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evanpetersmybf · 3 months

Text

Be mine?

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Meeting you was his destiny. He had to make you his so he could feel alive... It was meant to be.

Genre: Smut.

Word count: 3,172

Warnings: Virgin and inexperienced reader, mentions of bullying, self-harm (just once and is nothing detailed), obsessive and stalkish behavior, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v and cumshot.

A/N: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing smut, so sorry if it sucks or if I have grammatical mistakes or something TT. Btw, also sorry if Tate's out of character. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate had another bad day. It was the usual. Bullying, failed tests, the teacher humiliating him after he couldn’t solve a simple equation on the chalkboard, his mother scolding him. Nothing seemed new, and it seemed that nothing wasn’t going to change at any point.

He needed something, a reason to live, something to make him feel alive. Because he was dead. Dead in life, which in his own opinion, was even worse than being a rotten corpse.

He headed to the music store after secretly stealing some of his mom’s money, just a few bucks; the enough amount to buy a vinyl or some CD’s. Tate was sort of a music elitist, always believing that the artists nowadays just created pure, hollow, and trashy songs. In fact, he didn’t believe those could even be considered music.

Walking around the nearly empty store, rummaging through the shelves filled with Nirvana vinyl’s, someone bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke, after accidentally taking too many steps back and bumping into Tate’s behinds.

He frowned, somewhat annoyed at you for disturbing his moment of peace. The blonde turned around to look at who it was, scanning your body from head to toe, taking note of your appearance. Then, his dark eyes drifted to the sign that was on top the shelf, which indicated the musical genre of the records that were on that rack. Alternative pop. His gaze went to the album you were hugging to yourself.

“Cry Baby? What type of crap is that?”

“Huh, excuse me?”

“Never mind, you won’t understand.” Tate talked in such a volatile and rude manner, already feeling superior because of his likes.

You arched an eyebrow. What was his problem? You did nothing to him and yet he was here, judging your amazing music taste.

“Well, people’s free to like whatever they want to, hmm?”

“Uh, yeah, but what’s the point of that if everything is so generic?”

“Have you ever listened to Melanie Martinez at least once?”

He shook his head no, still scowling, now fidgeting with a ring that was on one of his fingers.

“Have you listened to Nirvana?”

“Just like… Two songs?”

“Don’t tell me. Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

“Guilty.”

Tate rolled his eyes. What was going on with this generation? What happened to good music, to the greatest artists? Why was everyone just listening to trash?

After sharing your names and a few more words, debating about who was right and who wasn’t, you placed one of your hands over his right shoulder, as an attempt to stop his rant of how superior he was. And indeed, it worked. The teen stopped venting and stared at you, all confused and a bit uncomfortable. You noticed it and quickly stepped back, apologizing for touching him without permission. He told you it was okay, that you just surprised him. But deep down, that simple yet complex touch meant a lot to Tate, even if it was absolutely nothing to you.

For the first time he felt something more than sorrow.

“So… What do you think of this? I’ll make you listen to some songs by Melanie and other artists, and I’ll listen to your beloved beautiful grunge music.” You said those last words in a mocking way.

Tate huffed, clearly offended by the way you referred to his taste. Nevertheless, in the end he agreed with you.

After paying the stuff you two picked, both of you went to Tate’s place. As you walked next to him, your fingers brushed his, making his cheeks turn a light shade of red and his heart flutter. He felt dizzy, not sure about what was going on.

In his house, he took you to his room. The boy didn’t want his mother to see you, otherwise she’d be too nosy and probably scare you and push you away from him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Get comfy.” He mused, extending his hand as if inviting you to take a seat wherever you feel to.

“Thanks.” You sat on the floor, using one of the sides of the bed as a support for your back. He did the same and sat right next to you.

He was nervous. So damn nervous and excited. He brought a pretty chick to his place. The Tate Langdon, the outcast, the bullied, that Tate Langdon was in the same room with a girl? He couldn’t believe it.

“Ladies first.” Tate pointed the record-player with his thumb, and you obeyed, placing the CD in it. The music started playing.

“We could’ve used Spotify, y’know?”

“Nah, I don’t like it. I prefer the old school.”

‘Cry Baby’ was the first track that was listened to.

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin, analyzing the sounds, the melody, the harmony and of course the lyrics.

Although it wasn’t his style, you definitely were. The way you looked, talked, walked. How you stood up for your beliefs and didn’t allow him to step on you (even if you just discussed about music). It was new for him. He craved your independence. He craved you.

That was the very moment when he realized that you were the thing he was looking for all his life. You were the one who was meant to be his, he was meant to be yours. It was destiny. Tate truly believed it was some kind of divine prophecy, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

He was so immersed in his mind that he didn’t pay attention to the song anymore. He was solely focused on you, remembering how warm and kind your touch was, how sweet your voice was. ‘Oh, she’s mine’, he thought.

“So… That was the first track. Its name’s Cry Baby. Did you like it?”

Tate snapped out of it and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t listen to your question.

“I’m sorry, what did you?—”

“Did you like the song?”

“Ah, yeah yeah. It’s quite… Innovative. I’ve never heard something like that.”

You smiled and clapped your hands. “Of course! She’s such a genius. Let’s finish the album, hm?”

He just nodded, as a little smirk appeared on his face.

The days flew by, and Tate asked you out on many friendly dates. Or at least that’s what you thought because you were so oblivious at the fact that he had a fat crush on you.

With every hang out, you noticed that Tate was lonely. Like, really lonely. Maybe that’s why he was so clingy with you.

He told you about his family, about how annoying Constance was, about his siblings and about how his father left him behind. He also mentioned the bullying he suffered and almost talked about the self-harm but stopped himself.

Both of you grew closer, as his obsession.

Since you went to a different school, he would skip class and infiltrate your campus just to see you. He couldn’t stand being away from you. And if he did, his mind was full of you, thinking of you all day, unable to focus on his homework and tests. Tate didn’t care anymore if he failed subjects, as long as you were next to him, he was happy and alive.

The void he once felt, was now fulfilled with your mere presence. You could step on him, and he would thank you. In his twisted little mind, you were free to have everything of him.

He was willing to do anything to keep you by his side. The thought of losing was so terrifying that it would make him throw up.

Tate learned every single detail about you. Your mannerisms, your likes and dislikes, your dreams, and your fears. Everything. And that includes your schedule since you wake up, and since you go to sleep.

That was his definition of love. No one ever taught him about how to express it, and he ended up being the way he was with you.

One day he invited you over to his place. The Langdon's house was empty, and he was going to take advantage of it. No doubt.

“Your mom isn’t home?” You questioned as you followed him behind, going upstairs straight to his bedroom. Little did you know this wasn’t going to be another afternoon of playing board games while listening to some music.

“Nah, dunno where she went but she won’t be back any time soon.” He shrugged and let you inside of his private space,

You went to lay down on bed, feeling relief in your aching back after a long day at school. “Damn, I need some rest!”

Tate chuckled softly and sat on the edge, looking at you as you closed your eyes and tried to relax. He was focused on your steady and calm breathing, on how your breasts went up and down with every inhalation and exhalation. His eyes stared at your lips, at how kissable they looked. He felt a sudden desire, the intense urge to make you his. Feeling conflicted, he shook his head and tried to distract himself, pretending to ignore how aroused he was getting.

He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but of course he already had some wet dreams of you. He imagined you beneath him, your precious body shivering and responding to his touch, to his kisses. Your cunt wet and ready for him, just how he wanted to.

“Y/N…” Tate cooed, unable to hold back any longer.

“Yeah?” You opened one of your eyes and spotted him, sitting on the bed with his fists clenched over his thighs, while his breathing looked kinda rapid. “You ‘kay?”

“No.”

“Uh? What’s wrong?” You reincorporated and sat straight beside his warm figure. Your right hand touched his left, rubbing it up and down with your thumb.

Tate shoved you to the bed, pinning your arms above your head and holding them tight.

His breathing pattern was no longer normal. It was a heavy one.

His dark brown eyes locked with yours. Your orbs were wide, not understanding what the hell was going on. Or maybe you did but were in denial.

“Please. I want you.” He purred, seeing you with puppy eyes, the ones he knew you couldn’t resist.

“Hahah, you funny.”

He let out a frustrated whine, almost begging on his knees for you to get the hint.

“I’m not kidding. Pretty please. I need you.”

“Do you mean…?” You raised your head a few centimeters to look at his crotch in order to confirm your suspicions. Your cheeks had a cute blush as soon as you noticed Tate’s erection restrained by his jeans. It looked painful, and it actually was.

“Yes. I want to. Please, I truly need it. Please, please, please?” His voice was shaky and low, a needy desperate whisper. “Can I?”

This wasn’t what you expected for today. You saw Tate as a best friend, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome… And that he already provoked butterflies in your stomach before.

Hesitantly, you gave a shy nod with your head, giving him consent to continue. “But Tate… I’ve never done this before, I dunno what to do, I—” You trailed off, being cut off mid-sentence when Tate placed his lips over yours. The kiss was slow and tender, not rough at all. Your bottom lip was between his, as he nibbled it with extreme care to not hurt you.

After some seconds, he pulled apart and led his hand towards the side of your face, brushing some hairs away. “Don’t ya worry, princess. Leave it all to me, hm? I’ll be gentle. Unless you don’t want me to.” With that being said, he leaned into your neck, pressing his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He left sweet kisses, making you hum as you melted under him.

His lips continued to tease your skin, leaving some little bites between every kiss, trailing down to your collarbone. Tate stopped there and helped you get rid of your blouse, tossing it aside and continued his journey, this time kissing your sternum while his right hand cupped one of your breasts, kneading it gently over the fabric of your bra. He pulled down the straps and took off the piece of lingerie, setting your tits free.

The cold air hit you and your nipples perked up, looking ravishing and making him desire you even more.

He introduced one of the hardened buds into his warm mouth, sucking it greedily and making lewd wet sounds as he did so. His left rubbed the other nipple in circles, taking it with his thumb and index, pulling it and pinching it.

“Hmph… Huh…” You let out soft whimpers, slightly arching your back meanwhile he abused your breasts.

Tate stopped after some minutes, letting go of your nipple and looking at you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to the side. He approached your ear and whispered, “You like this?”

“Yes…” You begged. Your voice was already ragged and shaky.

Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, rubbing them as a pathetic try to feel some relief. Tate realized it and spread your legs with one of his hands. He took his digits right to your clothed pussy, eagerly rubbing the spot where your clit was.

“Someone’s already wet? Cute.” He giggled and took off his striped sweater, throwing it away. He positioned himself between your limbs and pulled down your pants, mesmerized as he saw your damp panties. Tate continued rubbing your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your underwear, still fascinated at how humid you were.

This was the moment he had been waiting for the past weeks. He wasn’t going to need to jerk off to your photos anymore, because now he would be able to jerk off to your tits in person.

Tate removed the last barrier that was stopping him from touching your womanhood directly. He pulled them down to your ankles and you helped him to get rid of it by shaking your feet.

He got closer to your cunt and placed your legs over his shoulder, spreading your folds with two of his large digits, blowing some air at the sensitive meat. Finally, he started sucking on your swollen clitoris, enjoying the feeling of your dampness against his face.

“Mmh…” He moaned, still toying with the nub. You grabbed him by the hair, not thinking about what you were doing. You just let yourself go and pulled him closer to your pussy, wanting to feel more. Your body twitched, unconsciously bucking your hips against his mouth that was currently making slurping sounds.

His attention changed and was now on your slit, teasing just the entrance with his hot tongue, while his nose rubbed against your clit. He lapped your pretty cunt, savoring your juices as if they were a delicacy.

Looking at your adorable face contorting in pleasure, he introduced his ring finger into your wet, tight hole. It was a slow and kind movement because the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. He slipped it deeper, pumping it in and out with care, increasing speed after a few seconds once he saw you comfortable. “Tell me if it hurts…”

“Mhm… It feels nice. Huh…” Your melodic whimpers and moans were just too much for him. He could listen to you for the rest of his days and never get tired of you.

Without further ado, he introduced his middle finger, now finger-fucking you with two. Tate’s thumb was also working wonders on your lil’ bundle of nerves in circular motion.

She was clenching around Tate’s large fingers, that he curled inside of her, hitting the right spot to make you squirm and feel a new and foreign sensation in your lower belly.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore.”

He undid his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers, quickly getting rid of them and letting them fall to the wooden floor.

You just stared in awe; it was the first time you saw one in real life.

Tate grabbed his hardened cock and stroked it a few times on top of you, finding amusing your silly reaction. The reddish tip was glistening with pre-cum, which he used as lube. He spat at your pussy and rubbed his slick saliva with two digits, before finally thrusting his dick.

He did it slowly, beginning with the head. Eventually, he pushed his entire length, hitting your cervix and stretching you out for the first time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight!” Even if he was taking the lead, he was a whiny mess, vocal and loud.

He continued pounding into you, his gaze never leaving your face. Tate loved how you rolled your eyes to the back of your head and how your little mouth was letting out such nasty sounds.

The room was filled with slapping and wet sounds, created by his skin slapping against yours, his balls always hitting you with every stab. Again, he placed your legs on his wide shoulders to have a better angle and pump into you deeper than before.

His big veiny hands were roaming all over your body, specifically your breasts. Within minutes, he developed an addiction to them. Probably because of his mommy issues? He grabbed them roughly, tweaking both of your nipples as he fucked you mercilessly.

Tate lolled his head as he felt your hole gripping him tight. Very tight.

He increased the pace and moaned your name, begging you to squeeze him tighter.

“Oh, please, please, please!” The blonde kept whining. He left one of his hands taking care of your nipples, while the other went back to torture your clit. He stroked it in circles, and then up and down, applying the enough amount of pressure to make you beg for more.

“Tate, I feel like I’m—”

“It’s okay, let it go, mhm?”

You couldn’t hold yourself any longer and squirted all over him, coating his lower body with your warm fluids.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, gonna cum!” Tate pulled out from your cunt and pumped his cock with his hand finishing with a loud moan. His hot sticky white cum coated your breasts and abdomen, creating an incredible sight that he always imagined.

All spent, Tate threw himself next to you on the bed, pulling a blanket to cover both of you as he filled your pretty face in candy pecks.

“Did it hurt? First time usually does.” He looked at you, concerned for your wellbeing. “I was too rough?”

You laughed and shook your head no, caressing his messy locks with your fingers, tenderly scratching his scalp. “Don’t worry, I’m fine, really.”

Tate smiled at you and kissed you on the lips, “You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You hugged him from behind, him being the little spoon this time. Your mind was going wild; you were still processing what happened and was about to drift to sleep when he whispered.

“Y/N…?”

“Mh, what is it, Tate?”

“I love you… Please be mine?”

568 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 3 months

Note

Okay okay I saw that ur requests are open soo

Mtmte(?) Buddy that’s like blurr tall, slim but also spiky here and there, a former Decepticon. Now in rodimus gang, still getting use to things. Usually found with Magnus . Rodimus still very interested in buddy (cybertronian) they come off as quiet, introverted but rather talkative with other former decepticons, also likes to climb weird places blending in everywhere.

(Add any character u want in it I’m happy w whatever)

Buddy is the perfect combination of cat behavior and hedgehog/Porcupine.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Ex-con who comes off as quiet but is chatty with other Ex-con's with Ultra Magnus, Rodimus Prime, and Nautica

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Buddy had chosen to quit the Cons a little halfway through the war. They changed their mind after seeing the realities of the Decepticon was doing to other planets such as Earth.

Of course, it had been a tough period of transition full of questioning, but soon enough they had integrated themselves as an Autobot.

Then the war ended.

When Buddy heard about the Lost Light, they jumped at the chance to get off world.

But there was still a lot of Con prejudice against any ex-con.

Buddy opted to stay quiet.

It didn’t help that their frame had some… spikier areas than most Bots as well as their habit of climbing up and perching in weird places.

Their friends thought they knew Buddy as this quiet bot who didn’t like to talk too much.

Until they truly saw them in their most comfortable state.

Talking with other ex-cons.

Ultra Magnus

Magnus is a bit confused that Buddy went from silently standing by his side to chatting up a storm with Cyclonus at Swerve’s.

It was as if a switch flipped with Buddy.

“Hey Cyclonus! How’s everything been?”--Buddy

“Good.”--Cyclonus

“Really? Cause I heard from a little birdy that you might need some help.”--Buddy

“Hmm?”--Cyclonus

“It concerns a certain minibot and what to give him a gift.”--Buddy

“…It was Whirl wasn’t?”--Cyclonus

“I can not reveal how may or may not have said such things?”--Buddy

“Buddy—”--Magnus

“What are you—”--Cyclonus

“I’m glad you ask! I have a whole list of things we can do for Tailgate!”--Buddy

“That won’t be necessary—”--Cyclonus

“I got paid for this, all services are going to be spent. Now number one…”--Buddy

“Cyclonus giving Magnus a look of ‘What happened to your quiet friend?’

Magnus looking at him with ‘I don’t know, and Whirl is the main suspect.’

Magnus didn’t understand it at first.

Maybe the two of them had history before they became a Autobot. But that didn’t make any sense giving that Buddy joined the Autobots before Cyclonus came.

Magnus just stood by and waited while Cyclonus just stood by listening to Buddy.

When Tailgate showed up, Buddy excused themselves and moved back to Magnus.

