and  then  wake  up  a  completely  other  thing. 

He  didn't  get  to  "psychologically"  ease  into  the  changes  of  his  body  slowly,  he  just  woke  up  and  it  was  all  different  and thats  helped  create  a  huge  disconnect  he  feels  with  himself,  the  whole,  not  being  able  to  properly  feel  sensations  anymore  on  top  of  that.  Dabi  usually  feels  like  he  just  a  consciousness  in  a  shell  sometimes,  he's  barely  even  inhabiting  a  body  that  he's  not  even  sure  is  his  anymore  and  thats  not  good  for  the  mental  health. 

Anyway,  needless  to  say,  Toya  struggled  with  having  a  comfortable,  forfuilling  social  life  outside  of  his  siblings  when  he  was  young.  Fuyumi  and  Natsuo  were  his  only  real  friends,  with  Natsuo  probably  considered  Toya's  best  friend,  even  though  Natsuo  was  only  8.  Toya's  stature  was  so  short  and  slight  however,  compaired  to  his  brother  who  was  ironicly  the  oppsite  and  very  tall  for  an  8  year  old,  it  was  a  frequent  occurence  that  to  see  the  two  of  them  together  would  result  in  Toya  being  mistken  for  the  8  year  old  Natsuo  as  the 13  year  old  btween  them.  

It  wasn't  just  Toya's  'drive'  to  be  a  hero  that  'isolated'  him  from  other  kids.  He  didn't  actually  intentionally  do  that  to  himself,  but  other  kids  weren't  very  accepting  of  him  so  he  found  comfort  in  his  father's  concept  of  heros  belonging  in  a  different  world  and  that  really  did  help  fuel  Toya's  drive  to  try  prove  himself  to  his  dad  even  though  he  was  actively  being  shunned  and  rejected  from  his  dad's  world  too,  by  his  dad,  no  less. 

Yet,  some  part  of  his  sad,  confused  little  brain  felt  he  had  a  better  shot  of  fitting  in  with  his  dad's  world  than  anywhere  else,  particularly  because  he  was  made  aware  that  he  was  born  for  that  purpose  and  was  already  grappling  with  the  concept  of  there  being  no  point  to  him  even  existing  if  he  couldn't  do  that  somehow. 

Honestly,  yeah,  Toya  did  not  have  a  good  time  with  other  people  as  a  kid.  It  wasn't  just  the  "neglect"  from  his  parents  we're  shown  in  canon  that  fucked  him  up.  Also  as  a  quick  side  note  a  lot  of  people  give  Rei  waaaaaaaaaay  too  much  credit  as  a  mother  here.  As  far  as  Toya  went  she  was  almost  as  bad  as  Enji  when  it  came  to  doing  wrong  by  him.  We  get  the  idea  that  she  avoided  him  and  this  had  to  have  been  someway  true  given  Toya  was  SOMEHOW  able  to  sneak  out  to  Sekoto  Peak  ON  HIS  OWN,  not  to  mention  the  fact  he  seemed  to  have  been  able  to  do  this  as  young  as  eight. 

This  was  not  a  boy  who  was  being  looked  after  or  supervised  by  his  parents  and  while  ENJI  was  the  main  'problem'  here  he  DID  have  an  excuse  for  not  keeping  an  eye  on  Toya  at  all  times  given  his  work.  Rei  kinda...  Didn't  have  that  excuse  outside  of  just...  Neglect.  

Which  is  odd  because  we  didn't  see  Rei  being  this  neglectful  of  her  other  children.  She's  always  shown  with  Shoto,  they  have  a  very  close  relationship  previous  to  her  institutionalization,  and  she's  also  usually  shown  with  Natsu  and  Fuyumi  too... Toya's  the  outlier.  ( And  yeah,  real  quick,  we  get  Toya  was  a  very  determined  kid  who  was  difficult  to  control  but  still,  I  can't  imagine  Rei's neglect  of  him  did  anything  to  help  steer  him away  from  his  "unhealthy  obsession"  with  trying  to  prove  his  worth  to  his  dad,  but  yeah. ) 

 Anyway,  being  someone  who  was  noted  as  VERY  "small"  for  their  age  was  one  thing  but  things  stacking  on  top  of  this  was  both  Toya's  quirk  being  one  that  hurts  him,  which  was  treated  as  some  kind  of  taboo  thing,  and  OF  COURSE,  his  dad  being  the  #2  hero  made  things  even  worse.  Being  the  son  of  such  a  popular  and  successful  hero  meant  any  flaw  or  short  coming  Toya  ever  had  was  emphasized  by  about  a  million  and  children  are  cruel.  

Needless  to  say  he  was  bullied  more  often  than  not  for  these  things.  He  got  called  a  runt  or, specifically,  "Endeavor's  runt"  a  lot  as  well  as  the  much  nicer  "Tiny  Toya"  which  followed  him  all  through  school. Other  kids  either  quietly  avoided  him  because  his  quirk  was  dangerous  and  they  tended  to  think  of  him  badly  since  he  was  OFTEN,  especially  when  he  was  younger, covered  in  bandages and/or  gauze  due  to  burning  himself,  or  he  was  pushed  around  and  made  fun  of. 

Some  particularly  nasty  kids  found  it  funny  to  torment  him  because  of  the  fact  he  wasn't  actually  allowed  to  use  his  quirk  due  to  these  things  and  so  the  idea  of  goading  him  to  see  if  they  could  get  him  to  use  it   was  just  a  mean  game, particularly  because  they  could  either  A)  make  him  hurt  himself  with  it  or  B)  if  they  got  hurt  as  a  result  he'd  be  in  a  world  of  trouble.

This  frequent  bullying  wasn't  something  he  really  talked  about  with  anyone  because  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  he  didn't  want  anyone  especially  his  dad  or  really  anyone  else in  his  family  to  know  it  was  a  thing  because  he  didn't  wanna  add  to  any  negative  perceptions  of  him  being  a  failure  somehow. By  the  time  he  was  13  though,  Toya  had  gotten  good  enough  to  mostly  prevent  burning  himself  and  usually  the  burns  he'd  get  were  in  places  he  could  hide  which  was  AGAIN  a  testiment  to  how  good  Toya  had  started  to  get  and  managing  his  fire  power. 

As  a  side  note,  since  this  was  the  time  when  he  nearly  burned  to  death,  Dabi  only  has  about  a  6th-7th  grade  education. He  didn't  even  make  it  to  proper  "highschool",  so  he  never  got  to  UA  or  anything  but  he'd  have  sure  as  fuck  tried  had  things  gone  different. 

#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* 炎 💠 ━◞ Out Of Character ⊱ #⊰ ° ‧: ｡* 炎 💠 ━◞ Headcanons ⊱ #Headcanons #Reposts this once again thinking about how similar Toya and Izuku were #Boy was nearly a Shounen anime protag himself #bullying mention cw #abuse mention cw

[waywardvictorianconfessions]

You can treat this as NAC cuz long:

Being raised by two parents who have severe and untreated narcissistic personality disorder warped my view of acceptable behavior and I was used to making excuses for people’s horrifying actions. So as a teen I excuse the whole CosetteAlice situation as Emilie’s trauma being triggered, it’s not her fault because she’s bipolar, etc.

