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itspileofgoodthings · 2 years

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Season 1 and 2 Steve Harrington Meta

(nothing new to see here, just working through my own thoughts—better late than never!)

Thinking about the way Steve’s season 1 and 2 journey is about being kicked out of the nest of popularity, so to speak, by the choices he makes. he wants better than just holding on to his center-stage popularity and in looking for and pursuing that something better he loses his place and his status with such matter-of-fact ordinariness. And it’s shockingly good. In my Steve Harrington Blindness Era (the reason I’m writing about season 2 so much later) I only sort of half-watched his season 2 arc with Dustin and the kids and everybody seemed to love it so much (and it annoyed me so much that they did lol) and I sort of let that “Steve is the Mom Friend!” excitement and rhetoric cloud how actually rich and deep and funny and unsentimental and TRUTHFUL that arc is. Steve is suddenly stuck with all these kids but not as a main player anymore. Dustin likes him but Dustin’s also like “I’m the one in charge in this relationship” it’s absolutely not a hero-worship thing. And they end up having a great push and pull dynamic where Steve is not just bossed around but my point is—he goes from being King Steve to … backup. To doing the more thankless parts of being an adult, a babysitter. He has to keep them safe without any particular personally compelling reason to do so. He doesn’t know any of them personally, none of them are his siblings’ friends, they’re just his (currently not speaking to him, doesn’t love him) girlfriend’s brother’s gang and socially speaking none of them really care about who he is, it’s THEIR show (ha) and they run it! And if he’s going to be part of this group he has to take a thorough backseat. That would be a blow to any high school kid’s ego—a fragile thing—because it’s just the absolute shattering of the whole social world order that IS their entire life. And Steve is very funny and iconic in that role with his hands on his hips and his dish towel over his shoulder calling them all little shitheads. But all the excitement generated by that is fan furor that doesn’t extend to the inside of the show. In the actual world of the show nobody really cares. The kids don’t really listen to him or respect him; they don’t pay attention to him. He gets beat up by Billy in defense of those kids and instead of that being acknowledged as the heroic act that that is things keep happening, it’s kind of lost in the shuffle, and then he discovers that his girlfriend has actually left him. The hits just don’t stop coming.

And it’s a playing out of what happens at the end of season 1 but this time without the happy ending for him. This time that choice to fall off the path of popularity for the sake of something else, to let himself be socially de-centered because of the choices that he makes and swept up into a role that isn’t his by temperament or established status, leads to nothing except bruises and being left out in the cold. The choice he makes to go back into the Byers’ house at the end of season 1 is so important and beautiful, a real turning point where he cements his leaving of Tommy and Carol and Status so that he can help be part of the real action of the story. But the real consequences of that choice don’t set in until season 2. In choosing to care about people more than his own popularity, in choosing to de-center himself for love, he becomes vulnerable. He becomes Nancy’s in a way he wasn’t before; because now he no longer has his power and status and Pack of Friends as his context and support and backup, to keep him company when she’s gone. It’s just her. And season 2 plays out that fragility to the bitter ending. Nancy has a lot going on internally and externally; the relationship is not her focus and quickly becomes not her priority. She isn’t happy, she’s struggling, she’s in pain and she also just doesn’t want him anymore. She hasn’t made the same step towards him he’s made towards her. And I’m not debating right now whether she’s right or wrong about that but the point is—she withdraws from him and Steve is left with nothing. In season 2 he is faced with the same choice, walk into danger or away from it, help or run and hide, but this time there isn’t anyone or anything that he personally, specifically, cares about on the other side of that. He has to step up for goodness’s sake alone for a bunch of kids, again, he doesn’t really know against literal monsters. And there’s no context that helps make that choice easier, that draws on already established social bonds or family love etc. He has to choose on his own very quickly what kind of person he’s going to be and he’s going to have to be that person without expecting any kind of reward for it. And he gets no reward! There is no sitting on the couch with Nancy in his Christmas sweater ending for him. Everything crashes down on him with astonishing brutality and once the evil is defeated and the gate closed that doesn’t actually change much for him personally. Steve doesn’t go to the Snow Ball dance even the way the other kids his age do, even just to help; he has no place there anymore. Even the show is not paying attention to his fall from grace that much because he isn’t the center.