“Sorry for that Magnus.”--Buddy

“It is all right… but I have to ask, did you know Cyclonus before?”--Magnus

“No, but I heard around that he was an Ex-Con or something and I wanted to get to know him a bit more from the last time.”--Buddy

“Last time?”--Magnus

“Yeah, I accidentally scared him from the vents and nearly got sliced in half. Ratchet was not happy about that.”--Buddy

“…What?”—Magnus

“Lucky for my spikes it didn’t cause too much damage.”—Buddy

“Why where you in the vents?”—Magnus

“… I like feeling tall…”--Buddy

Rodimus Prime

The two of them met up with Drift on the way to the med bay.

First it was a conversation between Rodimus and Drift; that turned into Buddy, Drift, and Rodimus; that turned into Buddy and Drift.

“So, what happen next?”--Buddy

“Well, it was the three of us against these nasty guys—”--Drift

“Really?”--Rodimus

“Shh! Continue.”--Buddy

“With my sword I cut down the enemies that were getting too close. Too close you get you infected.”--Drift

“Hey—”--Rodimus

“Then what happened? You said Pipes got spewed right?”--Buddy

“Bud?”--Rodimus

“He did get infected.”--Drift

“Poor Pipes.”--Buddy

“…”--Rodimus

Rodimus is a little surprised seeing how well his two friends clicked in such little time.

Usually, Buddy warmed up to any bot he introduced after a couple of hours.

Drift had beaten them in less than 5 minutes.

When they drop Drift by the med bay, Rodimus does ask Buddy if they knew Drift back when they were a Con.

“No, I didn’t know him while I was with the Decepticons.”--Buddy

“Really? Could have fooled me.”--Rodimus

“Well, being ex-cons does help find some common ground.”--Buddy

“I guess—”--Rodimus

“HEY!”—Whirl

Buddy jumping high in freight and getting stuck in a nearby high panel from their spikes.

“…”--Buddy

“…”--Rodimus

“…”--Whirl

“… Can someone help me please?”--Buddy

Whirl getting out a data pad and quickly snapping a picture.

“Whirl!”--Buddy

“Can you send that to me?”--Rodimus

“Rodimus!”--Buddy

Nautica

Nautica doesn’t think too much about Buddy chatting with Megatron while they where waiting for Rodimus to show up for the meeting.

She was trying to start up a conversation with ravage when they both noticed how much chattier Buddy was.

Nautica was surprised to see her quiet friend be so chatty all of a sudden. It took her weeks for them to even hold a normal conversation!

“You see that?”--Nautica

“Yes? Its just Buddy and Megatron.”--Ravage

“Yes, but Buddy is the one doing most of the talking.”--Nautica

“And? Its nothing new.”--Ravage

“Really!”--Nautica

“Yes. They tend to be a bit more of a motor mouth when they are around Con’s they used to know and ex-cons.”--Ravage

They have history with Megatron?”--Nautica

“Well—”--Ravage

Rodimus running into the room with an airhorn.

Buddy jumping on top of Megatron and into the vents.

“Buddy!”--Nautica

“Sorry Buddy! You can come down now!”--Rodimus

“I can’t!”--Buddy

“Don’t be like that. I am sure Rodimus is sorry for the scare, there is no need to be childish.”--Megatron

“No, I mean I can’t!”--Buddy

Ravage jumping on Megatron and into the vents.

Buddy curled up in a ball with their spikes impaling the vents.

“…Yeah, their stuck. Nautica call Ratchet or Skids here.”--ravage

“Don’t worry Buddy! Help is on the way!”—Nautica

#transformers #transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #idw mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte rodimus #mtmte ultra magnus #mtmte nautica #lost light x reader

168 notes · View notes

victoirey · 1 year

Note

rotxo x reader?? 🌝🌝 he's so pretty, definitely would read something for him, it's such a shame there isn't anything about him, but u could change that 😏 and I loved the headcanons about being lo'aks bestie- in general, your headcanons are the best 💕

♡. "lovely."—

synopsis / "[...] just... lovely."

gn!omaticayan!lo'aksbestie!reader | y/n has mega epic rizz, but rotxo has better rizz. tsireya x lo'ak canon. count how many times I say gently/gentle. thank you anon for your kind words. it is 3 am, I'm on the brink of insanity and my head hurts. @vante1920pm hi, this is my offering for you. let's be official besties RIGHT NOW.

side note if this flops I'm crying

you know, rotxo was always really nice to you. he greeted you every morning, bid you goodnight ever night. he also brought you food whenever you showed signs of hunger— and also, he tried to have ao'nung leave you guys alone. it was like a silent friendship. a really silent friendship. you were a hundred percent sure he'd be a good wingman for whoever you liked, to be honest!

he's your partner in crime, ( silently ) , your go to boy for venting ( unintentionally) your ride or die (platonically and silently )

so how the hell could this have happened.

rotxo is a kind guy. yeah. he's real kind, his smile itself brings butterflies to your tummy and a light to your face. his voice makes you shiver. his touch makes you melt. his hair is as soft as he is. his heart is what you want. he is your beloved, as the elders say. if any elders knew about it but they can't because you're not that type of dude! you're not that type of dude to fall inlove with someone like 3 weeks in, even though their pretty voice and gentleness when teaching has you screaming , crying , and begging for their love — .

okay, no, you can't be inlove. not in a situation like this. don't prove lo'ak right, y/n. you've got better things to do. handsomer guys to crush on. richer guys to drain resources from. cuter guys to coo over. stronger guys to seek protection from.

except you know what's funny? everytime you tried to compare him to somebody, you'd involuntarily imagine them getting into a big fight. the trophy? your heart. rotxo won easily everytime.

you see, throughout the days rotxo has taught you— you have found yourself falling deeper and deeper into his eyes. they were the sea itself, and if the sea was as beautiful as his eyes were— hell, you'd be presumed dead by drowning. rotxo was a good teacher. he was kind, patient & gentle. he knew when to joke. he knew when to ( attempt to) comfort you. he knew when to congratulate you.

unintentionally, he also knew all of your most vulnerable spots.

"be calm , y/n." he instructed, gently. you were meditating once again, with tsireya , lo'ak , and neteyam. you were doing good, so far — until rotxo placed his unbelievably soft hands onto your stomach to really get you to be calm. you were not calm. absolutely far from calm. your heart was beating and if it was a car, it'd go past the speed limit. you know what a car is because of your days at the lab— and you know how fast they can be. your heart is so much faster right now. rotxo is touching you. rotxo has his hands on your hips. your breath hitches, you shiver, your mind is moving way too fast and you feel that if rotxo wasn't holding onto your waist to stabilize you, you'd quite literally hit your head on the rock. then tumble down miserably. then drop into the ocean.

"y/n." you realize that you have been spacing out looking at him this whole time, looking at his eyes, his nose, his lips, his cheeks— and then you accidentally swear outloud. "sorry." you sheepishly say, except rotxo just laughs. "it's alright! your heart is fast— it's only gone faster now, because I caught you by so much surprise. I'll help you, okay?" he says, gently, and you're about to swear someone out. you don't need his help, you need him to stay away otherwise you're going to explode. except you give in. you oblige.

"okay."

"good." rotxo said, his hands pressing onto your stomach, harder. oh crap. oh fuck. oh no. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshit really like oh my fuck no. "breathe in." he said, you obliged, shakily. "breathe slowly out." you obliged, still shakily. your heartbeat increased with each second he has his hand on your stomach. "your heart is still fast, relax, y/n." rotxo said— and as if you were waiting for that command, as if you were waiting for an order to obey— you instinctively did. you tried to excuse your actions — thinking, wow, rotxo has such a relaxing voice. yet, lo'ak, neteyam, and tsireya looked at eachother— collectively smirking. lo'ak most of all, knowing that this was gonna be peak teasing material.

you were absolute putty in rotxo's presence.

what you were aswell, was inlove. you were unconditionally, irrevocably inlove with rotxo of the metkayina clan. you had admitted it once, in your dreams— you dreamt that he was accepting your confession, and he kissed your hand and it all felt so real— and he just felt so real because his eyes were so real and if you didnt know any better you'd never have left that dream but you had to. and it hurt. there was a world in which he was already yours, except it wasn't this one. you wish it was this one. you dream it was this one.

after that dream, you settle on relaxing— your feet in the water , swishing around — and it really takes your all to just not drown yourself. why are you making a big deal out of this? why are you even inlove with him? he's not all that. he's just a boy.

that's what you told lo'ak, when he came to tease you about it —

"you look like a viperwolf in love." his voice cut through the solid silence. lo'aks voice was full of mischief, "you know, because you're inlove with rotxo and also you're , like a viperwolf , on the brink of insanity." you scoffed, "go drown, lo'ak." he snickered, sitting next to you and dipping his feet into the water aswell. "you know, it's not that bad."

"what is?"

"being inlove."

"wouldn't you know, mr. 'tsireya is my soul incarnate'" you replied, teasingly. he raised his hands up in defense. "you know you love a girl when you love a girl! but still... tsireya and I worked out, so why can't you two work out aswell?"

"because he doesn't like me, jackass."

"you don't know that." he shrugged.

"yes I do, shut up." you snapped.

"woah! getting defensive there, n/n. listen, he basically has heart eyes for you. confess or I'll do it myself, and maybe ask him out on a date for you. because you're such a wuss. and a pussy. and a scaredy cat and a —" he began to list off all the insults he could possibly imagine from the top of his head— and you could've sworn you were going to confess to rotxo just to get him to shut up, but the problem is, you swore it and you actually considered it. at that moment, you tuned everything out. it was weird, honestly. considering an idea that lo'ak , infamous for getting everything wrong, made up. yet, you couldn't believe it, but you .... really had nothing else to do, and nothing to lose besides a friend. and its his loss!

"you know what, lo'ak?"

"undercooked chicken nugget from earth that has a hard piece in it , direwolf shit —"

"lo'ak!"

"sorry, what?"

"I'm gonna do it." you sighed. he jumped, shaking you by the shoulders.

"for real?! ohoho, goodluck! goodluck! literally! I'm so proud right now, you're stepping up! good on you!"

eywa, if you're listening, I need your help. I need this boy to stop shaking me and I also need the other boy to accept my love for him. please, mother, help me.

you cant believe you're doing this.

rotxo is sitting with you, feet in the water, and he's painfully awkward and you can tell because all he can look at is the water and yet all you can look at is him. just him, and his pretty face. why are you being so silent right now? you are literally the one who asked tsireya to lead him here. she was happy to help too. but you know, you're still nervous as shit.

a hand is placed on the back of yours. you shiver, once again.

"I noticed it." rotxo starts, voice quiet. he moves his hand, up , up , and up until your shoulder, and your neck— and then he trails down again, to your side. and then to your hips. he places his hands on your stomach.

your heart near jumps out of your skin.

"why do you react to my touch that way?"

you look at him, eyes widening— to be honest, you didn't think you were being subtle. but you didn't know you were that obvious. you dig into your brain for an answer, and realize that you shouldn't dig for answers. not in your brain, atleast. in your heart. your heart, that has waited patiently for your mate. your heart, that shaked each time rotxo was in your vicinity. your heart, that sent all systems into haywire when he touched you. your heart, whose veins would only ever align with rotxo's. rotxo's heart, not yours. you hate to stoop this low, but in his presence, you are his.

"it is not that I mean to," you start, voice calm. "it's that you are just..." you pause, how could you word it? how could you describe rotxo in one word? how could you even begin to encompass his beauty? his kindness? his gentleness? his thoughtfulness? his nice voice? what could possibly describe everything about him? you think, for a moment. you think and you think, until finally—

"it's that you are just... lovely."

"lovely?" he chuckles, "is that what you think I am?"

"yes." your answer is confident, and that only makes him laugh more.

"you are sure of yourself, that is admirable. what makes me lovely?"

"you just are."

"am i? I do not think ao'nung would agree."

"I do. because I love you."

rotxo looks like he got hit by a truck. rotxo is aghast & unprepared to take your confession, he backs away a bit aswell. you look at him calmly, already expecting nothing but the worst. his mouth twitches, and he looks at your lips, and suddenly all he wants to do is kiss you. he's liked you for some time, now. it feels real good to be confessed to by someone you've liked. really, really good.

"y-you are ... good at the element of surprise." he speaks, "very good."

"am I? personally, I believe I'm better at loving you than I am at the element of surprise."

direct hit to the heart.

you smirk, powered by the surge of confidence. he's deteriorating just by looking at you. you like boys like him. very easy to tease. very cute.

"breathe in, and then out." you say, and he does that— and he is relaxed, naturally.

rotxo looks at you, chest heaving from the amount of times his heart had beat when you had made direct moves on him. he looks at you, smiling. he's happy. still flustered, but he's happy. you, having just recovered from that high, are also happy & flustered. you look at the sky, wanting to look at anything else but him— but he doesn't want to look at anything else but you. your eyes crease up in a smile as you hear his next words,

"I think you are lovely too."

#lo'ak #lo'ak sully #rotxo x reader #rotxo #rotxo x y/n #avatar rotxo #tsireya #rotxo awow #atwow rotxo #neteyam #neteyam sully #metkayina clan #ao'nung #aonung

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vendetta-if · 1 year

Note

Okay... Every. Single. Time. I see the hickey ask on an IF blog I follow, I feel the NEED to post this follow up:

What if very shortly after that, the ROs catch / hear the MC asking someone (or even if the MC asks THEM, depending on the context) if they have something to soothe mild allergic reactions to mosquito bites, because they got one on their neck.

So basically, how would they react when faced to the reveal it wasn't a hickey at all but a dumb mosquito bite!

Here goes out to all of you hickey anons and non-anons 🤭❤️ Also, the link to the infamous hickey ask is here for those who haven’t read it!

Ash

“Wait, wait, Ash!” They hear MC calls out to them and they stop in place. Oh, how they just want to bolt away from this nightmare, but maybe this is also a chance to just face it head-on.

“Ash, what’s wrong?” MC asks as Ash turns around to face them. Ash doesn’t really know what kind of face they’re wearing right now.

“Who was it, MC?” They ask, voice hoarse.

“Who, what?” MC asks in genuine confusion, which just irritates Ash even more.

“The one—The one who gave you… those marks!” They gesture at MC’s neck.

MC’s eyes widen. “What?! No! Nobody gave me these marks. These are goddamn mosquito bites,” MC explains as they scratch their neck. “I swear once I get my hands on those bastards…” They mutter under their breath.

Ash just stands there dumbfounded. “M—Mosquitoes?” Those are not… They glance down and just notice MC is holding a can of bug spray. Oh… Oh no… How could you think the worst of MC, Ash?

“Yeah, pesky bastards. Don’t tell me you didn’t have any in your room last night?” MC says, scanning Ash up and down for a second before concluding, “Oh, you didn’t, don’t you?”

“N—No,” Ash replies truthfully.

“Motherfuckers probably thought your blood is too hot to drink or something,” MC mumbles irritatedly. “Well, I’m gonna spray the whole penthouse now, if you don’t mind.” MC raises the can in their hand like a weapon.

“Uh… Yeah, please do that,” Ash says stupidly. “And, uh… Just forgot what I said earlier…” A surge of relief washes through their whole body, but it soon gets tainted by embarrassment.

“Aww, were you jealous?” MC smirks teasingly.

“Uh—Um…” Ash stammers. “I—I gotta go! See you later, MC!” They splutter in panic before bolting away for real this time.

Oh my God, MC is not gonna let them live this down, won’t they…

Rin

Rin decides not to embarrass themself further and chooses to just ignore MC, pretending not to see or notice them entering the room. They’re not going to lower themself to ask MC about the marks.

Honestly, they’d rather MC leave them alone for now. But of course, the opposite of what they want always happen. They groan inwardly as they see MC walking over to where they’re standing from the corner of their eye.

They steel themself for an unwanted conversation. They’re good at that.

“Hey, Rin,” MC greets them and they just grunt softly in reply. MC doesn’t even notice their curt reply, seemingly distracted by something else.

Oh, I bet their mind is still filled by whatever happened last night…

“Uh, this might be a weird question,” MC begins sheepishly as Rin just keeps staring at them unamusedly. “But, do you know any kind of salve or medicine that can help with these mosquito bites?” They ask, scratching at the marks on their neck.

Rin blinks. There’s no way that excuse would work on them. “Really?” They reply skeptically as they gesture at MC’s neck. “You’re bitten by mosquitoes in your penthouse?”

“I know right? I don’t even know how they managed to get in considering my penthouse is like… at the top floor of a skyscraper,” MC agrees, missing the point Rin is insinuating. “Probably through the elevator or the air vent or something. Anyway, Uncle Luka said he’ll personally get a professional pest extermination service to deal with that.”

Well, Rin did catch their father talking with Luka on the phone about choices of professional pest extermination services available in the city. For some reason, Luka asked their dad as if he knows anything more about it than Luka does. Maybe MC is telling the truth and it’s their paranoia and distrust running rampant once again…

Rin uncrosses their arms—when did they even cross them in the first place? “Uh… Tiger balm works wonder for bug bites,” Rin advises.

“Tiger balm, huh?” MC repeats. “Alright, I’ll just go get it at the nearest drug store. Be right back,” they say before swiftly making their way to the elevator.

Meanwhile Rin is left standing there, still processing what has just happened in the span of a few minutes.

Santana

“Hey, Santana!” MC greets them as they walk over to where Santana is standing.

Santana is already cringing inside at the potential awkwardness of the conversation. They’ll still try their best to try talk normally with MC, but it’s kinda hard with the hickeys still heavy in their mind.

“Um… Hi, MC,” they greet back cordially.

“So, how was your night? Had enough sleep?” MC asks them.