As an adult who has now been in years of therapy and is now about as old as Emilie was when she did that I am beyond horrified looking back. Her behavior was completely despicable and unacceptable. This wasn’t a face to face confrontation, it was in her forum. If she was upset and triggered by what people were saying she could’ve been the adult and walked away from her keyboard. Most of the people on that forum were definitely teenagers and I’m sure CosetteAlice was too. I think about her sometimes now and I hope she’s okay. I can’t imagine what I would’ve done as a teenager if someone I admired so much spoke to me in that way. 

The forums being shut down was definitely for the best if that is how she acted towards pretty mild criticism. It greatly reminds me of my abusers who have the thinnest skin imaginable and go into personal attacks and extreme overreactions for even the most mild, warranted, good faith criticisms. It would be hard to deny that that doesn’t describe Emilie as well.  The other way narcissists handle conflicts or criticism is to completely push things aside and lie about them or pretend that they didn’t happen. Even if it literally costs them friends they just pretend like the friends never existed. This also sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Cleansing the feed? Charlotte?

NPD also explains why she has not matured even though she is in her mid-40s now. Most people grow, and develop and change. My abusers still try to manipulate me using the tactics that worked when I was a young child who relied on them for care. Now that I’m a grown adult that is self-sufficient from them and know better it doesn’t work but they still try so hard. This is another key feature of narcissism and another reason why I do believe she actually does have NPD because they can’t admit their fault or believe they made mistakes they can’t learn from these mistakes. This is something most people who don’t have a personality disorder take for granted. If you tried a tactic and didn’t work you would do something else, right? Well a narcissist could never admit that they did something wrong at all. Has she ever apologized to anyone? Aromaleigh, Vecona, CossetteAlice, AngelSpit all deserve apologies to name a few people she stole from, lied to, or hurt.

People who try to defend the actions of narcissists or throw around “ableism” at people who criticize them make me so sad. I hope they’re just ignorant and do some research as to what this disorder actually is. And speaking of someone who has C PTSD and a long list of physical illnesses due to trauma (my GI tract is barely functioning due to chronic stress since birth and I take 2 medications every day for it) as a result of being abused by narcissists I can say that mental illness is never an excuse for abusive behavior. I don’t care what your diagnosis is or what you struggle with, it is never acceptable. The behavior of most narcissists is abusive and despicable and should be criticized. Emilie has many good qualities and talent and it’s a shame that her NPD prevents her from moving on or growing up like most of her fans have. I hope she gets the help she needs but the sad thing about NPD is they almost never do because that would mean admitting there is something wrong with the way they treat others and taking the steps and effort to change or control their very personality. I still wish her the best.

[foulflame]

Childhood / Bullying.

Brain  rot  thoughts  of  the  day  about  Toya's  childhood.  Its  a  canon  thing  that  he  was  very  small  growing  up.  He  was  nearly  14  when  his  flames  started  changing  colour  but  he  didn't  "properly"  hit  puberty  until  around  15,  which  he  was  entirely  comatose  for.  This  is  kinda  a  source  of  some  mental  trauma  for  him  because  honestly,  it  was  real  difficult  to  go  from  being  one  thing  and  then  wake  up  a  completely  other  thing. 

He  didn't  get  to  "psychologically"  ease  into  the  changes  of  his  body  slowly,  he  just  woke  up  and  it  was  all  different  and thats  helped  create  a  huge  disconnect  he  feels  with  himself,  the  whole,  not  being  able  to  properly  feel  sensations  anymore  on  top  of  that.  Dabi  usually  feels  like  he  just  a  consciousness  in  a  shell  sometimes,  he's  barely  even  inhabiting  a  body  that  he's  not  even  sure  is  his  anymore  and  thats  not  good  for  the  mental  health. 

Anyway,  needless  to  say,  Toya  struggled  with  having  a  comfortable,  forfuilling  social  life  outside  of  his  siblings  when  he  was  young.  Fuyumi  and  Natsuo  were  his  only  real  friends,  with  Natsuo  probably  considered  Toya's  best  friend,  even  though  Natsuo  was  only  8.  Toya's  stature  was  so  short  and  slight  however,  compaired  to  his  brother  who  was  ironicly  the  oppsite  and  very  tall  for  an  8  year  old,  it  was  a  frequent  occurence  that  to  see  the  two  of  them  together  would  result  in  Toya  being  mistken  for  the  8  year  old  Natsuo  as  the 13  year  old  btween  them.  

It  wasn't  just  Toya's  'drive'  to  be  a  hero  that  'isolated'  him  from  other  kids.  He  didn't  actually  intentionally  do  that  to  himself,  but  other  kids  weren't  very  accepting  of  him  so  he  found  comfort  in  his  father's  concept  of  heros  belonging  in  a  different  world  and  that  really  did  help  fuel  Toya's  drive  to  try  prove  himself  to  his  dad  even  though  he  was  actively  being  shunned  and  rejected  from  his  dad's  world  too,  by  his  dad,  no  less. 

Yet,  some  part  of  his  sad,  confused  little  brain  felt  he  had  a  better  shot  of  fitting  in  with  his  dad's  world  than  anywhere  else,  particularly  because  he  was  made  aware  that  he  was  born  for  that  purpose  and  was  already  grappling  with  the  concept  of  there  being  no  point  to  him  even  existing  if  he  couldn't  do  that  somehow. 

Honestly,  yeah,  Toya  did  not  have  a  good  time  with  other  people  as  a  kid.  It  wasn't  just  the  "neglect"  from  his  parents  we're  shown  in  canon  that  fucked  him  up.  Also  as  a  quick  side  note  a  lot  of  people  give  Rei  waaaaaaaaaay  too  much  credit  as  a  mother  here.  As  far  as  Toya  went  she  was  almost  as  bad  as  Enji  when  it  came  to  doing  wrong  by  him.  We  get  the  idea  that  she  avoided  him  and  this  had  to  have  been  someway  true  given  Toya  was  SOMEHOW  able  to  sneak  out  to  Sekoto  Peak  ON  HIS  OWN,  not  to  mention  the  fact  he  seemed  to  have  been  able  to  do  this  as  young  as  eight. 

This  was  not  a  boy  who  was  being  looked  after  or  supervised  by  his  parents  and  while  ENJI  was  the  main  'problem'  here  he  DID  have  an  excuse  for  not  keeping  an  eye  on  Toya  at  all  times  given  his  work.  Rei  kinda...  Didn't  have  that  excuse  outside  of  just...  Neglect.  

Which  is  odd  because  we  didn't  see  Rei  being  this  neglectful  of  her  other  children.  She's  always  shown  with  Shoto,  they  have  a  very  close  relationship  previous  to  her  institutionalization,  and  she's  also  usually  shown  with  Natsu  and  Fuyumi  too... Toya's  the  outlier.  ( And  yeah,  real  quick,  we  get  Toya  was  a  very  determined  kid  who  was  difficult  to  control  but  still,  I  can't  imagine  Rei's neglect  of  him  did  anything  to  help  steer  him away  from  his  "unhealthy  obsession"  with  trying  to  prove  his  worth  to  his  dad,  but  yeah. ) 

 Anyway,  being  someone  who  was  noted  as  VERY  "small"  for  their  age  was  one  thing  but  things  stacking  on  top  of  this  was  both  Toya's  quirk  being  one  that  hurts  him,  which  was  treated  as  some  kind  of  taboo  thing,  and  OF  COURSE,  his  dad  being  the  #2  hero  made  things  even  worse.  Being  the  son  of  such  a  popular  and  successful  hero  meant  any  flaw  or  short  coming  Toya  ever  had  was  emphasized  by  about  a  million  and  children  are  cruel.  