And the point of all of this is that it’s so beautiful the way he responds to these new circumstances created in many ways by his choices. Because he makes the best of it! He isn’t bitter. He lets Nancy go, he doesn’t command the kids’ worship (not that he would have succeeded but he could have tried and most kids in his position would have) and is a real friend to Dustin by helping him with his older kid advice and tips and support and also by letting Dustin run the show. By not letting his ego get in the way and trying to overpower Dustin with his older kid powers. He doesn’t even hate Jonathan. He is fallen completely out of the only social sphere he’s ever had, he’s alone in a very real and very new and very scary way, he has no power, little support, no appreciation. And he just takes what he has and makes the best of it. And it’s Character-defining, character-creating. The best and most surprising journey.

#stranger things #steve harrington #anyway I know we’re all past celebrating this season 2 moment. But I missed it at the time #Basically Steve’s journey is the cs lewis quote about how to love is to be vulnerable.#and to be open to the suffering it causes #Steve Suffers a lot as a result of love #and he lets it change him. can’t wait to watch season 4 #this is badly written sorry it’s 4 am I know I repeat myself a lot #My meta glory days are over but I still have to write it #in my own learning how to not live in the center/choose to be good despite the social rewards for it era t b h #(doing it much less graciously and generously than he does though)

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regenderate-fic · 1 year

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Blooming in the Bitter Snow (Right Before the Dawn)

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan Rating: General Word Count: 3,636 Other Tags: Revolution of the Daleks, References to Greek Myth, Doctor Who: Flux, Character Study, Pre-Relationship

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Summary: After ten months, the Doctor is like the sun: too bright to look at. Yaz knows this will happen again-- but then, the Doctor knows too.

NOTES: this is a birthday gift for katniss but i guess the rest of you can read it too. it is also retribution for getting me into hadestown. anyway happy birthday ❤️❤️❤️

(and shoutout to gabe riptheh for betaing if it's bad you have to blame him for not telling me)

title is from hadestown

(hehe note from december felix katniss and i saw hadestown and it FUCKED. don't ask me about reeve carney do ask me about grace yoo)

Yaz is stuck.

Yesterday, she had the universe.

Today, she has Sheffield.

It’s not that Sheffield is bad. Yaz had always lived here, and it's always been fine. She used to like it here, even. Back when she was younger. Back before she knew there were any other options.

But now— there's nothing wrong with Sheffield. It's just not where she wants to be.

She’s back living with her family. Sonya’s taken over her room, so she’s living in Sonya’s, with its awful orange paint and childhood belongings scattered about.

It doesn’t matter, though. Yaz is never home. She’s not at work, either— she quit her job a month ago, in linear time, but it feels like years.

The thing is, though, the stolen, unfamiliar TARDIS has become home and work, as far as Yaz is concerned. At first, it’s because Ravio and Ethan are living there, and Yaz is helping them get sorted with a job for Ravio and a school for Ethan and a proper place to stay for them both— every cell in her body is screaming, Find the Doctor , but Yaz forces herself to focus on the people right in front of her who need help before she goes off in search of someone else. It’s what the Doctor would do, after all.

But then Ravio finds a job, and then a flat, and he and Ethan move out to start their new lives on Earth, and Yaz is stuck. Ryan’s finally gotten a job as a mechanic, and Graham is settling into retirement, but Yaz can’t move past this: the stolen TARDIS, offensive in its blankness. The Doctor, currently defined by the space she’s left behind. And the question: why hasn’t the Doctor come back for her?

Ryan keeps trying to suggest jobs she could get. A social worker, he says, when she’s helping Ravio and Ethan get on their feet. Or a teacher, when she explains Earth history to them. It’s the day the two of them leave, when Ryan suggests Yaz go to school to become a psychologist, that she snaps.

“I’m not giving up on her,” she says, but her voice rises until says becomes shouts, her boots planted on the firm white floor.

“All right, then.” Ryan raises his hands in surrender. “Don’t bite my head off. Just, you know, it’s not all or nothing. You can look for her while you do other stuff.”

Yaz shakes her head, single-minded. “I have to find her.”

Ryan stares at her for another moment, and then he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “We’ll be around.”