“Well, like usual,” they answer distractedly. “How about you? Seems like you had a wild night…” They gesture at the general direction of MC’s neck.

Oh my God, Santana! What the heck are you doing? Asking about the thing you wanted to avoid talking in the first place?! You idiot!

“Oh, you won’t believe this,” MC begins enthusiastically. “So, I was sleeping pretty soundly for like half the night, before my neck started to feel really itchy. I kept getting dragged out of sleep as I scratched at it. Woke up the next morning, and lo and behold, I just got frickin bitten by the most vicious mosquitoes of Elysium City,” they complain, tilting their head a bit to show them of the “hickeys” which turn out to be mosquito bites.

“Huh?” Santana remarks intelligently as they stare at the marks. Okay, now that they can see them better and closer, they do seem like bug bites instead of hickeys.

“I know right?” MC agrees, with… what? Santana is not sure because their mind is blank right now. “Don’t ask me how the mosquitoes managed to break into my penthouse, which, mind you, is located at the top of a skyscraper.”

“That… That is indeed weird,” Santana replies, chuckling in a mix of amusement and relief. It seems like their fear is unfounded after all.

MC continues their rant about the pesky mosquitoes and their plan on eradicating them from their penthouse. Santana just smiles softly as they listen to every word.

Skylar

Skylar quickly makes their way to MC before anyone else manage to make a conversation with them. MC stops in their track as they notice Skylar approaching.

“Hey, MC!” Skylar greets in faux-cheeriness.

“Oh, hey, Skylar,” MC greets back. “What’s up?”

“Well, I should be the one asking you that,” Skylar says, the grin on their face feels very strained but they hope it won’t show and that it still looks charming on the surface. “Who’s the lucky person?” They ask straight to the point, gesturing at the general area of MC’s neck.

“Certainly not me,” MC groans as they rub at their neck. “Just had one of the worst nights of the month.”

“Oh?” Skylar prompts, hopefulness crammed into that one single sound.

Inside, they’re gleeful though. It seems like whoever MC was sleeping with last night must’ve sucked balls—no possible pun intended. Well, this is their time to shine! Skylar would be more than happy to show MC how it’s really done!

“Yeah! I kept waking up at the middle of the night because these annoying mosquito bites were so damn itchy!” MC complains, scratching at their neck again.

Skylar nods before stopping. Wait, what? Mosquito bites? “What?” They ask, dumbfounded. The marks… they’re not…

MC doesn’t seem to notice Skylar’s confusion as they continue ranting, “I don’t even know how they managed to get in! My penthouse is located at the top of a fricking skyscraper!”

A sense of relief floods through Skylar, and their strained grin has shifted into a mischievous one. “Well, I know of a remedy to help with the bites.”

“Wait, really?” MC looks at them curiously. “What’s that?”

“I heard kisses can work wonder.” Skylar winks before pursing their lips and making kissy noises. “I’m always available to help, you know. Just give me a call whenever you’re ready.”

Skylar can practically see the blood surging up to MC’s cheeks. “Y—You—” they stammer. “You idiot! T—That’s not real! If you’re not going to help, then I’ll go to buy some real medicine for these bites instead!” MC harrumphs adorably, turning away to walk to the elevator.

Aww, MC is soo cute! It makes Skylar feels warm and gooey inside as they chuckle to themself. “Well, my offer will always be open! Whether you have more bug bites in the future or not!” They call out to MC’s receding back.

MC doesn’t even turn and just flips them the middle finger instead before stepping inside the elevator. Oh, they love MC.

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hella1975 · 7 months

Text

hiiii haha. hello. exceptionally awkward introduction bc idrk how to start something like this so let's just jump right in. im taking a break from this account for a bit. i know i said i wanted taob out before halloween and currently im fine sticking with that deadline, but if i decide i need longer away then i will take longer away. every time ive reassured people that id never abandon a fic and updates will always come eventually i never once considered that my writing and ability to feel safe and comfortable on this site would be actively taken from me, so im not even going to apologise. i dont want this either and more importantly i dont fucking deserve it. i dont know what it is in the past year, if ive hit a certain amount of followers or 'popularity' that's made it so the natural ratio of positive to negative interactions must in turn go up, but there's been a serious uptick in weird asks for me. the annoying part is that a very small amount of them are actually objectively mean and hateful, the rest are just weird and invasive from people who seemingly dont realise that's what they're being. ive reached a point where i dont care if the intentions are good. it's not my job as a 20 year old tumblr user of all things to defend the morality of someone who couldnt even bother to come off anon. unfortunately, after blocking only one or two anons, the weird asks have decreased substantially, which says all you need to know about the fascinating and exhilarating lives led by these people, but ive also gone on to turn anon asks off entirely. this is something i actively fought against doing and had to be pushed into by my mutuals (who have been the coolest people on planet earth during this entire thing). turning off anon was a big deal to me even if it sounds silly. i felt betrayed and like id been backed into a corner because it was so vehmently something i DIDNT WANT that to feel like i had to do it anyway for my own mental health??? that sucks. so even though ive 'fixed' the problem, im still kind of reeling and uncomfortable every time i come on tumblr. i hope it's just something i need time to ease because i'll truly be devastated if this becomes 'ruined' for me. tumblr exists as the only place in the world where i am honestly every facet of myself without shame or hesitation; losing that would be insanely harmful to me. and to the people who cant appeal to the actual human behind the post, let me put that in words you can understand: we wouldn't get any more writing 😦😦😦 riots and fires and sirens, i know. so yeah. to anyone who has sent me an anon ask and you're now wondering if you were part of the problem, im firmly of the belief that you'll know if you are. when i say 'weird asks' i dont mean 'you sent me a para about your personal life just to vent or ask for advice' or 'you sent me a really deep emotional compliment about the impact me and/or my writing has had on you' - i love asks like that, so much that i put off taking a break and turning off anon solely for the joy they bring me. im sorry that it might feel like you're being punished too bc of the actions of what in reality is a HANDFUL of weird people, but this is what i feel like i have to do to feel safe and not go insane every time i log in. love you guys, hopefully ill see you soon x

#seriously another shout out to my mutuals #id particularly like to say thank you to boom who's always right there for me no matter what's happening or how insane im being #and also everyone in our little discord that wound up having to make a whole new channel for venting #bc i was there so often like 'today's weird ask isssss.... telling me about my cupsize!! rip them to shreds!!!'#hannah and theo especially being there and pushing me to finally turn off anon. war is truly over #and of course rori bc the shamelessness u show when hating on my anon asks has been genuinely really cathartic #sometimes u really do just need a rottweiler mutual to tell random people online to kill themselves 😭#okay weird oscar acceptance speechcore gratitude over. i do just rlly love my mutuals #like i went three years not telling anyone about the worse side of internet popularity for fear of looking spoiled and ungrateful #so for the first time to open up about it and be met with outrage on my behalf and people saying in fact it's MORE fucked up #than i initially realised bc ive grown desensitised to it is. yeah cathartic i guess #they are singlehandedly reassuring me of the good this cursed app still holds #so everyone thank them and send them flowers NOW #okay im done i think. see you guys soon. i truly do want to come back asap bc like i said i NEVER EVEN WANTED TO FUCKING LEAVE #SOME ASSHOLES JUST HAD TO PUT GRENADES ON WHAT I ASSUMED WERE VERY UNIVERSAL AND OBVIOUS BOUNDARIES #if you're reading this like 'ohhh fuck i defo sent something invasive lately. i thought it was a joke/we were friends'#then 1) we arent friends if you're on anon. it immediately creates a power imbalance where you know me and any necessary context #but i have no idea who you are or how much you know about me. that's already a fucked dynamic #and 2) I HOPE YOU FEEL BAD. LIKE GENUINELY I HOPE YOU FEEL AWFUL AND HAVE A GOOD LONG LOOK AT YOURSELF #okay i think that's all. ta-ra lads??? how tf do u end something like this #ive queued this to reblog a couple more times throughout the day

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tinybirbwrites · 1 year

Text

Guilty Pleasure (Dick Grayson/Reader)

Hello, hi. This started as a vent fic, then it became super silly and fun and longer than expected. No warnings except for some swearing, just silly fluff and crack. Reader is gender-neutral. Also I had Gotham Knights Dick in mind while writing, the game really grew on me lmao.

You often wondered whether Dick had a sixth sense for your mood. Each time you were upset about something, he would either somehow end up finding out about it, or unknowingly comfort you in some way.

Watched a sad movie while Dick was away? Look at your phone; Dick either just sent you a meme, pun, or a sweet little message to brighten your day. Unhappy about what you saw in the mirror? Just you wait; Dick always seemed to have a heartfelt compliment ready for you. Lonely? Worry not; Dick already made plans to come over and glue himself to you for several hours.

This time was no different. Just twenty minutes after you saw something hurtful on social media, Dick plopped down next to you on the couch and wrapped a casual arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, wanna watch a dumb movie together and cuddle?”

Hell yeah.

The movie did turn out to be super dumb—a crazy woman summoning the spirit of her dead killer husband into a fake christmas tree, who then goes on a murderous rampage as a christmas tree? Really? But it was exactly what you needed at that moment.

You were crying and laughing through the stupidity of it all, switching between actually paying attention because of what was happening or because Dick was actively commenting on it, and thinking back to the post you saw that upset you in the first place. Dick didn’t ask, but he kept giving you comforting squeezes and rubbed slow circles over your back the whole time.

As the credits started rolling and you finally got over how weird the movie was, Dick stroked a careful thumb over the tear-trails on your cheek. “Alright, well, now that we’ve gone through all five stages of grief together… You wanna tell me about it?”

You leaned back with a shaky exhale. “Well, you know how I like to read and write fanfiction?” At his nod, you continued, “Well, there’s a subgenre called ‘reader inserts.’ They’re… basically exactly what the title implies. They’re written with you as the main character, and most of the time it’s with a romantic plot point at the focus. It’s something I like to consume for comfort, because it feels nice to read about yourself meeting your favorite characters and interacting with them, doing things together that you’ll never be able to in real life, right? And there’s a lot of well written fics out there that I enjoy a lot, but of course, as with everything, there’s also not so good ones. And the tragic part is, the not so good ones are the only thing that other people who aren’t interested in this subgenre see and know about, so reader inserts get a pretty bad rep. And I get it, I’ve also seen the bad ones, and there’s… a lot of porn, too. I understand it can be frustrating to see when you really don’t want to, but shaming people for writing and reading it just… hurts, you know? It really hurts.”

Dick was silent for a while, frowning. “Sadly, there’ll always be people who get upset about things they don’t like or don’t understand. Some are mature about it, and some aren’t. I’m guessing you saw someone complaining?”

You sighed and nodded, tiredly rubbing a hand over your forehead. “Yeah.” You didn’t feel like elaborating on what the person said specifically, it would only upset you more. Maybe you’d sent a screenshot to Dick later, but right now you just wanted to forget about it.

Dick hummed. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It really sucks when you’ve gotta deal with people hating something you love and care about. And I know it’s easier said than done, but… don’t focus on that negativity. Focus on the good stuff. You’ve talked about getting a lot of positive feedback on your own writing before, yeah? Focus on that. People love what you write, and you love other people’s writing, that means there’s a community where you can all share what you love with each other, and that’s a beautiful thing. Some people just aren’t into the same stuff, they don’t get it, so sometimes they’ll complain about it to feel better. It’s hurtful, yeah, but remember that they’re not targeting you specifically. It’s their problem, the issues often lie within themselves. From what you said, it sounds like they’re just shitting on something they don’t wanna see because they don’t like or care about it. They’re not offering constructive criticism, so really, you don’t have to concern yourself with them. Try to distance yourself from their words, be proud of what you do and who you are. Okay?”

You mulled over his words for a moment, digesting them bit by bit, and eventually, you managed a smile. “Yeah, okay.” You turned your head and leaned closer to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

When you looked at him, the expression on his face was almost shy. “You’re always welcome. I’m just glad I could help somehow.”

Days later, Dick came to you with an excited smile on his face, and you watched as he sat down and pulled out his phone. “So, since you told me about reader inserts, I’ve done some research to better understand what you meant. I wanted to know more about what you enjoy.”

Oh no. “Oh. Really?” you said, a lot calmer than you actually felt.

He grinned, unaware of your growing horror. “Yep! So, I wasn’t sure what to look for at first, but eventually I searched for reader inserts that included some of the media I personally enjoy. I found a few I actually liked a lot! But, uh, I get what you meant with there being a lot of porn.”

You hid your face in your hands with a chortle, feeling heat quickly traveling to your cheeks at the mental image of Dick reading smut fics out of pure curiosity to learn more about what you were passionate about. “Yeah…”

Suddenly, Dick brightened. “Also! You won’t believe it, but I found a lot of Nightwing reader inserts! Some got recommended to me because of my search history, and I got really curious, so—”

OH NO.

“I was so amazed at how many there are! Ah, of course, lots of porn too. Can’t really fault anyone for that, I mean, I know people love my butt, so it only makes sense. Still, feels kinda weird. I started reading a few because I just couldn’t help it, and isn’t it kind of funny? It’s like a story about me making out with myself! Anyway, I found a few really good ones, a lot of them were from the same author—”

Oh God, please, anything but this—

Dick scrolled through his phone for a moment, then turned it around to show you what he found. You felt your soul leave your body.

It was your very own profile picture that stared back at you.

It was your blog.

It was your writing.

Your Nightwing fanfics.

He went on, completely undeterred by your stunned silence. “I know it sounds kind of narcissistic of me to say, but you should totally give this person’s stuff a read! They’re really good! I felt weirdly immersed, reading about being in love with, well, myself. Pining after… myself. Never thought I’d feel so strongly about that, but here I am. There’s one story that I’m hoping will get a second part some day, actually. I’m thinking I should maybe leave a comment. You think it’d be too much to do that with my Nightwing account?”

Oh. Oh, thank God. Dick didn’t know it was you.

You subtly cleared your throat. “Uhm. Yeah, I think commenting as Nightwing would be a bit much.”

It was an older account—you actually hadn’t uploaded anything for a while now, but most of them were about Nightwing.

It had started off with the usual go-to scenarios of Nightwing saving reader while on patrol, something he’d actually done for you a few times now, which was what inspired you to scroll through the Nightwing x Reader tag in the first place. Then you decided you would give in and post some of your own for the public to see as well. Anonymously, of course. You’d never pin your actual name to that particular guilty pleasure of yours.

The more you wrote, the more you started to wonder about what if scenarios.

What if Dick Grayson was Nightwing? You’d noticed that they shared a lot of similarities; a love for puns, a charming smile, a kind heart, perfect hair, and, uhm… A nice body, too. You’d never written out this theory for the public eye, but in your head, you’d started imagining Dick being the one behind the mask, which fuelled your writing even more as you poured your feelings into them.

You knew it was kind of a No-No to write about actual, existing people. It wasn’t something you usually did, either, nor were you very proud of it. But you just couldn’t help it—you’d been pining after Dick and Nightwing separately for years now, venting about it in the form of self-indulgent writing, until you eventually figured out they were both one and the same person.

Of course you’d fallen head over heels in love with Dick, it was practically impossible not to; He had a stupidly big heart and a stupidly big butt. Finding out these two ridiculously attractive and caring people were actually one guy? That only served to intensify your feelings by, like, a hundred.

You hadn’t mentioned this realization to Dick, but it got more and more difficult not to as time went on. Until finally, one day, Dick confessed his vigilante identity to you, stating he trusted you and felt it was only fair if you knew. He felt bad about having to lie to you and keep making up excuses about his bruises and why he had to cancel plans every time something big happened that Nightwing had to take care of.

You were too scared to tell him about your feelings, especially after realizing you’d been writing reader insert fanfics about him all this time. It was one thing to just imagine Dick being Nightwing, but it was another to actually know it was him. You were lucky and very happy to even be friends with this amazing guy, and you weren’t about to ruin that by confessing your shameful sins to him.

You knew it was extra weird to write not only about an actual person, but about your friend. You’d never written any smut—that was something you just couldn’t let yourself do, it felt too wrong, even before you found out about Dick’s secret.

You knew he took all the sexually charged comments on his Nightwing persona in good stride. He actually seemed to glow from all the praise, even feeding into it by laying on the charm extra thick sometimes when on patrol, always insisting Nightwing should never wear a cape so his precious butt wouldn’t be covered up. You also knew that he himself as Richard Grayson was a very popular guy, handsome and charming, a “well dressed golden retriever,” as some people liked to describe him.

But you also knew that there was a line, and you felt like you were definitely crossing it by writing reader inserts about your best friend and crush. Though you did stop writing them after finding out about who Nightwing really was—it just felt too weird to keep posting more at that point.

Argh, who were you kidding? Either way, it was definitely still weird that you hadn’t immediately deleted your whole blog afterwards. It didn’t matter that Dick was currently unknowingly blowing up your phone with excited comments and likes on several of your Nightwing x Reader fics. You pulled it out and glanced at your screen as it lit up. Ah, he was also sending you all the links so you could read them for yourself.

Is this how Dick felt when people talked about Nightwing in front of him, not knowing it was him they were talking about? You certainly felt like you had a top secret persona now.

Despite your conflicted feelings on the matter and the rising shame in your chest, you couldn’t help but smile at Dick’s genuine enthusiasm. And his comments were all very nice, too.

Maybe… Maybe he would be okay with it, knowing it was you. Maybe he’d laugh about it. Maybe he’d even be flattered. You knew it would be impossible to keep this to yourself forever, especially since Dick was so easy to open up to. But not now. Definitely not now.