Needless  to  say  he  was  bullied  more  often  than  not  for  these  things.  He  got  called  a  runt  or, specifically,  "Endeavor's  runt"  a  lot  as  well  as  the  much  nicer  "Tiny  Toya"  which  followed  him  all  through  school. Other  kids  either  quietly  avoided  him  because  his  quirk  was  dangerous  and  they  tended  to  think  of  him  badly  since  he  was  OFTEN,  especially  when  he  was  younger, covered  in  bandages and/or  gauze  due  to  burning  himself,  or  he  was  pushed  around  and  made  fun  of. 

Some  particularly  nasty  kids  found  it  funny  to  torment  him  because  of  the  fact  he  wasn't  actually  allowed  to  use  his  quirk  due  to  these  things  and  so  the  idea  of  goading  him  to  see  if  they  could  get  him  to  use  it   was  just  a  mean  game, particularly  because  they  could  either  A)  make  him  hurt  himself  with  it  or  B)  if  they  got  hurt  as  a  result  he'd  be  in  a  world  of  trouble.

This  frequent  bullying  wasn't  something  he  really  talked  about  with  anyone  because  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  he  didn't  want  anyone  especially  his  dad  or  really  anyone  else in  his  family  to  know  it  was  a  thing  because  he  didn't  wanna  add  to  any  negative  perceptions  of  him  being  a  failure  somehow. By  the  time  he  was  13  though,  Toya  had  gotten  good  enough  to  mostly  prevent  burning  himself  and  usually  the  burns  he'd  get  were  in  places  he  could  hide  which  was  AGAIN  a  testiment  to  how  good  Toya  had  started  to  get  and  managing  his  fire  power. 

As  a  side  note,  since  this  was  the  time  when  he  nearly  burned  to  death,  Dabi  only  has  about  a  6th-7th  grade  education. He  didn't  even  make  it  to  proper  "highschool",  so  he  never  got  to  UA  or  anything  but  he'd  have  sure  as  fuck  tried  had  things  gone  different. 

#headcanons

[equalseleventhirds]

update on my Situation: my parents are not getting a divorce. they had a fight and both of them overreacted and thought the other wanted a divorce.

i remain quite upset with them for putting my baby brother through that, since that’s what upset me in the first place. they can fight and have misunderstandings but they should not have handled him and his emotions they way they did.

#algie is trying to adult #my family has always been pretty dysfunctional but this was a fucking line #my older brother talked to them and he's a lot more forgiving than me #explained that my dad has depression and he was feeling vulnerable and afraid that my mom didn't love him #cool cool cool you still don't tell your kid 'your mom and i are getting a divorce. go to your room until you calm down.' #we all have depression here! all ur kids learned to deal with it! #we went to THERAPY we took MEDS we found SUPPORT NETWORKS #you refused to get therapy or medication bcos you could 'think your way through it'! #you expressed disappointment in ME for needing medication! #your main support network is your WIFE and no one else! you barely have friends who are not her friends! #go to FUCKING therapy like an adult! #AND ANOTHER THING #you still emotionally manipulated all of us when we were kids and have never ever ever addressed this! #..........sorry i'm still mad #i understand my parents have their issues but that does not excuse how they treated their kids #how they are still treating their kids including the literal child who still lives at home with them and relies on them #god. i almost feel like it would have been better if they were getting divorced. #i'm so goddamn tired of reliving my personal traumas when i talk to my family #anyway um #family discussion cw #mental illness cw #divorce cw #idk what else this needs to be tagged with lmk if you need something tagged

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

[inkykeiji]

beautiful when the damage is done

part one | part two

characters: todoroki touya | dabi, todoroki natsuo

genre: smut laced with angst and a pinch of fluff

notes: part two of getting naughty with natsuo!! please please heed the warnings!! | title cred: sick thoughts by lewis blissett

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, sadism, punishment via overstimulation, pseudo-incest (stepcest), vaguely implied incest, emotional manipulation, a hint of degradation, toxic relationships, poly relationship, dom/sub dynamics, a LOT of crying (dacryphilia), slight size kink/size difference, rough sex

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.

It’s musty, air thick with the haze of sweat and sex, saturated the smell of tears and cum, so potent you swear you can almost see it in the atmosphere of Touya’s room. Uncontrollable quivers course through your entire body, never-ending chills erupting across bare, damp skin that shines every time it catches in the dim beams coming from Touya’s desk lamp.

Your scalp is still sore from where Touya yanked you off of Natsuo—back in the living room, how many hours ago? It feels as though it’s been forever since then, memory murky and swimming as you try to think—one strong hand wrapped in your hair jerking you up with such force you nearly stumbled. The pain is dull, a throbbing ache that radiates fading waves of hurt along your skull.

It’s constant, though, brewing a headache that is equal parts agony and dehydration, and you wish to rub at the spot, to place your palm over it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort at least a little, but you can’t.

Because it feels as if your blood has been replaced with sand, dense and heavy as it clogs your veins, weighing your arms down and keeping them firmly locked around Natsuo’s neck, steadying you in his lap.

But the ache in your scalp is nothing compared to the burn between your legs.

You can feel it, your third orgasm, churning in the depths of your stomach as it builds, a blistering warmth furling into a tight, concentrated ball of fire. It’s almost sickening, now, the heat roiling inside of you as heavy as lead, wracking destruction on your body as tender muscles, already quaking from exhaustion, begin to tense once more, to coil and wind up the way a lithe tiger does right before it strikes.

“Nat-Natsuo, I can’t,” the words wobble as they spill from between clattering teeth, you head shaking sluggishly as fresh tears sting your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs softly to you, gentler than he’s ever been before but refusing to slow his movements as he bounces you on his cock, concerned stone eyes searching your face while his fingers flex on your hips, readjusting their grip on the slippery skin.

“You better,” Touya spits from his place on his bed, peering down at the two of you with something akin to disgust, to derision, saturating his features. And it stings, blazing sapphire searing his glare into your skin much like how he had carved his name into you, years ago.

A wet sob hitches in time with Natsuo’s rough thrusts, has you choking on it, concentrated with thick saliva that sticks in your throat and forces your breaths to escape in wheezes, hands clasping tighter behind Natsuo’s neck.

Yet, despite the pain, there are still sparks of pleasure that accompany each catch of your puffy clit on Natsuo’s slick skin, flickers of lust interspersed with those excruciating spikes that shoot through your abdomen.

It hits suddenly, that third orgasm—you’re halfway through your punishment now, Touya reminds you—has your tightly shut eyelids springing open with a gasp, entire body freezing up in Natsuo’s strong grasp, a grunt falling from his chapped lips as he drives his hips to piston into your rigid body.