A few months later, Tim mentioned your username during a group conversation. In his defense, he probably thought it was common knowledge—you knew he wouldn’t reveal something as big as this on purpose if he thought it wasn’t a big deal. You were using the same username for several other accounts on other websites as well, all connected to your second email address, the one you hadn’t shared with Dick or the others, so you hadn’t actually expected them to ever look into it and find out.

How very foolish of you. You just hoped Tim hadn’t read any of your fanfics as well.

While you’d tried to appear calm and unaffected on the outside, you could feel yourself slowly dying on the inside, melting from the sheer amount of mortification you were experiencing.

You couldn’t look Dick in the eyes ever since.

While he hadn’t mentioned anything directly, you could tell the clogs inside his head had already turned enough for him to connect the dots. He knew. Fucking shit, he knew.

Several days went by. You kept casually sending messages to him, sharing memes and other every-day things like always, and he did the same. But you could tell he knew and wanted to say something, but didn’t because he could tell you were highly uncomfortable with him knowing.

He was nice like that. Goddammit.

And then, one evening, as you contemplated finally deleting your whole account and sending an official apology to Dick (you would definitely have to do that, you just didn’t know what to say and where to start), your phone lit up with a new message.

From Dick.

You stared at the notification for a long moment, dreading what you’d find once you opened it, until your eyes started to burn and you had to force yourself to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

Don’t jump to any conclusions now, you told yourself. Just open the damn message and see for yourself.

You procrastinated by going to the bathroom first. Then walked around the kitchen in search of something to eat, only to realize you were too anxious to actually eat anything.

So you took your damn phone and clicked on the damn notification, holding your damn breath as you read Dick’s messages.

(Dick) 21:32 : Hey, so, I had some ideas for a sequel regarding your last Nightwing story

(Dick) 21:33 : Hear me out

(Dick) 21:35 : What if Nightwing went over to reader’s place

(Dick) 21:35 : and then…

You waited for him to elaborate, maybe send a GIF or something else, but he wasn’t even online anymore. You frowned and started to type a hesitant, confused response, when there was a sudden knock on your living room window, making you flinch and shriek, almost dropping your phone in the process.

Looking up, you saw Dick in his Nightwing suit outside your window, grinning and waving at you.

You blinked at him for a moment, then quickly walked over to open the window. “Wha—”

“You haven’t posted in a long time,” Dick interrupted you with a smile. “I thought maybe I could help inspire you.”

“Ins— Inspire?” you repeated, stunned.

You stepped back a little when he started climbing through the window, taking in his appearance with a sense of awe. You’d seen him as Nightwing a few times now, but you never quite got used to it. He was a sight to behold—he always was, whether he was wearing the suit or just his regular clothes, but having Nightwing standing in front of you in your own home always felt a little unreal. It was so form fitting, showing off his muscles and curves, and the mask hiding parts of his face had its very own appeal that you could hardly put into words.

“I noticed a theme while going through your stories.” Dick’s voice pulled you out of your stupor, and you quickly shut your mouth, only now realizing you’d been gaping at him the whole time.

You cleared your throat. “A theme?”

“Yeah.” He stepped closer to you, slowly, as if he wanted to check whether you would move away or not. “Nightwing and reader never actually kiss in any of them.”

You thought your heart was going to burst out of your chest. Then you realized he was waiting for you to say something.

“Oh, uhm. Yeah. I, uh. I just felt kind of weird about that. At first I was just scared you’d maybe find out about my stories some day and be weirded out by them, but later on after you told me about being Nightwing, I also just— It felt wrong to write about kissing you because it felt… too personal? And then I just kinda stopped writing them entirely.”

“Mh-hmm,” he hummed understandingly, stepping even closer, close enough for you to smell his cologne and minty breath. “Not to force my own interpretations onto your writing or anything, but I think Nightwing would definitely be very much into kissing the reader. And seeing how strongly the reader feels about him, I’m guessing it’s something they would want, too?”

You gulped, then managed to croak out a weak, “Yeah.”

He smiled and leaned closer until the tip of his nose shortly brushed yours, pausing for a moment to give you the chance to pull away, then gently pressed his lips to yours. Your breathing hitched, an electrifying sensation running through your whole body, starting from the points where he was touching you. His hands were on your arms, slowly rubbing up and down while he moved his lips against yours just as slowly. Your muscles couldn’t decide whether to stay tense or relax and melt against him, so you did a weird combination of both.

Unsurprisingly, Dick was a very good kisser.

After a long moment, he eventually parted from you, leaning back a little to take in your reaction. You couldn’t help but let out a breathless little laugh, stunned by what just happened, and so very fucking happy.

Dick chuckled too, hands gently squeezing your upper arms as if he wanted to hug you. “Was that okay?”

“Absolutely,” you said, without hesitation. “I’m sure all the fics probably gave it away, but I have feelings for you. Strong ones.”

“Well, I didn’t want to make assumptions based on fiction alone,” Dick smiled. “But I’m glad, because I feel the same way. About you, I mean.”

Your chest warmed at that. Then you chuckled, an idea hitting you. “What, you don’t want me to write Dick Grayson x Nightwing fanfics next?”

He opened his mouth to retort with something sarcastic, but then his eyes widened. “Oh my God, that’s actually a really genius idea—”

You chortled and knocked your hand against his strong chest. “No, it really wouldn’t be. What if people connected the dots and found out because of it?”

He pouted. “Alright, fair point. But maybe you could write them just for me?” Aaand he was using his puppy eyes on you. Go figure.

“I’ll think about it,” you gave in. Only a few people were strong enough to withstand Dick Grayson’s charm, and you certainly weren’t one of them. “But, I gotta ask… Weren’t you super weirded out when you found out that I wrote all these stories? Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?”

If you ever found out that a friend of yours was writing romantic reader insert fanfics about you and publishing them… Well, you didn’t know what it would feel like, but it was definitely weird.

Dick chuckled and shook his head. “If it were someone else I knew, then maybe. But I know you—you’re one of my best friends. Knowing you wrote them, it just… doesn’t bother me at all, no. I understand why you wrote them, I understand why you published them, too. And why you stopped.” He shrugged. You felt a weight fall from your shoulders at his words, finally feeling yourself relax against him. “Anyway, did I manage to inspire you? You gonna write a kiss for part two?”

You snorted, then hummed, pretending to think for a moment. “I don’t know, I think I’ll need a bit more to really get the creativity flowing.”

Dick’s smile turned knowing. “I’d be more than happy to help.” And then he kissed you again, and it was even better than the first time.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #reader insert #x reader #genderneutral reader

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quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

The language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: day 4 - shock

Warnings: action based blood/explosion

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint and Natasha’s first mission after the events of New York.

A/N: Sometimes things are exactly as they appear to be. (Also be kind to fic writers pls, know we read each and very comment on reblogs <3)

2012

NEW YORK

“He’s better,” Natasha defends, protectively.

“I’m just saying that hiding in vents to spy on your friends is not a good thing,” Bruce tells her.

“He’s not spying, this is a weird situation. We’re here because it’s mandated. We just didn’t know for how long.”

Natasha moves out of the kitchen, wanting to find Clint.

“Just think about it?” Bruce calls after her.

Six months they’ve been here and she knows they’re both stir crazy. Probably all of them are.

Bruce is preparing to go back to Calcutta, and who knows where Thor left to.

She knows Bruce just wants the best for Clint, and she does too; but weekly therapy is enough.

They don’t need more.

He’s no longer catatonic, he’s eating, joking and talking about his feelings.

Isn’t that all she can ask of him?

He’s never had to deal with mind control or someone being in his brain.

The tower is more empty now, though Tony maintains they’re welcome for as long as they want.

She wonders what Steve is going to do.

Her phone rings and she glances at the caller, seeing Maria, she picks it up.

“Yeah?”

Reprieve comes in the strangest of ways.

“We have a mission for you,” she opens.

“Australia.”

Natasha’s heart leaps a little and she smiles to herself.

“Send the packet,” she says, “we can leave whenever.”

Maria pauses.

“How’s he doing?”

Natasha finds her way into the elevator, choosing Clint’s floor as an email comes through.

“Got it,” she tells her, “he’s better, he’s ready for this I think.”

Maria is quiet.

“I’m glad; we’ve missed you both.”

Natasha nods.

“Nothing like a mission to Australia to recalibrate.”

“I’ll get Fury to spring for business class, the 18 hour trip is shit,” Maria laughs.

Natasha is thankful, she hates traveling economy class on long haul trips.

“Hey, maybe whilst you’re there you can do some wedding prep,” Maria goads.

Natasha laughs and hangs up on her friend.

It’s been a running joke since the mission in Kashmir, one that since the events in New York, she’d not heard.

Finding Clint reading, she throws her phone at him with the open packet showing.

“Australia?!”

His glee is contagious as she smiles.

Today is a good day.

Natasha feels a bit of lightness in her world, and it feels strange given the last six months.

She can’t remember the last day like it. Maybe before the aliens came.

“Business class?!”

He laughs again.

“What a lowball mission, they must be feeling sorry for us.”

She takes her phone back, and lays down next to him.

“Maria said we should do some wedding prep,” she laughs with him.

His face turns serious, and she wonders if she’s ruined the mood.

“What if we do?”

She breaks into a smile.

“Yeah okay.”

He nods, looks at the packet again.

“We’re going to Queensland anyway. Nothing happens there.”

Natasha nods, lays down next to him and closes her eyes.

“Bruce is leaving tomorrow too,” she murmurs.

“Tony is going to be lonely,” Clint considers.

“Yeah.”

She does feel sorry for the billionaire, who seems to have grown accustomed to having people in his world, to suddenly have none.

“Maybe we should get everyone together and eat tonight,” he proposes, “I think maybe after Australia we could go back to the apartment.”

It’s a big step, not being around people, not feeling the need to have safety measures in place. She doesn’t think she would have even considered it a month ago, but the more she thinks about it, the more it feels right.

“Yeah I think that sounds like a good idea.”

Tony spares no expense in providing for his friends.

It’s kind. Natasha isn’t used to the abundance, even after all this time.

“There’s no way we will eat all this,” she tells him, passing him the food.

Pepper, Steve and Bruce sit on one side and it’s the three of them on the other.

Sitting between Clint and Tony, it’s like sitting between her brother and her lover. Or what she imagines that might be like.

She’s going to have to ask Clint what it was like growing up with a brother. She imagines dangerous in a fun way.

Steve tells a story that makes her laugh; and she goads him with a fossil joke, Clint chimes in with another story and the night passes quickly.

Too quickly, it feels and she wants to stay in this happy moment, this good day.

It surely can’t last.

Australia is hot.

It’s a different heat to the United States, and she can almost feel the infrared heat engulf her as she steps off the plane.

“Shit,” Clint exclaims.

She stares at him and he shuts up.

He’s to play her bodyguard, and his outburst is out of character. It’s not like him.

It’s like he’s forgotten what he needs to do to be a spy.

She frowns, worried.

This is a low ball mission, but it doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t take it seriously.

Let your guard down and you become an easy target, even if the mission is just surveillance.

He takes her bags in apology and she fakes the persona she’s been given.

Rich people rarely give eye contact to anyone.

She leaves her glasses on and continues on her way through customs. It takes longer than she expects and she internally groans at the lines.

Externally, she complains out-loud. Everyone avoids eye contact.

Australians are a strange bunch, unlike Americans they seem to both simultaneously helpful and not, no one going out of their way to explain things or to point the clueless in the right direction.

The car that picks them up and drives them to the house is black and the driver nondescript.

It’s only when they’re alone in the two story house overlooking the beach that she breaks character and flops on the bed.

“I forget how well you do a rich bitch,” he says offensively.

She smiles.

“Get me a drink, won’t you?”

He laughs and busies himself with making a late lunch.

They have three hours before night, before they start the stakeout and all he’s eaten is plane food.

Two hours in the car and he’s so bored he starts throwing popcorn into his mouth.

Then.

The generator blows.

“Nat?”

“Yeah I saw it.”

They move out of the car, trying to get a better look.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” he mutters.

She rolls her eyes.

“I don’t think so.”

Natasha moves quickly, scouting the house to see what’s happening inside, their line of sight now gone in the darkness.

“Nat, wait,” he urges, “what if it’s a trap?”

The money launder is clearly on alert.

Two sets of armed guards leave the door and Natasha watches as they fan out. She sneaks past them and Clint swears as she looks back.

Natasha moves into the house.

Two shots ring out, and Clint ducks, swearing softly under his breath.

There’s someone else there and he can’t see them.

Scrambling up and onto the tall fence, he moves across the tallest tree and climbs up it.

There’s a team of two, dressed in black with large night vision goggles that make them look like frogs.

He taps on his ear piece.

“There’s two, on your left, try and take the mark alive if you can,” he orders.

“The two are coming through the kitchen, he’s moving out the up the stairs.”

Ideally alive, with his ties to hydra and the ten rings, he has valuable information they can use.

Natasha gives the signal she’s seen and chases him up the stairs.

Clint holds the two unknowns lined up in his sight.

He sees one set a charge and the other place two more.

“Fuck, Nat, they’re setting it to blow,” he growls, too far away, too high up to get to her before they detonate.

He drops down anyway, yelling.

“Nat, it’s a trap, they’re rigging it to blow, get out,” he says urgently.

He chases after the retreating spooks, and catches one, gun trained on them.

The frog like character shakes it’s head and holds up the detonator.

“No,” he exclaims, and holds his gun up.

They shake their head, and then press the button.

Hot flames engulf the building, throwing both of them back.

He tackles the body to the ground, ripping off the mask, and punching down hard.

Blonde hair and a frown greet him under the balaclava.

Wild eyes turn to him, “better go save Natasha,” a Russian accent growls.

Shock hits him.

How do they know Natasha?

Russian.

Black widow?

His heart sinks as the realization that Natasha is in a burning building.

“Just like Dreykov’s daughter,” she says scathingly, “left alone to die in a burning building with a bad man.”

Clint lets her go and runs.

She’s going to be okay, she has to be.

The explosion wasn’t big enough to total the building, parts still standing as he coughs in the heat, shielding his face.

He hears sirens wailing, and he knows he needs to find her.

“Natasha!” he calls, going in.

“Nat?!”

He calls her name over and over until he reaches the crumbling stairs. Covering his mouth, hoping that nothing else explodes, he climbs them.

Finding a bathroom, he opens the door only to find Natasha behind it.

“Bathtub,” she coughs.

“Stayed in.”

He hands her the cloth he was using to cover her mouth and helps her down the stairs.

“Mr. Nought?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“Couldn’t get to him. Dead, I think.”

They exit the house, Natasha limping and Clint guiding her out.

He wants to check her over, to see if she’s actually okay, but the sirens draw closer and they need to leave.

“I think the safe house is compromised,” he says driving away, heading straight for the airfield.

“We probably need to swap cars too.”

Natasha groans and holds her head, and Clint glances at her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just go, find a car,” she tells him.

There’s blood but he can’t tell in her black cat suit.

“Who was that?” she asks, looking back.

He doesn’t want to say the words but as he speaks them, the more he’s convinced he’s correct.

“Nat, I think it was Yelena.”

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shock #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #marvel fic #Clint barton fic #Yelena belova #natasha and yelena #Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton #avengers fic #avengers in the tower

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yanderefantasies · 2 years

Note

Not a single creepypasta request? Alright, I'll be the first one then. What about some Homicidal Liu and/or Bloody Painter hcs? Whoever you feel most comfortable with. Thanks!

I’ll do both, just cause

Sorry this took so long- also since you didn’t specify any ideas then I’ll just make these general hcs? What type of yandere they are. :))

Fem readers DNI

•Liu Woods “Homicidal Liu” is, in all senses of the word, possessive with a capital P.

•He isn’t the type of guy to fall fast, but he is the type to fall hard. With enough attention, honestly, and affection? You’ve got him hooked. Literally. You wont see him around anyone else, cause he’ll be attached to your hip. If anything? He’s like a guard dog. Lashing out and attacking other people when they’re around you, circling around you like a damn shark sometimes too.

•In all honestly, you could just sum it up to family issues and separation anxiety if you wanted. Which is basically all it is- but don’t get it wrong, he does genuinely love you. Just,,, in his own twisted way. As in. Killing for you and doing everything you ask.

•Sometimes he’ll feel bad for being sooo,,, suffocating. He’ll try and give you space, but it’ll usually just end up with him feeling like shit and crawling right back to you whether you want him to or not.

•Sadly, this man does lash out in anger every now and then, but never at you. Dude has some serious anger issues, as well as another fucking person in his body so like. Ya know. Shits difficult for him currently,, until Sully fronts but that’s a diff conversation for a diff day.

•During said episodes where he lashes out, it usually just consists of throwing something in a different room, yelling into a pillow, or, worse case scenario, he goes out and kills someone to vent his anger. And then brings back a dismembered body part as an apology gift.

•,,,,yeah he acts kinda like a dog.

•Helen Otis, “Bloody Painter”, is quite the stoic type of guy. You can’t really get a read on him. I hc that he’s selective mute, so you definitely won’t be hearing anything from him. If you know ASL, then congrats! You two can hold a conversation. If not? Then you may wanna only ask yes or no questions for the time being.

•Don’t get me wrong, yes, he’s stoic, but he still takes good care of you. I’d say he’s an obsessive type. And he wouldn’t hesitate to abduct you early on. He’s got too many artworks of you in his studio to count, some in oils, watercolor, charcoal, and,, some questionable red liquid. Yay.

•Honestly I feel like he’d keep some sort of diary, and then only use it to talk about you and his feelings and devotion towards you.

•if you ever find it, don’t question it. Just put it back.

•Like Liu, this dude is attached to your hip. At first, he’s too scared to actually touch you and give affection, but that’s cause he’s embarrassed and nervous. The mask kinda hides it. That’s another thing! You’ll never be able to tell what he’s thinking.

•He doesn’t have any “tells” with his body language, you can’t see his face, and he doesn’t speak. Sometimes it’s easy to mistake him for a robot.

•Unlike Liu, Helen doesn’t lash out like him. Helen is surprisingly very calm and cool-headed. If he gets angry, he knows it’s not your fault, you don’t need to worry about him hurting you. Helen getting angry is extremely rare, and if he isn’t able to calm down immediately like he usually does, then he just steps outside for a moment to cool down.

•but let it be known that it’s pretty hard to anger him in the first place.

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kattythingz · 3 days

Note

OH that's wonderful.

Honestly, Ling getting there first is not a bad thing if you consider that YJ was supposed to be a stealth based team at first (and at the end, and I'm pretty sure all around, except that they managed to blow something up every single time they left Mt Justice and yeah, they'll get along incredibly well with Ed)

I love how everyone knew Ed as 'The Fiance' but also how much of what they know is accurate? Because Ling could definitely just brag about his Love, who is Amazing and Sweet and Delicate but Strong and then they meet Ed and he's all those things!.. kind of. They've spent all that time imagining themselves someone to match Ling's sappynnes and now they have a short temperamental asshole who thinks Idiot is a term of endearment (it is)

OK now I started rambling, but I couldn't help it!! It's such a good AU I need more!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAH THANK YOU!! That means a lot to me 🥺 When I say I've daydreamed a lot of this au, I've daydreamed a lot. I'm glad you're enjoying it with me!! As a treat, here's a second scene that got out of my hands again. 2.7k, yeesh. I definitely should've been working on Solaris instead, lmaaoooo.

Part 1 here, for anyone new who's curious.

Robin had to admit, just to himself, that stealth wasn’t ideal for a facility like this. The walls were high and sturdy, composed of some kind of resilient metal that didn’t bend much, and the only space to safely follow undetected were the vents along the sides. Normally, he would’ve gone with the ceiling vents, but there were none here. They might’ve underestimated their resident bad guy’s paranoia last time.

He might’ve underestimated Ling too, as he’d chosen to travel by ground instead, and Robin hadn’t seen him again since. It should’ve been impossible in such an open space, but—it was like the guy had just disappeared. He would’ve been majorly jealous, if he wasn’t curious how that even worked in the first place.

The rest of the team were on standby in their own corners, waiting for Robin’s signal to intervene when needed. They’d initially protested the risk of a rescue mission, but Robin knew they all thrived on the same brand of chaos and rebellion; it was what had bonded them as a team. Obviously, they were on board.

He listened intently to the guards’ loud chattering as they walked their prisoner down an unfamiliar direction. The walls were getting darker here, and colder. The jails must’ve been close.

“—mean, it’d be a little funny if that actually happened,” guard one said with a no-doubt ugly grin. What was it with goons and ugly grins? “I’d kill for vacation time, at this point.”

“Talk a little louder, Jared.” Guard two rolled her eyes. “While you’re at it, why don’t you run back to the boss right now and tell him everything you just said?”

“Oh, come on, you’d pay to see it too.”

“I’m not putting my response to that on record.”

“Nah, you should just go ahead and say it.” It was Ed who spoke, and Robin’s eyebrows shot up, already leaning closer to hear the rest.

He’d expected a lot of things from Ling’s infamous fiance, but a punch to the solar plexus wasn’t one of those things. He wasn’t anything like the team had envisioned. Needless to say, Robin was way curious about the guy.

“You’ve got a pretty shitty boss down there,” Ed continued, “and I’d know a thing or two about shitty bosses. I mean, no vacation time? Talk about a stick up his a—”

He stopped on a yelp—stumbling from a kick to his left leg.

“Watch it, brat,” guard two said. “The only reason you’re still here is because we need you alive to extract your meta gene from. If it weren’t for that—”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna fucking work, lady,” Ed snorted. “Like I keep telling you—”

He cut off again on a sharper, gritted noise, freezing with the visible shock from his inhibitor collar. Guard two smirked, putting away her remote.

“Your reaction to that says otherwise, boy,” she said.

“I’d think”—Ed heaved a clearly pained breath, still not moving. He was leaning most of his weight on his right leg now—“that anyone would react to being—”

He gritted his teeth again, shouldering another click and a shock.

“—fucking electrocuted,” he finished, biting out.

“You should’ve been paying attention before,” guard two scoffed as her friend pushed Ed to get moving again. He did so with an obvious limp now—to Robin, at least. He didn’t think the guards saw it. “That fancy collar doesn’t react to regular folks. If it’s not from a meta gene, then there’s something about you.”

“You mean a brain? I wasn’t gonna say it to your boss, but it’s pretty funny that your so-called head scientist can’t even grasp the basic concepts of, you know, a science. You sure he’s the right guy for the job, or did he just bang his head against the metal walls enough times before—”

Guard two let out a growl, and, oh, yeah, Robin knew what Ed was doing—and pretty damn well too. In the split second that guard two ditched her stance to strike Ed herself, Ed was already moving.

He ducked under her fist, letting gravity do its own work for a second before kicking the back of her legs.

She stumbled in true, and guard one went swinging too.

“You little shit—!”

Ed whirled around, prepared to dodge, but something else moved in tandem.

A shadow, emerged in a blink, striking the guard in the outstretched side.

Ed didn’t miss a beat and kicked out his right to get the guard’s other side. The guard twisted with his broken axis, and Ed got his hips with the knee.

The guard yelped before toppling back.

“SON OF A—!”

Ed lifted his leg to deal the final blow, but his eyes widened that time when the shadow beat him to it again—kicking with much more force that sent the guard slamming into the metal wall.

Robin winced at the crack! that accompanied.

Well, he was never pissing off Ling again. Yeesh.

“Holy shit!” Ed laughed when he registered too, though not fully. “You did not have to go that hard. Who—?”

“Ed.”

Ed froze at the breathy call, and there was Ling now. Crouching and just as affected—the eyes of a man to water in the middle of a desert.

Ed’s breath hitched. “Li—?”

Neither of them noticed guard two rising from her spot.

The jig was already up, so Robin didn’t wait to kick out the vent opening and fling a birdarang. Guard two cried out when it caught her in the cheek, disrupting her balance again as she stood. Ed whipped his head to Robin’s landing, mouth dropping in surprise a little when guard two was already down.

“What—?”

“Hey there!” Robin greeted cheerily, cutting him off. “Nice to meet, I’m Robin, can we get moving now? I think we’ve invited a party.”

True enough, pounding footsteps quaked the ground from a distance. Ling straightened up from his position before nodding, turning to Ed in a practiced motion and tugging him forward. Ed’s gaze darted back to Ling and he swallowed, drawing on nothing but air when Ling broke his shackles with terrifying strength.

“Ling,” Ed started again, stumbling, “what—where—?”

“There’s no time,” Ling interrupted hastily. “Do you trust me?”

Ed wavered at the final soft tone, stark eyes melting with uncanny resemblance to Ling’s when he stuttered, “What kind of question is that? Obviously—”

“Then follow Robin.”

“What?”

Robin snapped to motion without further prompt and grabbed Ed’s wrist, pulling him along down the hall. “This way!”

“H-Hey, wait—! Ling—?!”

“He knows how to find us! Focus on yourself right now!”

Ed kept a good pace for someone spluttering, “I—I know that, asshole! How do you—?”

When he didn’t turn back in a blaze of fury for Ling, Robin released his wrist and focused on pulling up the building’s blueprints again. If they were tracking the right path, then their safest escape route for Ship to collect them was—

There!

The halls opened for the VIP section of the building, flanked on both sides by large labs that they should’ve thought to explore before pulling this off. None of the scientists inside noticed them, but that was looking too good to be true any second no—

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

Intruder alert. Intruder alert.

“Fucking hell!” Ed grunted behind Robin, slapping his hands over his ears. “Could they make that any louder?”

The adrenaline was kicking in now, and Robin let out a laugh. “I know! Come on, this way next! There should be—”

“—a VIP exit. Obviously!”

“You know your stuff!” Robin grinned, slamming the final key on his key-glove to hack the cameras and motion sensors. Sparks lit his periphery vision as the cameras drooped, and he heard Ed’s impressed noise at the unanimous reaction.

“Seems you do too. How—?”

Robin tossed him a smirk over his shoulder. Golden eyes were glittering now, just as charged as Robin. “I’ll show you later, if we make it out.”

“Is that a challenge?” Ed shouted back.

Robin almost answered that—totally—but movement around the corner behind Ed caught his eye.

A wind whipped past them at the same time, and Robin grinned as they received an eager, “I’ve got this!”

“What the—?!”

“Kid Flash!” Robin said. “Another guy you can trust.”

Wally sped to their stopped side not a blink after, shooting Ed an exhilarated grin and a salute. “Hey! Ed, right? Kid Flash, greatest speedster there is and the coolest guy on this ragtag te—”

“Shut up, man!”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Ed blurted, deadpan in a way that clocked Wally flat and had Robin cackling.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my uniform?”

Ed didn’t get to further crush Wally when the announcement changed tunes abovehead.

Initiating lockdown in East Wing. I repeat, initiating lockdown.

BOOM!

Where the hallway once forked ahead of them, a great wall abruptly slammed down. Robin was already pulling up his schematics again, looking for the key to hack security, but—

“Crap! Security runs on a separate firewall!”

“What does that mean?” Wally yelped, eyes darting to the other end of the hall where the rats where gathering again. “And why are there so many of these guys?! It’s just one prisoner! Isn’t this overkill?”

Robin didn’t risk breaking his focus with an answer. Down the hall, guards yelped and grunted indignantly.

“ED!”

Ling’s voice echoed in the metal space, and Ed jerked in his direction

“Ling! I’m right here!”

At the same time, Robin cursed. “Crap! I can’t hack this in time!”

“Well, that’s great!” Wally exclaimed shrilly. “And nobody else’s on this side of the wall either! What do we do now, boy genius?”

“If you can just buy me some time—!”

“Forget time!” Ed interjected suddenly, catching both their eyes. His own glare was set ahead on Ling’s figure dodging guards, cutting his way to them. Something passed over his expression, and he set his brow before whirling on Robin.

“You can hack shit, right? Get this thing off me.”

He pointed at his inhibitor collar, and Wally let out another noise.

“Dude! Greater priorities right now, like us being cornered any second—!”

“Got it!”

Robin recognized a “fuck shit up” look when he saw one. He made quick work of the collar, and the light on it clicked green before snapping open.

Wally’s face twisted further. “Hello?!”

They both totally ignored him as Ed cracked his freed neck with a hand. “Thanks. Now step back.”

“I’d listen to him if I were you!” Ling cheered as soon as he was in reach, smiling wider and realer at Ed than Robin thought anybody had ever seen of him this entire time, and already retreated behind Ed. “Ed doesn’t give warnings lightly.”

Robin didn’t need to be told twice, unlike Wally.

He yanked his best friend back into their little corner, leaving Ed to stand in front of them, a stark silhouette in the low light of the hall against the mass of guards that stopped to blockade the other end of the hall.

“We have you surrounded, boy,” the head guard called with their weapon pointed. “There’s nothing for you to melt safely here, unless you want to cook your friends with the rest of us.”

Ling’s chuckle sounded before Ed’s—though the latter rang louder.

“Yeah, about that,” Ed snorted.

He clapped his hands together, and electricity hummed in the atmosphere, like every time Wally had tried and failed to speed through walls. Several guards tensed at the feel and Ling particularly grinned with more teeth beside Robin.

“Melting isn’t the only thing I can do.”

The head guard straightened, holding their weapon higher. “Boy, I’m giving you a chance here—”

“That’s funny,” Ed said. “So am I.”

He slammed his palms to the ground, and, all at once, the walls convulsed around them. Electricity zapped down the metal seams, quaking the ground with a mighty, unseen shifting in the cogs.

There was a split-second pause, as Wally whispered, “What the hell was that supposed to—?”

The walls exploded.

One by one, like endless dominoes left and right and up and down, metal branched from every which way to SLAM between Ed and the guards, shaking the ground with tremor after tremor, until, in a manner of seconds—

The entire distance had disappeared.

Where a great hall once sat between them and the enemy, now stood a wall no more than a few feet from Ed’s nose.

Wally and Robin both gawked that time.

“God, that felt good,” Ed announced, wiping his hands from a job well done. “Fucking idiots. As if all I could do was melt shit.”

He turned to the stunned group of them, absurdly nonchalant for a guy who’d just molded the walls like playdough, and Robin seriously couldn’t help it.

“Holy shit,” he said, and Ed cracked a grin.

“Watch your fucking language,” he replied. “Not so bad yourself, kid.”

Robin was going to answer that, but a certain blur zooming past beat him to it.

It wasn’t Wally.

Ed yelped when he was abruptly lifted in a hug—a noise that ended in a squeak when he went spinning too. His face erupted in red as he slapped Ling’s shoulder, stuttering, “Hey! Your friends are right there, you idiot prince—!”

“You’re calling me that name again.” Ling’s voice came out muffled into Ed’s chest, and he halted his wriggling to look down wide-eyed at Ling. “You’re—you’re really saying it, and you’re yelling at me again—you’re really here. Ed, Ed, yáng’er—”

“Ling—” Ed started a little faintly himself now.

“Ed,” Ling choked out, so much and so suddenly like a prayer, Robin tore his gaze from the sight when Ed’s breath hitched too. Wally did the same in his periphery, and they both heard rather than saw the click of Ed’s boots touching the ground softly again.

“Ling…” Ed’s murmur, however low, reached them anyway. “Hey, don’t—”

“Don’t ask me not to make any faces now,” Ling said thickly over him. “You were an entire world away. An entire world—wěidà lóng, I couldn’t—”

“Babe.”

Robin shifted at the soft tone, really feeling like he was intruding now. There was a brush of skin on skin, and a soft tap.

“I know,” Ed whispered. “I—I missed you too, fuck. You have no idea how… when I heard from Lan Fan that you were missing—” A shuddering inhale, and an exhale. “What were you thinking, you idiot?”

Ling’s laugh sounded like a frozen breath in the air.

“I might not have been thinking at all,” he murmured, “if I’m being honest.”

“Of course not.” Ed mirrored the laugh. “That was a rhetorical question, dumbass.”

“Hey…”

The protest was absolutely nothing, and it hung the moment for a long, awkward beat on Robin’s part.

He was just about ready to burst when activity blessedly thumped behind the safe wall.

Ed and Ling looked up from their tangled position—oh, god, they had been touching foreheads, gross—Ed going a little wide-eyed when the gate was forced open, by none other than—

“Miss Martian!” Robin cheered fast with his relief. “Boy, am I so glad to see you!”

Conner raised an eyebrow from the ground level along with Artemis, and Kaldur totally wanted to do the same but refrained. He had that Look on his face that spelled it out.

“We heard you required back-up,” Kaldur said, as close to smug as his politeness got, and Robin rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“As if,” he scoffed. “We had it totally handled.”

“Well,” Ed’s chuckle drew the team’s attention back to him, where he’d finally detangled himself from Ling, though they still had one hand on each other. “More like I had it handled. But you guys helped, I guess.”

“‘I guess’?” Wally squawked. “Dude, who took out half those goons earlier?”

“Definitely not you, kid idiot,” Artemis said with a smirk.

Ling hummed, “I must agree there. And, on that friendly note—” He glanced aside fondly. “Ed, these are—”

“Your friends?” Ed drawled, and Ling flushed—actually flushed! Robin didn’t think that guy had ever blushed around them before, that was priceless. “Yeah, no shit, babe.”

Artemis chortled at that, and even Kaldur and M’gann were looking amused now at this new side of Ling. Ed caught all their fondness in a single sweep, and grinned.

“Yo. I’m Edward Elric.” He stole his own warm peek of Ling, and smiled. “My friends call me Ed, though.”

#blah blah i'm a clown wbk #i'm resigned at this point. hhhhh #fma #young justice #edling #edward elric #ling yao #yj robin #fanfiction #yj x fma #crossover #katmail

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beefromanoff · 2 months

Text

Going Under Ch. 33

summary: just read the chapter <3

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: End of Beginning - Djo

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: THREE CHAPTERS IN A WEEK HOLLA, this one is a doozy! I'm feeling all the feels right now and can't WAIT to see what you guys think.

the next chapter will pick up right where this one leaves off, but I just really wanted the ending to be meaningful...you'll see. anyways I LOVE YOU and thank you to @charmedbysarge and @wasalreadyhere for being emotionally invested and making me want to crank these chapters out. seriously, these are for you. <3

chapter list

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Gianna

The elevator echoed with the sound of her heels on the white marble floor. Pressing the button for the top floor, Gianna leaned back against the wall as the ascent began. Wanda’’s voice carried through the phone pressed to her ear, venting about how the new recruiting class is disappointingly devoid of any good looking male agents. A few moments later, the door slid open to reveal a long hallway with her door at the end, now accompanied by a new addition.

A sentinel of the Iron Legion stood stoically by the entrance, the humanoid bot stationed there to protect her and her home.

"Wanda, seriously, tell Nat this is too much," Gianna spoke into her phone, chuckling. "I don’t need my own personal Iron Man."