He follows only a few moments later with a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, body vibrating with the force of it as his thick cock throbs, filling your little cunt with spurt after spurt of cum that feels almost cool in comparison to your scalding insides.

Touya allows half hour breaks between each orgasm—a short refraction period for you and Natsuo to regain infinitesimal amounts of strength—and not a second more, he had spit after the second orgasm, cutting off your plea for just a few more moments of rest, because this is plenty of time, more than you need, really and you should be grateful he’s so generous.

By the time you’re due for your fourth orgasm, you can barely move, and Natsuo doesn’t have the arm strength to hold you up anymore, to force your hips to keep gyrating or to bounce you on his cock, his entire upper half spent.

“Lay her on the floor, then,” Touya instructs coldly, voice firm and void of any compassion, though it’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eyes, hard to ignore the way the corners of his lips quirk up in an ill-concealed smile.

The look Natsuo gives him is almost heartbreaking, a puppy looking up at its owner with its tail tucked between its legs, eyebrows knitted together so tightly they crease his forehead, a deep frown—no, pout—etched into his face as he gazes at his big brother, glazed stone eyes pleading.

“Nii-san, can’t we use—”

“No,” Touya cuts him off harshly, sapphire eyes flashing, and Natsuo flinches. “You’re fucking her on the Goddamn floor for all five—it’s part of your punishment,”

Natuso doesn’t argue, but his lips twitch, and his eyes blur, and his nose sniffles, and he gives his brother a curt little nod of understanding, head bowed in submission.

The hardwood is cold against your heated skin, and you exhale a hiss through gritted teeth as Natsuo positions you as gently as he can, one large palm cradling your head, the other positioned on your back, slight tremors running through his exhausted muscles as he reclines you.

A wrecked little whine pries its way past your lips as Natsuo pushes in again, face scrunching up as sharp, needle-like pinpricks shoot through your gut, your raw, sensitive cunt stinging as Natsuo’s cock reopens previous sutures, skin split further, wounds dug deeper.

The sound your skin makes as it scrapes against the hardwood from Natsuo’s clumsy bucks has all three of you cringing, a piercing squeal that only adds to the symphony of your sobs and Natsuo’s grunts, flesh inflamed and chaffed from being repeated rubbed against the surface.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to cum, even with the generous breaks Touya allows, sparks of pleasure faded to mere cinders now, each shallow drag of Natsuo’s cock causing both of your bodies to recoil, and it’s too much, too much.

“Please, nii-chan,” you beg in a tiny whimper, teary eyes flying to Touya’s face, partially shrouded in shadows as glowing sapphire gazes down at you in scrutiny. “S’enough now,”

“We’ve learned our lesson, p-promise,” Natsuo adds, nodding frenetically.

“P-Pinky promise, nii-chan, please, stop,”

Touya scoffs. “You wanted to cum, didn’t you?” he pauses, cobalt eyes darting between your faces, an eyebrow raising in question. “Well, now I’m allowing you to. Now you have my permission; the permission you knew you needed so bad, but refused to request,”

And it’s then that it dawns on each of you that he had heard the both of you, had heard the entire fucking conversation, while he was doing his work in the kitchen.

How could either of you thought that he wouldn’t? How could either of you been so fucking stupid? Nii-san knows everything—nii-san always knows everything.

“Please, please, we’re sorry, nii-san, we’re sorry,”

“We won’t ever do it again!”

The laugh that claws its way up Touya’s throat is soaked with ridicule, and he shakes his head, a gleeful little grin present on his lips, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, as if it’s so ludicrous it’s funny.

“Wait, wait, wait—let me get this straight…you two wanted it so bad, and now you have the balls to complain when nii-chan complies?”

His voice is painfully apathetic, almost nonchalant in a way, as if it makes no difference to him even though it so clearly does, or you and Natsuo wouldn’t be shivering messes of tangled limbs on the floor.

Excuses begin tumbling from two pairs of lips, words stuttered and choked on and sandwiched between pleads and apologies, jumbling together in a mess of garbled, wet, desperate sounds.

“Enough,” Touya growls, and both voices cut off in an instant. “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore! Keep acting like ungrateful little brats and I’ll make this punishment longer, I swear to God,”

But you can’t halt the words bubbling up past your lips, regardless of Touya’s threat, regardless of the fact that you know he’s deadly serious. They’re compulsive, automatic, almost instinctual in nature as you seek out comfort, hunt for solace and fragments of relief in the hulking man blanketing you.

“I-I don’t wanna anymore, Natsuo,” you’re weeping into his chest, hot tears leaking from the corners of tightly shut eyes, streaming down the sides of your head and into your hair. “I don’t wanna,”

“I know, baby, I know,” Natsuo murmurs, though his bottom lip is beginning to tremble.

“Make him stop, Natsuo, make nii-chan stop,”

“I can’t,” his voice breaks on the word, facial features saturated in concern, in fear, wincing as if it physically pains him to deny you. “You know I would if I could,” he nearly whimpers, and his eyes search yours almost frantically, as if he’s begging you to understand. “But I can’t,”

But your head is shaking as you wail louder, fingers weakly curling against his skin, nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders and clinging to him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natsuo’s saying, the words cracking in his throat, voice hoarse. He pauses, clearing it twice, eyes closing briefly as he sighs out a slow, deep, stammering breath, gathering his strength. “One more after this, princess,” he begins as his hips start to speed up their rutting, procuring a yelp from you. “That’s it, jus’ one more after this one. C’mon, we can do it,”

“No, no, no,” you chant as pretty, gleaming tears roll down your face. And you can see it, the potent guilt swirling in his gunmetal eyes, from the way his pupils expand as they focus on the salt water sullying your cheeks, from the way his cock twitches despite it all. “I don’wanna, I don’wanna, stop, Natsuo, stop,”

His motions pause immediately, the moment the word falls from your lips, but he starts up just as quickly as Touya dictates from his spot on the mattress above.

“Stop, and I’ll add another two,” he promises, ruthless and unforgiving. Chills skitter along your glistening skin, erupting across your damp body at his tone. Both of you know he isn’t bluffing, that he’ll add as many orgasms as he wants to, and that he’ll continue to pull them from your fatigued and worn-out bodies one way or another, even if he has to do it completely by himself.

“Focus on me,” Natsuo instructs gently, though there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, a frenzied need to calm you down before Touya loses his patience completely. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just focus on me, look at me,”

So you do, blinking the bleariness from your gaze as you direct all of your attention to him. And although there’s that ever-present guilt still swimming in his irises, in his unshed tears, there’s also love in his stare, so much love it’s nearly overflowing, overpowering the remorse and instilling a deep sense of comfort in your stammering chest.

Because at least you’re not alone in this; at least you have each other—each other to find comfort in, to cry and whine and beg with, to protect.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s whispering over your wails like a broken mantra, those tears that have been glazing his eyes, that have been collecting behind his lashline, finally beginning to fall.

His hips speed up, as fast as he possibly can as he gathers every last ounce of power and manages to wring another one out of you, another one out of himself, sore cunt clenching painfully around him, your fourth orgasm feeling as if it’s been punched out of you, despite the fact that Natsuo’s thrusts have been shallow.