Natasha's distant voice filtered through the phone, clearly shouting from whatever room she and Wanda were in, "You can never be too careful. You have a history of trouble, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gianna hoped they could hear her eyes rolling through the phone. “It’s just that the giant robotic suit of armor doesn’t really go with my decor.”

“Hey, I offered to assign live agents to you instead and you not-so-graciously declined.”

“Well, I also have a bad habit of falling in love with my security, so this seemed a little safer.” Eyeing the silent guardian, Gianna shrugged off her coat and let it fall onto the back of a dining room chair.

“Like I said, there aren’t any cute ones anyways.” Wanda scoffed.

“Next time you guys come to stay, we’ll go back to a basketball game. You’ll have your pick of the whole roster.” Gianna laughed, slipping out of her heels.

“I’m counting on it.” Wanda giggled. “Alright G, we have to go. It’s Sam’s night to cook and I can smell something burning. We love you.”

“Love you guys, talk soon.” She blew a kiss into the phone before hanging up, setting it on the nightstand. It had been a long day in the studio, with very little to show for it. She’s been working on recording some of the songs she’d written lately, but recording love songs with a broken heart just didn’t bode well. So for the past week, she and her producer had gone back and forth, trying to find inspiration that just wasn’t there. Finally, they called it a night. Gianna slid her feet into plush slippers, padding across the spacious living area to the kitchen.

Pouring a generous glass of red, she headed to the sprawling sectional and sank down. She desperately needed to shower and sleep after her marathon day. This morning’s coffee run felt like a lifetime ago. The emotional toll it took to try and write lyrics she no longer felt connected to, to revisit the emotional place she had been evicted from by the love of her life, it was heavy. Luckily, her producer was nothing if not understanding, even suggesting they put a hold on new music for the time being. She’d kept her days full. Wanda and Nat stayed for the rest of the weekend after their night out, and it really had done her good. Part of the pain she’d been feeling hadn’t just been from the loss of Bucky, but of the whole team that had become her friends and family. Knowing they weren’t truly lost, that the love was still there, it healed part of her. She missed them the moment they left, but she didn’t feel quite as heavy as she had before they came.

Between long recording sessions, fittings for the upcoming awards’ season, and her increasingly frequent coffee meetings with Sebastian, she was able to keep her mind somewhat occupied. But she knew filming for the Winter Soldier movie would begin soon, so their meetings would end. All the preparation would take place before the production started. He’d given her an open invitation to the set, but she politely declined. Seeing him and discussing Bucky was one thing, but seeing him in full costume, seeing him with the arm and the suit and everything else necessary to bring him to life…she didn’t think she could stomach it.

Sipping her wine, Gianna's fingers scrolled through her phone, swiping through countless headlines—snapshots of her life through the eyes of people who would never know her.

A particular headline caught her eye, a gossipy piece hinting at her connection with Sebastian, taken earlier that week. Gianna gave a half-hearted smile, mentally patting herself on the back. They’d played right into her hand. It was a game she felt like she had mastered, knowing what they wanted to see and how they’d spin it. All she and Seb had done was move their meetings to more public places, the paparazzi had taken it all from there. No hand holding, no kissing, no affection at all besides the hugs hello and goodbye. Yet, the media was convinced that they were head over heels for each other.

‘Starlet has a type: dark and dangerous’ read the headline, accompanied with side by side photos of her with Bucky several months ago and with Sebastian now. The comments were growing by the minute. Half of them swooned, calling the new pairing a match made in heaven, while other comments claimed she was rebounding. They weren’t exactly wrong. The difference was that she wasn’t rebounding so much as she wanted a certain someone to think she was. Gianna knew it was wrong to play games with Bucky, to try and elicit some reaction she’d probably never even see. Just like she knew it was wrong to sing a song with such poignant lyrics, venom in her voice, and hope he would see it. She just couldn’t help it. All this pain had to go somewhere.

Finishing her wine, Gianna returned the glass to the sink and retreated to her bedroom to get ready for bed. The high ceilings and plush carpeting couldn’t be more luxurious, but being in this place alone night after night felt less like a palace and more like a prison sentence.

Bucky

The city breathed beneath the streetlights, and Bucky exhaled, a plume of mist dissipating in the cool night air. Running through the familiar streets, the rhythm of his footfalls echoed the cadence of his thoughts.

New York held a special place in his heart—the pulsating heartbeat of life only having grown since his years growing up here. Even with all that had changed over the past century, it was still New York. It was still his home. His evening jog had become a ritual this week, helping to quiet his mind before going to sleep in the uncharacteristically quiet Tower. He’d chosen to stay behind when the rest of the team flew back to the compound last week, needing a change of scenery and time to clear his head. The intervention with Nat and Wanda, all the memories they’d shown him, seeing Gianna in person for the first time in weeks, realizing his plan to let her go be happy without him might have actually worked…it was a lot to process. He needed time.

"I'll be fine," he assured Nat and Steve, his gaze scanning the skyline. "Just need some time to clear my head."

The sound of the Quinjet’s engines nearly drowned out his voice, their hair whipping around all of their faces.

“Okay, Buck. Take care of yourself.” Steve patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t you dare spend the whole week brooding.” Nat elbowed him. “Promise me you’ll leave the Tower like a normal person.”

“I promise.” Bucky gave a half-assed smile.

“Good.” She paused before hugging him. “It’s gonna be okay. I don’t know how or when, but it will be.”

“Thanks, Nat. For everything.”

He stood on the helipad and waved to the departing ship, sending his friends back to their home. He knew the training and development of the SHIELD agents was important, but he still held out hope that the team would relocate back to the Tower more permanently. Being here, even in such bleak circumstances, just felt right. He’d give himself two weeks. Two weeks to sort through his feelings, to take some time and get his head on straight. He needed to get it together so he could be the leader and teammate his friends deserved. Two weeks to get all of this sadness, this rage, out of his system despite the promise he’d made to Nat that he wouldn’t spend the time brooding.

After these two weeks, he wouldn’t let this heartbreak rule his life.

One week into his self-isolation, and he was no closer to being okay. Maybe that’s because he wasn’t entirely truthful with himself. As much as he did want to clear his head, he knew he had an ulterior motive for staying in the city. A hope that maybe, just maybe, the winding streets of favorite city might conspire to bring him face to face with her. Gianna. Every run, every walk to get food, every time he stepped onto the balcony, he couldn’t help but hope. He searched for her face in every crowd, thought he heard her laugh in every bustling coffee shop. He wanted to move on just as much as he wanted her to have his heart forever. Just maybe, it would happen by chance. They’d run into each other in the streets of the city they both loved, he’d be forced to tell her everything on his mind and heart. If it happened like that, he would know it was meant to be. He wouldn’t be trying to make something happen, it would happen on its own.

As he jogged through the dwindling evening crowds on the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but look for that flash of golden blonde hair.

Gianna

The conference room hummed with anticipation, the sleek glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city below. Gianna sat at the head of the table, her gaze steady as she listened to the discussions unfold. This was one of the lowest floors of the Avengers’ Tower she’d ever been on. She knew the first 40 floors were all occupied by various business ventures of Tony and Pepper’s, and now one of them housed the executive team of the record label they’d purchased so many months ago.

Around her, the executives from Stark Records, including Pepper herself, and her manager, Tom, huddled together, their voices echoing off the polished surfaces. She’d learned all of their names, but didn’t remember them. A group of men in suits was largely interchangeable for any other group of men in suits. She trusted Pepper and she trusted Tom, but the rest of them could go either way. She assumed Pepper wouldn’t have hired them if they were as skeezy as her last label, but she couldn’t help but be wary. The room was overly air conditioned, as all conference rooms usually were. Gianna’s blouse did little to protect her from the chill, her coffee thankfully warming her hands.

"We need something big," one of the executives remarked, his tone charged with determination. "Something that will show the world you're back, stronger than ever."

Gianna nodded, her expression composed. She had spent months recuperating, rebuilding herself both physically and emotionally after the attack. Now that she’d returned to the city, the world was holding their breath and eagerly awaiting her return to touring. The irony was that she felt like more of a wreck now, months after the attack, than she had immediately afterwards. She sipped her coffee, willing herself to stay focused instead of throwing herself a pity party. It was her idea to return to working, her idea for this meeting to happen in the first place.

"We want to plan a charity concert," Pepper interjected, her voice a calm anchor amidst the flurry of ideas. "A big benefit show that will not only mark your return but also give back. We know you already ensured the costs of all the victims were covered, but we could invite them all to attend, and present them with additional funding. We could also choose another charity of your choice, raise money for that as well."

Tom leaned forward, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's a massive comeback," he admitted, "but I think it's exactly what we need. It would be incredible press, and I think we could really make an impact with a benefit of that size."

Gianna's heart swelled with purpose. She had always believed in the power of music to heal, to unite, and now, more than ever, she felt a profound sense of responsibility. If all this had to happen to her, at least she could make some good come out of it. This was her longest time away from the stage since she began touring all those years ago. Her return had to be massive.

"I'm in," she declared, her voice unwavering. "Let's make this happen."

The room erupted into a whirlwind of planning, ideas flying back and forth. Dates were discussed, venues considered, and a lineup of performers curated. As the meeting drew to a close, a sense of collective determination filled the air and anticipation filled Gianna’s stomach. She glanced out the window, the city stretching out before her. As excited as she was to take the stage and make this a smashing success, she felt a pang for the one person she always assumed would be backstage when she returned.

Bucky

Bucky strode through the sliding glass doors of the Tower, a gust of cool morning air greeting him as he stepped onto the bustling New York street. The sun was still rising over the city, casting long shadows between the towering buildings.

As he descended the steps, he noticed a pack of men in suits entering the building. He gave them a curt nod, feeling their eyes on him as they made their way towards the entrance. It was all the same. At the compound, it was the SHIELD agents. Here, it was all the white collar professionals working on the lower levels of the Tower. He wondered if the Winter Soldier would ever stop being a spectacle.

Whatever, screw them and whatever self-important corporate bullshit they were headed off to discuss. Not his problem.

His jog took him through the heart of the city, the pulse quicker and more lively than his evening jog the night before.

Further into his run, he passed a coffee shop where a familiar face emerged at the last second. Their paths collided, nearly sending them both sprawling. With lightning-fast reflexes, Bucky caught the arm of the man he’d run into and steadied them both. Before he could apologize, he recognized the man.

Of fucking course.

Sebastian, starstruck but courteous, introduced himself. Bucky's piercing gaze warned him to tread carefully. “It’s truly an honor to meet you, Sargent. I don’t know if you’ve heard, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you -”

Bucky gave a reluctant grunt in acknowledgement.

"Look," Sebastian said, cutting through the tension, “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. It really is an honor. I want to do right by you and your story. If you ever want to come to set, to give your opinion…just know you’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Bucky’s voice was gruff but he forced himself to shake the hand Sebastian extended to him. As the actor turned to leave, Bucky spoke again. “Be good to her.”

Turning back, Sebastian had a puzzled look on his face before something clicked. He stepped closer to Bucky, speaking quietly, as if he realized their interaction was likely being filmed and/or photographed.

"Hey, whatever you've heard, seen—it's not what it seems. Gianna and I, we're friends. Strictly platonic. I asked her for help with the role, and she's been incredible. She’s been coaching me, helping me learn about well, uh…you." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “My agent couldn’t get ahold of you, and I heard she was back in the city, so I figured it was worth a shot. She’s been great. Hell, she honestly made my job harder. I thought she’d give me some kind of insight that made it easier to portray you, but the way she talks about you, man…I have bigger shoes to fill than I even thought.”

Bucky's skepticism lingered, but he listened. Sebastian detailed Gianna's commitment to ensuring the movie did justice to Bucky's character. He spoke of her kindness, her professionalism, and her desire for the film to be a true reflection of Bucky's journey.In that moment, Bucky glimpsed the complexities of Gianna's heart. Even in heartbreak, even in her immense anger, she sought to protect him, to preserve the integrity of his story.

“Thank you.” Bucky said solemnly, nodding to Sebastian. Turning to walk away, he caught himself, feeling like he owed the man more than his standard two word reply. “Hey, I’ll come to the set. Just uh, let me know when and where.”

Sebastian grinned. “Will do. For the record, I really hope you don’t show up alone.”

As Sebastian walked away, Bucky stood alone on the bustling street, the city once again fading away. A newfound clarity surged within him, and with purpose in his stride, he turned back toward the Tower.

Gianna

The elevator doors slid open, and Gianna stepped into the hallway. The soft hum of city life filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow across the long stretch as the sun sank below the skyline outside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out tonight?” The familiar voice crackled through the line.

“Sorry, Mads. I’m beat. This week has kicked my ass. I just need an early night in for a change. Sorry I’m lame.” She held the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she dug for her keys in her purse.

“Um, says the girl who’s the reason I partied with the Avengers last weekend. You are the furthest thing from lame. Enjoy your night, watch a shitty rom-com, and get your beauty sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, love you,” Gianna laughed as they hung up. The guardian stationed outside her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Good evening, Ms. Cruz. Are you staying in for the evening? Shall I activate the overnight security protocol?” The mechanical voice inquired. Gianna responded affirmatively, and with a whirl of high-tech precision, the glowing lights behind the armor clicked from blue to red.

Once the door was open, Gianna meandered through her expansive living space, taking her sweet time. It had been weeks since she was home by 6pm with no plans to leave again. Heels in hand, her fingers glided over the grand piano that stood as a silent testament to countless late-night melodies. She moved toward the bathroom, the marble floors cool beneath her bare feet.

Her bathroom, a sanctuary of luxury, overlooked the city. The skyline twinkled beyond the glass, a tapestry of lights. Gianna set the tone, turning on soft music that reverberated through the spacious room.

The centerpiece was a deep, clawfoot bathtub, the thing that had sold her on this place even more than the views. Gianna began drawing a bath, adding a mix of oils, filling the air with hints of lavender and vanilla. As the hot water cascaded into the tub, Gianna let the melodies envelop her. She shed the weight of the day and her clothes in a pile on the floor, going to pour herself a glass of wine and a heaping glass of ice water as the steaming tub filled.

Bucky

Bucky stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for Gianna's floor, the weight of anticipation hanging on his shoulders. He'd had the entire day to wrestle with what he would say, how he would explain himself, and most importantly, how he would convey the depth of his feelings. Really, he’d had the whole week to do so, but it wasn’t until his chance encounter with Sebastian that he’d known what he had to do. He was looking for a sign, a fated run-in, and he got one. It wasn’t with the person he expected, but it gave him the same answer. Gianna wasn’t seeing anyone, and whatever she felt towards him, she was still acting in love. He couldn’t let himself waste one more night not undoing his mistake.

Thankfully, the doorman hadn’t given him trouble. He was either a fan or afraid, or both. After his wide-eyed stare watched Bucky come up the front steps of the building, he eagerly opened the doors without so much as a question. Although, Bucky assumed, he probably had seen a magazine sometime in the past year and could make a guess who Bucky was there to see.

As he rounded the final corner leading to Gianna's apartment, he was met with an unexpected obstacle – an Iron Legion bot? Shit. This had Natasha written all over it. He could practically hear her lecturing Gianna about the piss-poor security in this building. Given that he himself had just walked straight in, he couldn’t exactly say she was wrong.

As he cautiously approached, a cold, mechanical voice echoed through the corridor, "You are unauthorized to enter this unit. Please stand back."

Bucky, determination etched on his face, continued forward. The voice repeated "You are unauthorized to enter this unit. Please stand back." This time, the mechanical arm raised towards him, palm beginning to glow.

"I just need to talk to her. It's important," he urged, his tone pleading.

The robot, however, was unyielding. "Unauthorized access. Step away."

In his desperation to reach Gianna, Bucky attempted to sidestep the bot. But as he moved to go around it, the Iron Legion reacted with a blast to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him in a low grunt and sending him sliding back several feet. He steeled himself, taking a slow breath in through his sore chest before stepping forward again.

"Unauthorized access. Step away."

Bucky advanced again, but this time, the bot’s metal fist flew out with inhuman speed, clocking him across the jaw. He barely had time to react before his own blood splattered across his vision.

Gianna

The steam from the bath curled around her silhouette as she leaned back in the tub, the soft melody of a gut-wrenchingly sad song playing in the background. The skyline outside her window twinkled, mirroring the city lights. She took it in for a moment before closing her eyes, letting out a deep breath and, for the first time all day, letting her feelings wash over her. The excitement about performing again, the nerves that she never seemed to outgrow, the love she felt from reconnecting with friends, and the ever-present ache of something missing. She let the feelings flow and didn’t fight them. Good and bad, heart wrenching and fulfilling. The steam from the tub began to turn her hair into ringlets where it framed her face, water condensating on her skin. The only buffer between the tidal wave inside her and her sanity was the warm buzz from the wine.

In her daze, she almost missed the first strange noise outside her door. A thud. A few seconds later, another. Then…a grunt? Her eyes flew open. A series of thuds, punctuated with what was most definitely a groan.

Concern etched across her face, Gianna pulled herself from the bath, wrapping the robe around her still-dripping body. The noises were too concerning to waste time drying fully off, and if she was being honest, the wine had dulled her better judgment anyway. The noises persisted, so loud they sounded like they were right outside the door.

Shit. She thought. Maybe Nat was right to send the Legion.

She approached cautiously, her steps light and breathing shallow. A small puddle began to pool under her bare feet as she pressed her hands through the door and looked through the peephole.

Gianna’s blood went cold.

On the floor leaning against the opposite wall, blood dripping from his swollen face, was Bucky.