And by the time your fifth orgasm rolls around, you’re nothing more than Jell-o in the shape of a human, though Natsuo’s not much better, barely able to move other than the uneven rutting of his hips, a crushing deadweight on top of you as his weary hips give pitiful little thrusts, pubic bone dragging across your hypersensitive clit, every tug against it ripping another ragged cry from your throat.

But you’re having trouble, both of you struggling to do anything other than feebly hump against each other, unable to secure enough strength to pump—to milk—that final orgasm out of yourselves, sniveling little protests punctuated by wrecked sobs leaking from your mouths.

Touya’s pissed—beyond pissed—sharp jaw clenching while seething insults burn his tongue and slice your skin, berating the both of you for being so fucking weak, so fucking pathetic, because he’s forced more orgasms out of the both of you before, so why is this so fucking difficult?

Touya’s too stubborn, and he refuses to end the punishment early irrespective of the fact that you’re both entirely drained, reminding you in a callous voice that you each must cum five times before it’s over while he aggressively roots through one of his desk drawers, snickering to himself when he finds what he’s looking for, hooking his index finger in it and pulling it out.

And the look on his face when he turns back to face you and Natsuo is positively petrifying, idly swinging the cockring around on his finger as his head tilts slightly, observing the both of you with that sharp smile you’ve come to know so well on his lips, eyes glittering with pure delight, features lit up with his own personal brand of sadistic excitement.

Natsuo starts to say something, voice forming around a word that sounds suspiciously similar to no, but he catches himself before it fully leaves his mouth, pressing quivering lips together tightly as he stares up at his brother with wet eyes.

Touya chuckles, raising an eyebrow with that trademark lopsided smirk, as if he’s challenging Natsuo to dispute him, to resist.

He doesn’t, of course, because he never would, but he does finally allow full shuddery sobs to escape his chest, Touya’s condescending shh’s and hush, now’s doing nothing to calm them as he slides the cockring on.

Natsuo nearly howls when Touya turns the tiny, pretty pink device on, his entire body jerking with that initial vibration.

“The faster you cum, the faster I’ll take it off,” Touya says calmly over the stifled little shrieks Natsuo’s continulously trying to swallow back down, nodding his understanding as he repositions himself between your thighs, holding his vibrating cock in one massive palm as he guides himself back into you.

And you want to tell him no!, don’t!, stop!, you want to shove him off, to kick and scream and beg and cry, but your heavy head sluggishly lolling from side to side seems to be all you can manage, words snagging in your throat, nothing more than incoherent babbling leaving your lips.

Because you can barely speak, barely think, barely breathe, vision fading in and out of focus as Natsuo rocks stuttering hips against yours, warm salt water rolling down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto your cheeks and mixing with yours. You’re both more each other, more one than two separate entities now, spit and cum and tears so interspersed you can’t tell which belongs to who anymore, limbs and fluids, thoughts and sounds, endlessly flowing into one another.

“Tell her to behave, Natsuo,” Touya barks, though there’s twisted amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes. “Tell her to finish the fucking punishment,”

And Natsuo, ever the perfectly trained pet, does as he says immediately.

“We can—We can do it,” Natsuo keens from above you, full body shudders wracking his hulking form, alabaster hair clinging to his forehead in uneven clumps, drenched in sweat as he forces words through his own bawling, hips grinding into yours. “We can do it, let’s be good for nii-san, yeah? L-Let’s make nii-san proud—c’mon, you wanna make him proud, don’t you?”

You do—of course you do. You never want anything else. But…But you’re not entirely sure you can, hiccupped sobs peppering your slurred words. Unconsciousness tugs at the edges of your hazy mind, whispers enticing promises of repose and relaxation as weighted eyelids begin to sag.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Natsuo cuts you off gently, shaky knuckles brushing against your cheek in a poor imitation of a caress. “I’ll do it, baby, I’ll do it,”

You don’t even remember cumming a fifth time, only a feeling of hot coals smoldering in the pit of your stomach, but you must have, because then Touya’s hooking his arms under Natsuo’s and dragging him off of you, propping him up against the side of the bed and kneeling as lithe fingers remove the toy from his cock.

And the sense of relief that seeps into your body and floods your veins is so intense it almost feels like a rush of adrenaline instead. You did it. You both did it. Finally, it is over.

Or so you and Natsuo thought.

—

Spikes of fear piece through his heart as Natsuo blearily watches Touya gather your limp body in his arms, hauling you up with a soft grunt.

And it’s astounding, the way you still curl into him, still seek that familiarity, that solace, in his chest, mumbled out honorific padded by hitched half-sobs as you cling to him. It’s astounding, because even after all he’s done to you, after everything he just put the two of you through, you will crawl back to him each and every time, over shards of glass on your hands and knees with his name on your lips—his name in devotion, in submission, in love—without a single question asked.

And Natsuo realizes that he would, too.

The thought inspires a bittersweet taste to settle on his tongue, like sticky toffee and black coffee, alien feelings swirling in his chest, clashes of consoling blooms of warmth and spiky shards of ice.

But Natsuo doesn’t have time to meditate on his newfound emotions, your faint pleas recapturing his attention.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Touya murmurs, large hands repositioning you.

And he really does sound sorry, even though Natsuo knows he isn’t.

“Wh-What are you…”

“It isn’t over yet,” Touya says simply, though the smile stretched taut across his face is severe, terrifying, azure eyes sparkling in merciless amusement at the horror that shows on Natsuo’s face when he realizes, eyes widening as they fill with thick tears again, bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout as panic surges through his veins.

His heart palpitates violently against his ribcage, tongue turned to cotton as worry signs itself in the creases of his forehead.

“Nii-san,” Natsuo begins cautiously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “I don’t think—I-I mean, is that really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” his big brother responds without looking at him, preoccupied with folding your lifeless limbs up, knees bent and pressed to your chest.

“Why?” the word slips out without Natsuo’s permission, grey eyes widening in shock as he swallows thickly, shaking his head a little as if to say I didn’t mean to!, though Touya doesn’t seem to mind.

“Because the overstimulation was her punishment,” Touya glances over at him, the amusement dancing in his eyes turned vicious as his smile stretches wider—so wide Natsuo’s surprised it doesn’t split his face clean in two—cruel and brutal. “This is yours,”

Natsuo isn’t quite sure he understands, brain doused in a thick fog and having difficulty grasping the concept, the knowledge of what his nii-san truly means turning to dense, ashy smoke any time he tries to grasp it, metaphorically slipping through his fingers.

But then you’re speaking again, and Natsuo’s head whips towards you, chest tightening at how completely wrecked you sound.

“No, please, no more,” the words gurgle in your throat, escaping as nothing more but jumbled, spit-soaked whines that have Touya chuckling as he shoves his cock into your aching little hole.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, princess,” he speaks through a patronizing pout, a mockery of your own expression, voice syrupy and supercilious. “If you weren’t such a needy little whore always desperate for a hard cock to grind on, this wouldn’t be happening,”

The words are spit in the same demeaning tone Touya had been using earlier, the same demeaning tone he always uses, and Natsuo’s powerless to stop the words flowing from his mouth.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures you, though his voice cracks under the emotion, words wavering as his chin trembles.