Gasping, she hastily opened the door. Her hands were trembling as she fumbled with the lock and yanked the door open. The Iron Legion bot's mechanical voice droned, "Defensive Protocol Engaged. Perpetrator Apprehended. Would you like me to call for local law enforcement?" The machine was standing perfectly still in its’ post beside her door.

"What? No! Disable security protocol," Gianna breathed, her eyes never leaving Bucky's battered form. The lights on the machine turned back to blue, and she knelt beside him, her voice a mixture of panic and disbelief, "Bucky? Buck, can you hear me?"

Bucky's eyes, aching and swollen, slowly opened. He gave a soft grunt in confirmation, but immediately coughed after the effort, fresh blood spilling from his mouth. Blood was dripping down the side of his face from a laceration on his forehead, his lip was split and swollen, and his whole face was puffy from swelling. Gianna had a sinking feeling that if his arms weren’t covered by his sweatshirt, she’d be counting a lot more bruises. Eyes trailing down his body, assessing damage, she froze when she saw his hands.

There wasn’t a single bruise on his knuckles.

She ran her hands delicately over his, fingertips tracing the veins there. Her stomach knotted with the realization. He didn't fight back. He didn't even try to defend himself. Gianna knew his abilities, she’d seen him rip metal apart before without half a thought. She knew he could have dismantled the bot and ripped her door off of its hinges if he really wanted to. The fact that he didn’t even try…Her heart shattered. Silently, she helped him to his feet and into her loft, her touch gentle against the rawness of his wounds. He was incredibly heavy, the weight of muscle and vibranium combining to make it nearly impossible for Gianna to help him to his feet. One arm slung over her shoulder, they slowly made their way into her home.

“Here, sit here,” Gianna was breathless from the effort of helping him walk. She hooked a foot around the leg of a dining room chair, bending down to allow him to drop into it. She rushed around, her wet footprints dotting the carpet, frantically searching for the first aid kit. Her heart was pounding in her ears, hands fumbling as she dug through the box in her hall closet she never bothered to unpack. She mentally cursed her own procrastination and the wine for fogging her brain. Finally freeing the kit, she hurried back to the table and pulled out the chair right beside Bucky, sitting so close their knees were touching.

“Sorry ‘bout the carpet,” Bucky mumbled, his swollen lip making the words imperfect. Gianna didn’t have to look down to know he was dripping blood onto her plush white rug.

"Shush," she replied, her voice gentle yet commanding. The sight of him, bruised and battered, stirred emotions she had been desperately trying to bury. “Don’t worry about the carpet. I never liked it anyways.” He tried to chuckle but the coughing overtook him again, causing him to wince and grab at his ribs.

His sweatshirt, now damp with blood and sweat, clung to his body. “Take your shirt off.” Gianna instructed, switching damp washcloths after the first one was covered in dried blood from her dabbing at his forehead.

“Y’gotta buy me dinner first,” He mumbled, coughing again with the effort.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” She scolded, though she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. “This is so not the time.” Her hands gently gripped the hem of his sweatshirt, ever so lightly lifting it. He groaned as he slowly raised his arms over his head and allowed her to remove it. When it was fully off, she dropped it into a heavy heap on the floor.

“Bucky…” Her eyes welled with tears as they raked over his body. His ribs were blackened, so swollen that his toned stomach looked puffy in all the places he’d been struck. His collarbone was decorated in bruises, likely broken. That explained why he wasn’t able to remove his own shirt. Gianna reached back for the washcloth, gently cleaning the dried blood from his face, careful not to press too hard. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Why didn't you fight back?" she asked, her voice a delicate whisper that hung in the air.

He was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick, "It was here to keep unwanted visitors away.” He took a labored breath. “ And I'm an unwanted visitor."

"Buck," she began, her voice cracking with genuine remorse. “I am so sorry, I never would have wanted --”

Bucky, gripping her wrist firmly, stopped her. His words were still slightly slurred by the swollen lip. "You have nothing to apologize for. I came here to say that I’m sorry, to tell you I was a fucking idiot." He coughed, wiping the small amount of blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. “I fucked up. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.”

“Shhh,” Gianna gently stroked his hair back from his face. “We don’t have to talk about that right now. Just let me get you cleaned up, okay?” He looked like he wanted to protest, but silently nodded. Sinking back into the chair, he closed his eyes.

It took nearly half an hour for Gianna to get all the crusted blood from his face. She cleaned all his cuts, closing lacerations with butterfly bandages she was shocked she had. They’d strapped bags of frozen fruit to his ribcage and collarbone using a long ace bandage, and she poured him a strong glass of bourbon even though they both knew it wouldn’t make a difference to him.

His eyes were still closed, breathing less ragged. Thank goodness for his accelerated healing, although Gianna worried that if something healed wrong before they could get to a doctor, they’d have no choice but to re-break it. Considering the only doctor he trusted was half an hour away by Quinjet exclusively, that wasn’t a very likely option.

“Hey,” She ran her hands through his hair again, tucking it behind his ears. Blue eyes fluttered open, focusing on her. “How you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks.” He sat up straighter, groaning.

“I don’t have other clothes for you, but I can wash these if you want…” Gianna tried not to look at his bare chest. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to call someone? Steve, I should call Steve.” She stood to go retrieve her phone but metal fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Wait,” His voice was strained. “Just wait.”

Before she could respond, he pulled a small black notebook from his back pocket. Gianna recognized it instantly, the familiar leather cover, the journal he’d trusted her with months ago. He handed it to her, a silent invitation to read once again. She slowly took it from him and sank back into the chair across from him.

___________________

She deserves someone without a past like mine, not a guy grappling with shadows every night. Every smile she gives me feels like a reminder that I'm not the man she thinks she loves. It's selfish to keep her tethered to me. The whole world knows she’s too good for me. She deserves better. I’ve tried to shake this for too long and there’s a reason I can’t.

I know what I have to do.

___________________

Watching her laugh should've been enough to change my mind, but it wasn't. It just intensified the guilt that she's wasting her joy on me. How did it come to this? I need to set her free from my chaos, my mess. She is sunshine and I’m the darkest fucking cloud in the sky.

___________________

She knows something is wrong. I can see it in her eyes. I just don’t know how to end the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Dragging it out isn’t fair. She can feel me pulling away. I guess part of me hopes that will make it easier when it ends.

I can’t wait any longer. It isn’t fair to her. It’s killing me.

___________________

It’s over. It’s done. I will never forget the pain in her eyes.

I feel like I just lost half of me. I feel like I’m half alive.

At least she’s finally free.

___________________

The compound is too quiet. The silence is a constant reminder of what's missing. Everyone feels it. She brought color to this place, and now it’s gone. I don’t know if I wish I never felt it or if I’m glad I got the time that I did.

I hope her world is still colorful.

___________________

Her absence is killing me. The loneliness is like a weight I can't shake off. I keep reminding myself it's for her happiness, but this empty bed and quiet room is haunting me. I wake up from nightmares and wish she was there to talk me down. I lie awake at night and convince myself I can still hear her breathing, she’s still asleep next to me.

Then I wake up. A new nightmare. One where she’s gone and it’s all my fault.

___________________

She's moving on. The pictures say it all. Laughing, beautiful, happy. Living, a life without me. It stings, but it's what I wanted for her. Fuck, seeing it hurts more than I expected.

This is what was supposed to happen. She’s happy and that’s what matters.

___________________

Her late-night performance. I swear she saw me through the screen. Her voice, her face – it's a comfort and a torture. I thought she was happy, told myself she was happy. She looks as haunted as I feel. She looks…colorless. She’s angry and it’s all my fault. I broke the one person who I never saw without a smile on her face.

If she doesn’t smile again, I will never forgive myself.

___________________

I’m running out of things to tell myself. It isn’t getting any easier. I just hope that somewhere, in some universe, we made it. I hope that some version of me deserves her and that we made it.

Silent tears traced a path down Gianna's face as she finished the last page. As she looked up, her eyes met Bucky's. He reached for her hand, a silent invitation. She took it, feeling him tug her towards him. As she hesitated, mindful of the fresh wounds all over his body, he reassured her with a crooked smile.

"You could never hurt me," he whispered.

Gianna relented, allowing him to pull her closer. He guided her gently onto his lap, closing all the space between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and the dam of emotions she had held back broke. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, "I missed you so much. I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about you. Every second, every day. I miss you, I need you, I can’t do it without you.”

Bucky's grip tightened on her back, and he murmured into her neck, "I've been in agony since you left." He held her in silence for a few moments, feeling her small frame shake with sobs. The guilt of knowing he caused them battled with the joy that she was in his arms again. “I’m sorry. G, I’m so, so sorry.” He stroked her hair as he mumbled apologies over and over, knowing they’d never come close to expressing his remorse. “So fucking sorry.”

When she finally pulled back, her tear-streaked face held a resolve. "Never leave me again," she demanded. “Ever.”

He met her gaze with a seriousness that matched hers. "You better mean it. Once you say those words, I'm never letting go of you again."

She leaned forward, gently resting her hands on his cheeks as she leaned close and pressed the softest kiss to his swollen lips. "I mean it," she whispered.

#avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #winter soldier #sebastian stan #bucky fluff #winter soldier fluff

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bearsinpotatosacks · 6 months

Text

Broken - Whumptober 2023

Tom finds Carole smoking on her porch. They get to talking, it doesn't go well.

For day 24 of @whumptober . Also on AO3

Words: 1579

Carole heard the backdoor close behind her as she took another drag. The night was bitter on her arms but she didn’t care to put a jacket on. Sunset was bleeding into the clouds below as the smoke from the cigarette rose up to join it. She didn’t like the taste of cigarettes, but she couldn’t deny that it calmed her down. Maybe it was something do with the deep breaths, or the fact that you had to physically step away from whatever situation you were in, or the nicotine, she wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t know you smoked?” Iceman said.

“I didn’t,” she replied when he leant against the pillar. “Until, well, you know.”

He didn’t speak. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite figure out about him, she didn’t know whether he was just aloof, or trying so hard to please everyone that she could feel him watching for her reaction, or the opposite and he didn’t care at all. She was still figuring him out and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to get to know him that well because there would always be a block between them that they couldn’t deny.

“I want to ask you something,” she said.

He shifted his weight and his feet scratched the wooden porch. She could almost hear his brain thinking of everything she could say to him as he waited for her to speak.

“How is it being perfect? For you?” She took another drag and let the smoke puff out of her mouth as she spoke. “Like is it a conscious thing, to please people, or is it just something about you that can’t do anything wrong?”

He rubbed his arm, “How do you mean?”

“I just-” she sighed and placed her hand with the cigarette in on her forehead. “Everyone’s expecting me to do this right, to grieve right and not make a mistake, and I wanna know what it’s like for you, as Mister ice-cold-no-mistakes, for everyone to expect pure excellence when they look at you. If it’s not a conscious thing, then how do you deal with it? Because I don’t think I can handle it.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say it was a fully conscious thing in the beginning, but-”

“You embraced it?”

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You just met their expectations everytime?”

“Yeah,”

She took a drag. “Fuck.”

“Why do you ask?”

That made her laugh. No one had noticed, of course they hadn’t. On one hand, she didn’t want them to know, but the other wanted people know. She wanted someone to approach her at work and let her cry, she wanted the mothers to smile instead of sneer, she wanted someone to give a shit outside the people who knew Goose. She deserved that at least, right?

“I have to grieve ‘properly’, I can’t make a mistake or I’m a bad mother, I can’t stop or I’m not helping him through his feelings even though no one’s helping me through mine. The house has to be tidy as anything, I can’t drop the ball or make a pick bad habits or make a mistake and throw myself at someone because I’m a widow, I should be grieving my husband. But I also have to be thinking of dating because I can’t get stuck and Bradley’s needs a father figure. Well he’s got one, he’s just not here right now.”

She inhaled the smoke to calm herself down. She didn’t know why she was venting to him. They weren’t exactly close.

“I can’t even want to kill myself without the world telling me how evil it makes me.”

Iceman shrank into pillar. His face paled. She got the feeling that he wasn’t good at stuff like this. Or maybe it was just her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she started.

“You want to what?”

“I-uh,” she really shouldn’t have said that. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I wouldn’t, Bradley can’t lose someone else too, but do I sometimes wish, if I could get guaranteed that he’d be fine, that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, yes. And do I hold my breath in the bath, yeah. Do I wish that something happened when I drive home from work? Yeah, but I wouldn’t do it, so don’t worry. I’m only a little broken that’s all.”

He stood there for a second. Fuck, she really shouldn’t have said that. Her mouth ran away with her some times. Goose could usually tell her when to reign it in before she offended someone, he couldn’t now, for obvious reasons.

“I mean, it’s not that bad for me, I guess I planned to be-”

“Perfect?” She said. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong then. I mean, if I was perfect then I wouldn’t get dirty looks from the other moms when I drop Bradley off with red rimmed eyes or have the other people from church tell me I’m giving into the devil if I give up god after I have a lapse in belief. You’re perfect and pull off too quick and get my husband killed and get off scot free.”

He scoffed. “That’s what this is about, then, huh?”

“You can’t expect me to get along swimmingly with you.”

“You don’t exactly show it. I mean, I thought when people hated each other they shouted and made it known, but I guess not you.”

She tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. Not meeting his eyes, she rested her eyes on the trees as they became shadows against the stars. Sometimes the sun set before you really had a chance to appreciate the view.

“This isn’t the Navy, Tom, I can’t go around telling people what I think because we both have people we care about and I have other things to worry about than you.”

He laughed. When she looked up at him, there wasn’t any joy in his eyes. It was cold, like what she’d seen before he and Pete had made friends.

“And that’s all, is it?”

She stood up quick enough it made her head go dizzy. Stamping the cigarette out, she saw the way the smoke hid him behind a mirage. He’d turned, like he’d switched something off, turned off that dazzling smile.

“Because now you’ve made it known how you really feel I’m thinking back and you really don’t like it when I’m here do you. So don’t just tell me it’s because you blame me for Goose’s death, because you’re talking like there’s some other reason that’s not a given for a grieving widow.”

"Fine," she said, throwing her arms out. "I don't like how you're taking Pete away from me."

He got in her face. His smile was fake, it was like a shark sneering at her, all sharp teeth dazzling you.

"There it is, you don't like how you're not in control."

She met him as he lent over her. Crossing her arms, she felt a guttural rage unlock within her. Not just at him, but at all of this, Goose dying, it being an accident, and people telling her how she was meant to grieve. She hated being a woman sometimes.

“No, it’s because I can only sleep properly when Mav or Bradley’s there, it’s because we have Goose in common and we can grieve together, it’s because he’s my friend.”

“Friend? You’re hiding the fact that you smoke from him? How much of a friend to him can you really be?”

She let out a fake high pitched laugh. He was really trying here. She could tell he’d got arguing down to a skill.

“You’re the one hiding a whole relationship.”

That fractured his mask. He stepped back as though she’d hit him. After gulping, he clenched his hands a few times before tensing his jaw as he lent over her.

“It’s fucking illegal, so don’t go throwing that shit in there, because if you actually care about Pete then you wouldn’t want him to be dishonorably dishcharged.”

How did he know how she cared about him? He’d known him five minutes and thought he could come in here and lecture her about what she should want. She was the one who’d had to nurse him out of his shell, her and Goose made sure he knew he was loved and that they weren’t going to leave him, that his dad’s reputation didn’t mean shit to them.

“I care about him having someone who would fight for him, someone who would do anything for him and to be with him because that’s what love is,”

“You can’t lecture me on love, your husband’s fucking dead.”

His eyes widened. They both knew that was too far. All the drama of the moment sunk into the ground as she realised where she stood. Right, for a second there she’d been allowed to forget, to make some of her own mistakes. Too bad that wasn’t the ‘right’ way to grieve. Silly her for not being a bubblering mess until it was convenient for people.

“Fuck you, Kazansky.” She whispered as her throat closed up and the world went blurry as tears welled up in her eyes.

Neither of them had noticed the figure in the doorway as she walked away. It wasn’t until she opened the door that she noticed Pete standing there like a kid who’s heard his parents fighting. She got the feeling that they’d both messed up there.

----

Neither are right in this fic, they're both hurting in different ways and weren't close enough beforehand to get through it together. I also like the headcanon that Ice and Carole weren't buddies after Goose died, not a happy one, but one that I feel is realistic because they never meet in canon (we don't know if they ever met) and I wouldn't doubt if Carole blamed Ice a little for Goose's death. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

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rainbowchewynuggets · 1 year

Text

TMA Encore #10

The fire alarm rings throughout the halls of the archives. A blue-white flare flashes intermittently, casting stark shadows and pins of light on the silvery worms that seep in through every seam and vent in the basement.

Jon skids to a halt as he sees Tim and Martin approach him.

Jon: Are you both alright?

Tim: We’re fine.

Jon: Good. Good. Sasha just headed off to intercept Jonah, so we–

Martin: Look out!

He pulls Jon by the back of his shirt as a writhing flow of worms burgeon from the aged molding of a nearby wall corner. A dozen of them flick outward from the mass toward the spot where Jon was just standing. A few make contact with his arm. He brushes them away feverishly.

Tim: This way!

Tim leads the other two down a long hallway without many weak points. They pass an empty bracket where a wall appliance should be. Some worms slither around on the floor, but can’t get a hold as long as the boys are running.

Tim: Jonah’s down here. I just saw him. So, she can’t be far.

Jon takes about a second and a half to wonder why Jonah wouldn’t be upstairs like he was in the tapes. Not-Jon could have lured him somehow. Easier prey.