“You’re right,” Touya muses, slight breathlessness the only indication that he’s railing the absolute life out of you. “It’s yours,”

And suddenly, Natsuo understands what nii-san had meant when he said this was his punishment.  

Because he’s right.

It’s got to be the harshest punishment Touya’s ever bestowed on him.

Because it’s hard to watch the way your lax, abused body is forced to just take it, Touya’s thrusts so rough they jostle you up the mattress; even harder to hear as you bawl and beg and scream, and Natsuo’s nose twitches as the threat of new tears climbs up his throat, lodging in the column as he fights against them.

He feels sick, like some sort of depraved pervert, for the weak twitches his cock gives, for the faint embers that flicker in the pit of his stomach, igniting a dull blaze as he watches, almost entranced by the grotesque situation unfolding in front of him. He feels sicker, knowing that both of those would be stronger, much stronger, had Touya not forced him to fuck his entire soul into you.

And Touya—Well, Touya’s been hard from it all—high from it all—the whole time, and Natsuo can almost see the sheer power flowing through his veins, an aura that envelopes him, that radiates off of him in intoxicating waves, that licks at his skin like flames of blue fire. Natsuo bets—no, knows— it’s better than any drug Touya’s ever taken.

Protests marinate on his tongue, bitter and acidic, pleads of stop and enough scraping against the walls of his throat as he forcefully swallows them back down, emitting pathetic little whimpers in their place.

Because he knows if he starts, Touya will only make it worse for you, so he suffers in silence, readily agreeing with Touya every time he reminds Natsuo that this is all his fault and neither of you would be in pain if Natsuo could’ve just kept it in his fucking pants for a few minutes longer.

It hurts, because it’s true, nii-san’s words sending thick, piercing stakes spearing through Natsuo’s heart, through Natsuo’s very soul, straight to the core of his body. Acrid bile climbs up his throat as Touya’s moans mingle with your sobs, so exhausted that they’re barely more than little wheezes at this point. It’s abundantly clear that Touya doesn’t feel a shred of remorse, and that makes Natsuo feel even worse—if only he had said no, if only he had waited and asked, if only he had been stronger, you wouldn’t be suffering.

The tears collecting in the column of his throat sprout talons and claw their way up, past his steadily weaking resolve, prying their way through his lips in the form of jagged sobs.  

It’s magnificent, really, the way Touya can render Natsuo a snotty, shivering mess with only a few choice words. And Natsuo—Natsuo only ever cries in front of his big brother, only ever cries for his big brother, full-on weeping that slashes through his sputtering chest, coughing around and choking on his own sobs of nii-san, I’m sorry!

But it ends eventually, finally, Touya tearing one last orgasm from you, gentle words contradicting his cruel, ruthless actions, murmurs of come on baby, just one more, one more for nii-chan. You can do this for nii-chan, can’t you? You can be a good little girl for me and cum one more time, right? lingering on his lips

And somehow, you find the strength to obey, to be his good baby, because you always do, entire body convulsing with a raspy shriek of the honorific, Touya praising you only moments later as his hips still and his cock pumps you full.

—

It’s cute, really, how fucked out the two of you are. Touya thinks you’re both so beautiful when you’re like this, with glassy eyes and tearstained cheeks, lashes clumped together with residual water and swollen faces stained with streaks of salt, all dazed and fucked and stupid for him, from him.

Natsuo’s doing better than you are, of course—Natsuo wasn’t subjected to being fucked again. But Natsuo still needs to rest, Touya softly tutting his tongue with a disapproving shake of his head as Natsuo attempts to aid him with your aftercare, movements clumsy as he stumbles to his feet, inept and awkward as he blunders towards you.

“No,” Touya’s large hands wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders, halting him, steadying him, forcing Natsuo to look at him. “You rest,” he instructs sternly, guiding Natsuo back to his previous spot and delicately depositing him onto the desk chair. “I’ll get to you in a minute, okay, Natsuo-kun?”

Natsuo hums out an affirmation, eyes closing briefly as Touya’s fingertips affectionately trace the curve of his cheek, palm patting it once.

It’s in moments such as these, nights after hours and hours of extreme punishment, that Touya automatically, perhaps unknowingly, slips into Big Brother mode, and you’re reminded of the age gap between them.

Because even though Natsuo’s bigger than Touya, taller than Touya, beefier than Touya, he looks so tiny under his older brother’s protective gaze.

You both must reek terribly, covered in drool and sweat and cum, must look like hot messes, strands of tangled hair saturated with salt and sticking to your cheeks, but your Touya-nii is still right there regardless, whispering the sweetest affirmations and the tenderest praises to the both of you as he wipes each of you down with a damp cloth infused with lavender, telling the both of you how good you did, how proud you made nii-san, how pretty both of you are.

Nimble fingers spend a decent amount of time rubbing soothing circles of moisturizing cream into each of you, your most sensitive skin rubbed raw, aching and puffy from such intense maltreatment, before Touya-nii dresses each of you in his softest, comfiest clothes, steady stream of pure, unadulterated love never stopping as it pours from his lips.

And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.

You’re all each other need, after all; because he loves you both more than he could ever put into words—and you each love him back just the same—and that will always be more than enough.

Touya reaches across your body, arm a pleasant, heavy weight as it rests on you, and runs slender fingers through Natsuo’s sweaty hair as you snuggle into your nii-chan’s chest, and Natsuo nearly mewls, nuzzling into his nii-san’s touch as Touya instructs the both of you to sleep, now, a film playing softly in the background as the three of you drift into unconsciousness together.

#todoroki touya x reader #dabi x reader #dabi smut #natsuo smut #todoroki natsuo x reader #AAAAAAAH jesus finally #this is A Lot lol #tw:incest #tw noncon

[thebluespirit83]

debunking pro-snape/anti-james arguments and putting it on the internet because clearly i hate myself. buckle up. this is gonna be a VERY long post. im ready for the amount of hate i will get; im willing to take one for the team. 

1. james forced lily into dating/marrying/etc him 

this literally never happened? because its almost as if lily is her own person who is able to stand up for herself-

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

She turned on her heel and hurried away [from james]. 

-and so she would not allow someone to walk all over her. its almost as if james (canonically) matured as a person, and she appreciated this, realised he was a good person and got feelings for him? because james’ only negative traits were that he was conceited and a show off. people are able to mature and grow from these things! james did this! he did not ‘force’ lily to go out with him!

2. james and the other marauders bullied snape

you know what, i cant even disagree with this one. you’re right - they did bully him. but lets look a little bit at the context. 

sirius and james were both upper class, naive white rich boys. they are idiots. they were both stupid smart teenagers!! they were popular! and while this does not excuse the gross bullying snape was subject to-

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular ... Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

-it (unfortunately) makes sense with context. james and sirius also stopped bullying people, and even expressed discomfort/regret with the way they acted-

“I’m not proud of it,” said Sirius quickly.

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly, “we were all idiots!

[sirius talking to remus] you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes

A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.

-when they were younger! i’d also like to point out these little lines i noticed when i was finding quotes for my argument which snape stans like to ignore:

James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other

I mean, he [snape] never lost an opportunity to curse James

there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood

wow, look at that. the hate they felt for each other was mutual! snape also jinxed james! but oh wait - james was the one who matured! snape was the one who bullied his son twenty years later because he looked like james! 

3. snape didnt abuse the kids at hogwarts 

here’s a real argument i saw when looking through some pro-snape posts: ‘snape wasn’t an abuser, because abusers don’t let their victims retaliate, but snape did let the kids talk back to him’

what. the. fuck?! 

this is the dictionary.com definition of abuse: ‘to treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way’ or ‘to speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about’. i’m pretty sure snape did both of these things-

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!”

“So,” said Snape, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry’s hand was starting to feel numb.

Snape threw Harry from him with all his might.

[hermione’s teeth]  "I see no difference."

‘Idiot boy!’ snarled Snape [at neville]

-on multiple occasions. i’d also like to remind you guys that neville’s worst fear is SNAPE?! his TEACHER, a figure that is supposed to be there for emotional and educational support is his worst fear in this entire world?! above the woman who drove his parents to insanity? over failure, over his abusive grandmother, over everything? his teacher? and for the pro-snaper that used this quote-

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically.

-to claim that it was a joke, it isn’t a joke. because when snape came out of that cupboard, he was terrified. yes, it’s an embarrassing thing to have as your boggart, but the point is is that it is. he is terrified of that man. 

4. james only joined the order because his wife was a muggleborn and he ‘had to’

this is just factually incorrect. james had been sticking up for muggleborn rights since he was in school, far before he started dating or even became friends with lily: 

“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

“I’d NEVER call you a - you-know-what!”

so this is literally not true!! plus, at least he did join the order, whatever his reasons where (which were canonically good). snape didnt join the order. snape was friends with someone who suffered discrimination in society, and instead of using his privilege to help her and support her, he joined a group that was set on murdering people like her. when james had a friend who underwent oppression (remus/lycanthropy) you know what he did? he illegally became an animagus. 

5. snape had to be a death eater to survive at hogwarts as he roomed with blood supremacists

this is the shittiest excuse i have ever seen in my entire life. as a poc, this comment really reminds me of the argument ‘i was raised in a racist white household! i cant control my beliefs!’

you can always control your beliefs. i understand not going on big rants about blood inequality in front of a bunch of supremacists, and i understand wanting to blend and fit in (especially because he was unpopular and needed the support the slytherin boys provided), but i will never understand then becoming an active member of the group yourself. he got the dark mark. he helped voldemort. he was a death eater, and a proud one at that! no-one forced him to join. this argument literally makes my blood boil. 

6. snape had a lot of trauma from being raised in an abusive household

okay? so did sirius. so did neville. luna was bullied at school, just like snape. harry lived in an abusive household. did any of those people bully children? did any of those people join a blood supremacist group? and dont get me wrong, im not calling any of these people perfect - they all had a lot of flaws - but none of them hurt another people to the extreme that snape did. 

7. snape saved the trio’s lives many times

this is the absolute bare minimum. ‘oh wow, he didnt let harry die!! what a king! he should be respected and praised! we should excuse all of his other actions because he didnt let people die <3′ 

8. snape is not a perfect person, he also did good that many people overlook

you’re right, snape did do some good things in his life. but unfortunately, for me and many others, doing a couple of good things doesnt excuse all of the shitty, abusive things he did too. we’re not ignoring them - we just dont think they’re good enough reasons to forgive him. 

‘but james and sirius hurt others! you ignore all the bad things they did in favour of the good!’ you do the same thing with snape, first of all. second, they did a lot of good stuff. james’ and sirius’ only crimes were being annoying. for being a bit of a dick, conceited, knew they were hot and were a bit entitled. while these things are annoying as fuck, they were also stupid teens that eventually grew out of their behaviour and became better people. not perfect! better. while snape just stayed bitter at the marauders, long after their deaths, and even took his anger out on an innocent child. 

9. people only hate snape because he was poc and queer coded

as a poc and queer person, please stop. this is a very bad excuse. being poc and queer (which im pretty sure he isnt, but anyway) doesnt excuse you from your actions. plus, a huge amount of harry potter readers are poc and lgbtq. why would they hate snape for those reasons?! 

so thats all i got for today. im not gonna go into a deep snily/jily thing because i literally cannot be bothered. anyway im done. i need to go revise, i’ve already spent long enough on this. 

#i wanted to put this in the pro snape tag #but i will be slandered so much if i do #hate on me if you want i dont care #harry potter #the marauders #james potter #pro james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #anti severus snape #long rant #lily evans #jily #flowerpott #anti snily #wolfstar

[ladydaemon]

SICK DAYS

kaz brekker x female! reader

A/N: Yes, I realize how cliché and very non-Kaz this is. I tried my best guys, but I am in the mood for fluff and only fluff so yeah.

Summary: After a night in the rain, Y/N has a cold and it's up to Kaz to take care of her, a difficult task indeed.

Warnings: swearing, really horrible writing, not proofread writing, just me spitting out Words™ at three in the morning

Dangerous assassins do not need sick days.

It was an extremely hypocritical thought, and Y/N knew it. She thought the thought anyway, because at this point, there seemed to be no aspect in her life that was not fueled entirely by spite.

"Please, for the love of the Saints, go to sleep, Y/N," Inej begged, forcing the woman back onto the bed. "You are sick. You need rest."

"I do not need rest, I need caffeine and waffles," the wheezing woman replied stubbornly, trying to get past Inej, who was blocking the doorway of her room. The Slat, usually thundering with noise and chatter, was silent as the grave - it was one of the rare days in Ketterdam where it was sunny, and everyone was either out enjoying the weather or enjoying pickpocketing someone who was enjoying the weather. "I am a grown-ass woman who also happens to be very good at using the bang-bang machines we call guns so please move aside, I need fresh air."

It was arguably entirely Y/N's fault that she was stuck inside in the first place - first, she had stayed out in the rain too long, despite Kaz's numerous protests. Second, she had, in a grave act of stupidity, gone down for breakfast the next morning. Normally, this would not have been a problem. However, on this particular day, her eyes were red and swollen and itchy and her lungs hurt and it was generally very obvious that she had a cold.

These were the deciding factors which led to her ultimate demise:

House arrest.

Though the fact that she was notorious for her spontaneous, impulsive, reckless, throw-caution-to-the-wind nature (along with the fact that Kaz, from multiple bad experiences he would rather not repeat, knew that she had nearly no self-preservation skills) probably had something to with it.

Also she apparently needed a chaperone. Which was probably a good idea, but Y/N wasn't about to admit that anytime soon.

"You are seventeen and you have a window, darling," the smooth voice of one Kaz Brekker, the devil himself, interrupted Y/N's feeble excuse of an escape.

"But Kaz," Y/N whined, pouting. Inej gave the man an exasperated look as if to say, See what I've been dealing with?

"Darling, you'll only have to stay here longer if you don't try and get better."

"Still."

Kaz, lips twitching in a very non-Kaz way, turned to Inej. "You can go. I suppose I'll play nursemaid."

The Wraith chucked darkly, already stepping out Y/N's window. "Good luck with that."