Once they reach a safe intersection, Jon stops them and tries to get his bearings.

Jon: Okay, hold on. We need to get to our original places. Tim, you need to split off and head to the CO2 canister room. Martin and I will follow around.

Tim: Then, just come with me!

Jon: He’ll notice.

Tim: Yeah, screw this.

With a single hoist, Tim picks Jon up by the waist and carries him like a rolled-up carpet. Jon exclaims and struggles but can’t get free.

Tim: Come on, Martin.

Martin: R-right.

They march around the corner as fast as they can manage without losing grip of Jon.

Jon: What on earth do you think you’re doing?!

Tim: The real plan. We’re fighting our way out of here.

Jon: You can’t be serious. This isn’t an action movie, Tim!

Tim: Sasha’s idea, actually. Martin liked it too.

Jon fires a look at Martin.

Martin: Sorry.

Jon keeps protesting as they navigate and try to avoid drifts of worms. Pain shoots up their ankles and wrists as a few catch hold. Panic starts to set in as they encounter more and more blank walls and empty wall brackets. They reach the storage room and find it empty.

Martin: Uh, Tim…?

Tim: Where the fuck are the CO2 canisters?

Sasha had to catch herself. Nearly said “Jonah”.

The head of the Magnus Institute is in the middle of thwacking a cluster of worms crawling along the wall with a rolled-up manila folder. He picks a few off of his arm. His pants are tucked into his socks.

Elias: Sasha. You should evacuate--someone pulled the fire alarm. Not to mention there are these things.

Sasha: I know, I pulled it. We better find a route as far away from supporting walls as we can.

Elias: Of course. They’ll take longer to fill up a larger room.

And it’ll make it harder for Not-Jon to sneak up, she hopes. Jonah may be a monster, but they can’t have him feeding the other predator.

Elias: I think the closest room is artifact storage.

Sasha: ...No. No, I think I’d rather try the big file room over this way.

Elias: Why?

Sasha stumbles over the thought of going through there again. Even if the table is gone, any of the other cursed objects could get her. There may be no reason they’d strike now more than any time before, but the thought of her life ending in the same spot again barbs her.

Sasha: Guh–I–if they’re eating through wood fiber, I’d rather have papers fall on me than bathtubs and axes.

Elias: Ah. Good point.

They head off. She lets him lead by a little bit, weighing how much of this he might have been hoping for and how much is genuine surprise. She can’t help but worry how difficult he’ll make himself if he catches on that they know something.

Elias: Sasha?

Sasha: Y-yes?

Elias: Were you also the one who locked all the doors? And removed the CO2 canisters?

Sasha: What? No. I didn’t even know they were.

Her mind races.

Elias: I thought it might have been Jon. He seems very unwell lately.

Sasha: Is now really the time, sir?

They’ve nearly reached the file room.

Elias: You’re right. I can assess the team’s efficacy after this is over. And make changes from there.

Sasha: Well, it wasn’t any of us.

She speaks reflexively and only realizes the implication of another actor after taking a good pull at the file room door.

The second the door swings open, the two of them have to leap back as a wave of worms comes spilling out. They cover Sasha’s feet. She rips them off as quickly as she can, but she misses a few that make it into her socks. When she looks up, Jonah is gone.

Sasha: J–! *sigh*

She moves on in search of another path.

Tim, Jon, and Martin are running out of options. Tim has put Jon down, his muscles tired from toting him around and getting kicked for it. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way back to the original route without crossing rivers of worms. Jon is occupied with watching their blind spots with Martin. He reserves the right to bitch about being manhandled, however. Tim doesn’t even hear him. He’s laser focused on finding their way through the maze of corridors.

All the connecting rooms their plan is counting on are locked. Neither his or Martin’s best shoulder charge can break them down. They don’t really have time to try, anyway. It feels like the worms are coming out faster and faster. The three of them all have little tag-alongs on their arms and legs too deep to dig out. Martin can swear one went down the back of his shirt. There are no CO2 canisters anywhere. The air smells stale, almost putrid.

It feels like they’ve been down there for hours by the time they reach the stairs. Tim stops at the intersection and looks around.

Martin: Wasn’t Sasha supposed to meet us?

Tim calls her name down the halls. No answer. The three of them unanimously decide that they’re not going anywhere without her and dive back in. As they turn around, Jon notices that the heavy security door at the top of the stairs is shut. He’s never seen it shut.

Jon: It looks like our exits are being cut off. The tunnels might be our only option after all.

Tim: I swear to god, I’ll take that door off its hinges if I have to. We’re not going down there again.

Martin doesn’t say anything. He nervously glances between them and the halls with his jaw set.

The putrid smell intensifies.

Jon and Tim graduate to arguing over directions and minutia of risk. The rising tide of silver worms make their choices narrower and narrower, yet they both find grounds to disagree. It reaches a point where they’re fighting over whether or not to open a door. Martin’s eyes and stomach hurt from the smell. He can swear it’s getting stronger the longer they wait. Worms press in from the way they came. He holds his breath, takes a step between his teammates, and opens the door himself.

Tim turns and runs.

Sasha has lost track of time. She was definitely supposed to meet Tim and the others by now. Whenever she thinks she’s found a valid path forward, she ends up with worms or locked doors and has to double back and circle around. Her fingers turn cold as she tries not to picture what kind of trouble they could be dealing with while they’re separated. She hopes Jon wasn’t too irate.

Part of her might be willing to be bolder if the other part didn’t already know what would happen. Death by misadventure. Again. That is, if Not-Jon doesn’t elect to pay her back for her meddling first. She tries to listen for footsteps, but the gut-churning squirming is drowning out everything else. And then, there’s that smell. She pushes forward.

Within the next couple minutes, she thinks she does hear something. A voice, maybe. Instinct tells her to hide, but she isn’t about to go anywhere near the walls. She doesn’t even feel like she should stop moving.

Jon: Back this way.

Sasha: Jon? Jon!

She sprints around the next corner and skips over a heap of worms. She nearly trips.

Her heart sinks through the floor.

Sasha: Oh, god. How–why–?

Martin: Prentiss cornered us. He cleared our way out… kind of. But I think he’s okay. He’s just unconscious.

Jon: We’re trapped. We need to get to the tunnels.

Sasha glances at Martin. He nods decisively.

She marches ahead and scouts their way to the room at the end of the hall. Guilty frustrated tears pool in her eyes as she approaches the door she had risked her friends’ safety to avoid. She kicks away some worms and tries to see if it’ll even open.

The doorknob to the office slides easily in its socket. There are two flashlights, extra batteries, and a first aid kit waiting for them beside the trapdoor. Sasha looks at Jon. He shakes his head like, “Wasn’t me.”

They all know who it was. This was planned. There was never any escape.

Martin sighs.

Martin: Come on. Almost there.

Sasha lifts the carpet-covered plank a crack. Seeing nothing immediately alarming, she opens it the rest of the way and holds it so the others can carefully pick their way down. She grabs the gear and follows.

The tunnels aren’t as quiet as they should be. Soft unintelligible echoes drift up through the darkness in overlapping strains. The noise does nothing to describe what activity could be going on deeper in the prison–only to remind that there is, indeed, something there. Jon tries to ignore it as he holds the flashlight for Martin and Sasha while they work on stabilizing Tim.

He watches the shallow rise and fall of Tim’s stained shirt, trying to keep his worries off of all the red holes and whatever he isn’t seeing with his back turned. His mind still finds room to wander and berate. There wasn’t actually that much evidence to suggest that Not-Jon would find them on their first escape attempt. If he had planned the mess they’re in now, he might have been counting on Jon to stall before. If he hadn’t, they might have made it out. But he just had to get them caught. He had to be sure. The view of the flashlight quivers back and forth. He tucks the handle under his arm.

Once in a while, a sharper noise gets Sasha and Martin’s attention. Jon snaps around with the flashlight extended accusatorily, finding nothing there but some aimless stray worms. They resume.

Martin tries to be precise with the corkscrew, but the wounds are already deep. Slowly, the worms come out, one by one.

Sasha: Maybe we should stop and let him rest a bit. The bleeding might be too much.

Martin puts the screw and Tim’s arm down gratefully. He wipes off his stiff hands on a cheap rag from the kit.

Martin: *dryly* Anybody want to go next?

Jon looks a little sick and hangs his head.

Sasha wraps and ties off a bandage layered with gauze around Tim’s forearm.

Sasha: I, um, might have tipped Jonah off on my way down here. For all we know, he’s already headed for the hills.

Jon: Not unless he miraculously got through to unlock the doors. I’d bet he’s down here somewhere.

Sasha: Along with our old pal.

Martin: I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to keep them away from each other. Fast.

Jon and Sasha look at him.

Martin: Well, what else are we gonna do? Who knows what’s going to happen if he gets what he wants?

Jon: *glancing at Tim* It’s out of our hands, Martin.

“He’s not wrong.”

Jon keeps the flashlight trained on the apparition. The other Martin is perfectly unbothered in the harsh light. The group’s alarm subsides.

Sasha: You must be with The Thing That Used To Be Jonathan Sims?

Not-Martin: I suppose you could say that. Which… would make me What Remains of Martin Blackwood.

Jon, Martin, Sasha: Not-Martin.

NM: Sure.

Not-Martin gives Tim a quick appraisal. He gently rolls back Tim’s pant leg to the knee, revealing a whole series of holes that Martin hasn’t gotten to yet. The others flinch, unsure if it’d be a good idea to try to stop him.

NM: Good lord. That went badly, didn’t it?

His tone is devoid of concern. Tim sucks air as the other Martin scores his hand up the red-riddled leg, forcing the worms out as burnt black coils. The skin is instantly cauterized and healed. The others stare in appalled fascination.

NM: I’m really not a fan of the Desolation… or the Flesh. But they can be made to come in handy.

Tim lolls his head, not quite able to regain consciousness. Not-Martin gives him a quick slap across the face, and he’s wide awake. Tim presses up against the wall, his attention flicking between the two Martins with instant suspicion.

Tim: This the other one?

NM: The one that just saved your leg. Can I see your arm?

Tim notices the absent pain and does some calculations in his head. He submits his arm. The wounds are completely healed, if with an unfavorable hissing sound. Not to mention Not-Martin’s ice hold hands. Tim feels his arm over. Nothing seems acutely out of place. Did his arm hair always grow in that direction?

NM: Sorry it took me so long to catch up.

Jon: Were you part of the other me’s plan all along?

NM: Can’t imagine I would be. I’m trying to stop him.

As Not-Martin works on the rest of them, he explains his objective. He does so as casually as outlining a to-do list. Jon guesses that he’s been here before, too.

In short, Not-Jon really does want to prevent an apocalypse, but his plan is doomed to fail. His logic is deeply swayed by the hunger of the Fears, and he’s unable to see that. Not-Martin keeps trying to interfere, so Not-Jon stalls him as much as he can between interactions with the group.

He asks the group some questions. They don’t exactly trust him, so they give him a general summary of their ordeal from the past few months. No details. The corner of Not-Martin’s mouth pulls thoughtfully. He says that things probably went roughly the way that Not-Jon expected. He usually winds up having to deal with Jonah in the Panopticon.

Jon: Then what was the point of having me hide the statements?

Tim: Nothing. Just keeping you busy.

Jon restrains a glare, unable to argue.

Not-Martin’s gaze searches somewhere above them.

NM: Well… maybe not nothing.

Below, all the worms on the ground wither and die.

NM: And there goes Jane.

Not-Jon struggles to hold together as he overtakes the vacuum created by the absence of Jane. His throat fills up with flossy spores. His skin rots and turns blue with ugly uneven patches of mold. His old worm wounds turn to greasy pits as his tissues shrivel and tear. He is a vague decomposing shape on unsteady legs.

He imagines pulling himself upward, through the rising tide of the Corruption’s desire to rot and hollow. If he keeps pulling, he’ll be able to surmount it. He’s done it countless times before. But it just keeps coming. The pulling is hard. It’s tiring. It hurts so much. He doesn’t stop.

Jon notices Not-Martin through the floor. Not-Martin finishes healing the others and stands up. Not-Jon grits his teeth and steps away from the wall. The Corruption slowly recedes.

————

First

The fact that I hadn’t introduced Not-Martin yet was one of the big reasons I didn’t give up on this project. So happy he’s finally here.

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #tma encore 10 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #jonah magnus #elias bouchard #the corruption #cw parasites #cw pitted skin #cw blood #cw decomposition

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thedroloisms · 2 months

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its kind of wild the intentional stupidity some people have. “we shouldn’t expect much from ccs. remember they already disappointed us with dream” okay but you know that’s because they knew he was innocent right. like yes they didn’t drop him but also the accusations were unsubstantiated. the way they continue to talk about dream as if he’s a confirmed groomer but don’t actually say it because they know it’s not true. “remember what happened with dream” yea bitch you were wrong that’s what happened (sorry i needed to vent 😭)

DONT BE SORRY THIS ALL THE WAY

like in some cases, i'm willing to brush it off as ignorance or stupidity. mostly in the cases of a lot of people who haven't really looked into anything themselves and therefore have a pretty damn biased view of the situation. still not great, especially considering the severity of the allegations (like, i'm sorry but false allegations irl and in content creator spheres have literally ruined people's lives before they are far from victimless???? we have documented evidence of this happening????) but at the very least it's more believably from a place of genuinely not knowing (though it's not like they're trying to know either)

that being said, a lot of the loudest of the group, the avid drantis who won't shut their mouths about him and have decent followings on whatever platform they frequent and have established themselves as a sort of moral authority on the situation? whether it's on twitter or that collection of former dsmpblr big blogs, i'm sorry but nah. these people aren't approaching the issue from a place of ignorance. these people know exactly what they're talking about; they just don't give a damn. they've proved thoroughly that more than they care about advocating for literally anyone, they need to preserve their goddamn reputations. these same blogs repeatedly invoking dream in this scenario despite his having nothing to do with it (because obviously they dropped dream, so they're good people. or obviously the content creators Showed Their True Colors when they didn't immediately denounce dream. or dream made it clear that this community isn't safe from bad, manipulative men emphasis on the MEN!!! or what have you) often literally just so they can pat themselves on the back - scrambling over each other in order to see who gets to stand on the highest soapbox to preach? like.

it's one thing for people to just dislike dream, or to have dropped him during the allegations. i don't bear ill will for those things alone - when the allegations dropped, in the time when we were waiting for a clear final response, i don't blame anyone for choosing the paths that best suited their comfort levels. we all looked at what we had and made our own individual decisions. but it's not february 2023 - now, a full year later, seeing these people literally continue to treat the allegations in the exact same way? speaking about how dream was revealed to be abusive! we should have known better! ccs didn't act then of course they won't act now the entire collection of dsmp men are raging misogynists at best and literally all abusive at worst !!! yeah, fuck off.

there were two claims in all of this of dream being involved with underage individuals - anastasia was literally over 18??? of the two, one story was spread without her consent (as is confirmed not only by her literally asking to be left alone at the start of this, but also by dream and the informant of the burner, who said that she thought the burner would get in contact with the person at hand, directly implying that they never did) and all parties directly involved have stated that no grooming occurred, with retractions taking place on every level. the informant corroborated the statement dream gave for the alleged victim in his video independently after being thrown under the bus by the burner account, and even the other person involved in all of this who was literally hating on dream the entire time on her own twitter corroborated his claims as well. continuing to spread these claims is a kick in the face to the literal person people claim to be trying to protect by championing her as a poor victim and shoving her name and account everywhere when she didn't ask for any of this - believe victims, until the victim is telling you to shut the fuck up after her account was propped up for the entire internet to ogle at without her consent and multiple people dug into her information without asking her supposedly "for her sake". the second story, the original allegations made against dream in 2022, has had multiple people who knew this woman personally (and included picture proof to show that they did) come out independently and say that she's a liar. on top of this, allegations against the accuser have come out (with a whole lot more proof of manipulation than was ever present in the case with her accusations against dream!) and been corroborated by, again, someone who knows the accuser personally, and these allegations have included the fact that certain elements of the original allegations against dream were faked, something that supports what dream said in his video, on top of the other proof provided. but you know, believe victims - not that one, though, or that one. and everyone knows that if you're falsely accused of a crime, then you're not a victim. obviously.

time and time again these people have not only shown that the only victims they're at all willing to listen to are the ones convenient to their story (and the ones that aren't get to be shouted over, ignored, and twisted for use in their own agendas) but they've also repeatedly twisted information to best fit their personal narratives. these people have skin in the game, you know? they didn't exactly approach the situation with dream quietly. they have staked a lot on dream's guilt, including their own personal moral soundness - they've spent over a year of their lives assuring themselves that they're not like the dirty dream stans, they took the allegations Seriously and have denounced a Dangerous Bad Man. the existence of other victims challenges that story, and so they can't acknowledge their existence at all. maybe i'd be less bothered if these weren't the same people who seem so fucking devoted to their being perceived as Authorities On Abuse, who have championed themselves as protectors of the hurt and downtrodden, who go on and on and on about how they take these things with utter seriousness and how much victims matter to them - only to let their internal biases and sheer self-righteousness prompt them to ignore any "victim" that doesn't suit their favored narrative. god forbid these people admit that they were wrong! god forbid they admit that they spent a year of their life in their circles preaching hellfire and brimstone against an innocent man, god forbid they admit that they've harassed people out the door of their circles and been proud of their efforts based on falsified information, god forbid they spend a damn inkling of their time reflecting on their own hypocrisy.

but, you know. #believevictims am i right?

#abuse #grooming #the askers #dont worry anon believe me i can rant

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