As soon as she had climbed out the room and was well out of earshot, Kaz turned on his heel and walked out. Y/N, thoroughly confused, took a second to contemplate whether this act was meant that she was officially free, or that she was supposed to follow him. Her question was answered a moment later when he called out, not sparing her a backwards glance, "Are you coming?"

She sighed dejectedly, following him up the stairs to hid room. With a flamboyant and smug bow, he opened the door for her. "Ladies first."

She rolled her eyes at him but entered the room nonetheless. Kaz closed the door behind him and strode heavily to his desk, taking the time to shuffle and order some papers. Y/N stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure as to what in the hell she was supposed to do. Kaz flicked his eyes up to her and jerked his head towards the black-sheeted bed that occupied almost a fourth of the room.

She stared at it for a moment. "You want me to sleep. On your bed. While you watch." It came out more an incredulous statement than a question.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I can't devote all my time to taking care of you, and I also can't leave you alone unsupervised while ill. This is our compromise," Kaz explained somewhat impatiently.

"I am not going to get in that crusty-ass bed, that, in case you have forgotten, belongs to my boss, AKA you. For all I know you sleep nude."

One of Kaz's eyebrows twitched. "The sheets were changed this morning. And for the record, I don't."

"Still not going to do it. That takes the creepy-o-meter to like, a thousand."

"You're a criminal who spies on brothels. This is nothing."

"Still not doing it. This feels fundamentally wrong."

"I'll buy you a nice dagger if you just shut up and get in the damn bed." Saints, he was already exasperated, and he had barely been here five minutes. A new respect for Inej found its way into his being.

Y/N went quiet for a minute, considering. "One of the serrated ones with the fancy gilded handles?"

"Whatever dagger your heart desires."

"Two daggers and a gun."

"One dagger and a gun."

"Deal," Y/N decided, plopping down on the bed. It still felt wrong, but she did need a new dagger - Wylan had blown hers up in a previous job.

She carefully peeled the pristine sheets and blankets away from the mattress, half expecting a dozen poisonous things to pop out. The only thing it released was the strangely comforting smell of wood oil and ink (and a bit of gunpowder, but this was Kaz Brekker we're talking about).

Y/N slipped beneath the covers, her head resting comfortably on the cloud-like pillows.

I bet this bitch sleeps like a baby every night.

"I can still beat your ass, Brekker," she mumbled. Yeah, she was sick, but she also had a reputation to uphold.

"On a regular day, I have no doubt about it. Currently, you are prohibited from doing anything that isn't sleeping, peeing, or contemplating life. Doctor's orders."

"Well, I'm going to go pee then. More freedom." She attempted to stand up from the surprisingly soft bed but the in the second it took for her to try and stand, Kaz, moving surprisingly quickly for a man with a cane, pinned her to the bed by her shoulders with an exasperated sigh.

"Just stay still. Please," he breathed.

"Get me a sweet bun and maybe," she breathed back, but didn't move. Despite her almost child-like demeanor, she was one of the original Dregs, here as a child even before Kaz. He had been the only one her age when he had joined, so naturally, she had befriended him (well, as much as you can befriend Kaz Brekker). She knew about his phobia of touch, and how much it meant that he was touching her, even with his gloves on.

Kaz released her with a sigh and stalked over to his desk where he rummaged around for a bit until he produced a small tin that looked abut as old as he was. He tossed it at her and she grabbed it, opening it to see some biscuits that looked as hard as rocks. "That's all I have, and all you're going get. Don't break a tooth."

Y/N sighed, staring at the biscuits mournfully before taking one out of the tin and gnawing on it. It would have been easier to bite on the barrel of one of Jesper's guns. "You're mean."

"You're acting like a petulant child."

Y/N made a disgruntled noise from the back of her throat, sinking back into the silk pillows and wrapping the blankets tighter around her. She had made no visible mark on the cookie, and had only succeeded in covering it with slobber. She put it back in the tin and noticed Kaz wrinkle his nose at her.

She doubted the biscuits would ever see the light of day again.

She watched Kaz do his paperwork, a surprisingly interesting thing to do. He had taken off his hat and jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He even took his gloves off, preferring to use a pen without the ridiculous slipperiness of the leather. The papers shuffled in a soothing rhythm, and soon, Y/N began to feel less cooped up and a bit more relaxed.

Ever since she had been taken away from her family and thrown onto the tiny slaving ship, Y/N had always had a touch of claustrophobia (well, it was a bit more than a touch, but she wasn't willing to admit that just yet). The tiny room with a mattress on the flooor was really just a decoration at this point - she slept on the roof most nights and every waking hour was in Ketterdam, simply walking if there were no pockets to be picked.

Drowsily, she watched as Kaz scratched something out on paper, his face creasing ever so slightly. The pen made a nice sound, she found, and paired with the strangely calming scent of his room and the rustling of papers, it made her feel almost like it was rainy day, the kind where you curled up by the fire and read a book or cuddled with someone.

"I doubt staring at my face will help you fall asleep, love," Kaz noted without looking up from his work.

"Your face is the most interesting thing here."

For the barest fraction of a second, Kaz looked like he had short-circuited. The moment was gone as soon as it came, however, and he simply raised an eyebrow at her. "You're very immature sometimes."

"Thanks!" Y/N said cheerfully. "It was the trauma."

"Trauma hardens people, it doesn't make them softer," Kaz dismissed.

"I agree wholeheartedly. However, there's a difference between an excellent mask and incompetence," she replied. "Now come over here and show what's bothering you, I can see it on your face."

Kaz looked up at her, noting the fact that she probably wouldn't shut up unless he did as she asked. He rolled his eyes, hobbling over to the bed. As he sat, she could feel his weight pushing the mattress down.

Before he could say a word, she snatched the paper in his hands and began scanning it. "What's wrong with it?"

"The numbers don't add up."

She stared at the document for another second, then back up at Kaz. "Who are you and what have you done with Kaz Brekker?"

He blinked at her.

"You forgot to carry the one. The numbers don't add up because you... well, added them wrong," she explained softly. She looked up at him, concern crossing her features. "Do you need a nap?"

Kaz huffed out a breath. "I'm fine. You're just distracting me, that's all."

"We're going to ignore the fact that you think I'm distracting and instead focus on the fact that you have not slept in several days."

Kaz's nostrils flared slightly in indignation. Before he could speak, however, Y/N cut him off. "Kaz, I have known you since I was eleven. I'm also not fucking blind. Yes, I know you are essentially running a mafia at age seventeen. Yes, I know you are under pressure. Yes, I know there is at any given moment a bounty on your head. Yes, I know I am sick and it is technically your job to take care of me. But can we please just make a deal or a truce or something in which you get some fucking rest?"

Kaz was quiet for a moment before the corner of his mouth twitched. "Always the mother hen for everyone except yourself."

She was startled into a laugh. "What can I saw, I was a born hypocrite."

Kaz did end up getting a couple hours of sleep, even if it was at Y/N's insistence.

However, he almost regretted it when Jesper barged in and, with a gleeful cackle, found them both sleeping in the same bed with one of his legs pressed up against hers - Kaz's version of flat-out cuddling.

Almost.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #grishaverse #kaz brekker imagine