He doesn't offer to help. Yaz doesn't expect him to. Her relationship to the Doctor is— it's different. Ryan and Graham joke around with her, jumping from adventure to adventure. And Yaz likes the jokes, likes the adventures, but— she also likes the late nights wandering the TARDIS until she finds the Doctor in her workshop, tinkering away, and sits on one of the benches as the Doctor narrates her work, occasionally looking up and giving Yaz a bright and earnest grin. She likes the serious moments, when the Doctor meets her eyes and, somehow, makes a tough situation a tiny bit better, just by acknowledging it. She likes seeing the Doctor every day, just knowing she's around. She still can't quite quantify why exactly her relationship with the Doctor is different from Ryan's, but she knows, keenly, that it is.

Ryan leaves, and Yaz gets to work. She's seen the Doctor pilot the TARDIS—she’s picked up a few of the basics. This console looks completely different, but she thinks she recognizes a few of the levers: not well enough to launch herself into the vortex, and definitely not well enough to choose where to land, but well enough that she has a place to start.

The next day, she goes out and buys a pack of sticky notes, three different colors of paper, and rolls of tape.

At first, it’s almost fun— through the haze of her determination, she vaguely processes the joy she usually takes in a good puzzle, having a problem in front of her to solve. She identifies as many of the controls as she can, marking them with sticky notes, taping her notes up on the walls.

It’s only after she’s identified everything she can that the hopelessness sets in. She’s labeled twelve different buttons and levers, but she’s only sure of three of them, and there are countless more. Time travel is complicated, she knows, and dangerous, and it’s already been three months without the Doctor before she’s even managed to start this project. Linear time is ticking away, and the rest of time, the convoluted path only the TARDIS can navigate, remains elusive.

But Yaz can’t give up. She can’t bear the thought of it: going back to her normal life, finding a job she only sort of didn’t hate, leaving the Doctor behind. Especially when the Doctor could be in trouble, in need of the rescue that Yaz is desperate to provide.

So she keeps going. Methodical, she goes lever by lever, button by button, categorizing, speculating, experimenting. As long as she doesn’t hit the lever that’ll actually launch the TARDIS, she figures, she’ll be fine, and so she lets herself poke and prod, taking constant and careful notes.

(It’s pointless. She knows, deep down, it’s pointless. Either the Doctor will come back or she won’t, and there’s not much Yaz can do about it. She’s no Time Lord— she doesn’t know how to pilot a TARDIS. Not really. But if she doesn’t keep trying, she’ll sink deeper into her grief, and she can’t bear the thought. So she tries, again and again, a high-tech Sisyphus, pushing her rock up the hill until it falls.)

Weeks pass. Months.

Every day, Yaz misses the Doctor more.

Ryan and Graham are still worried about her. Her family are worried about her, too, and doubly so because they don't know the truth about the Doctor or time travel or anything else— they only know that Yaz is looking worse with every passing day.

She can’t bring herself to care. She feels numb, dead to the world, anytime she’s not working on the TARDIS. She’s already written off this time— when the Doctor comes back (she has to come back), it will be like this never happened. It will be ghost time, time that passed, but didn’t.

And then, just when Yaz is sure she can’t bear it any longer, there’s the Dalek. Instantly, Yaz shifts her focus: it’s the same as before, with Ethan and Ravio. Even with her burning, desperate need to see the Doctor again, the safety of other people— the safety of the world — comes first.

She’s at Ryan’s and Graham’s kitchen table when she hears it. The most wonderful sound in the universe. Papers are blowing, Yaz’s hair is coming loose, and her eyes slip shut. It feels like she’s ascending, being lifted up through the fog that’s overtaken her in the last ten months— walking up from the Underworld, ready to see the light of the sun.

When she opens her eyes, the TARDIS is there. Steadfast, blue, letters glowing gently.

The door opens.

Yaz is so close to the daylight—

But the second the Doctor steps out of the TARDIS, the second the Doctor’s eyes land on her, her hope crashes into anger, and she’s fallen right back down onto the dirt.

“We were worried about you!”

Ten months. She’s been waiting ten months. It’s felt like the longest winter of her life— and now she’s red hot, burning with the fury of having been left behind.

Even if it’s not the Doctor’s fault.

Even if she knows, full well, the TARDIS is unreliable.

Even if under all the fury, there’s a quieter warmth, a warmth she’d been taking for granted back when the Doctor was around, blooming in her chest and skating across her skin.

(The fury dissipates, somewhat, when she brings the Doctor into the blank white TARDIS, when she sees the Doctor’s mouth drop open as she takes in the notes tacked up on the walls. It drops entirely when the Doctor looks at her with hope-filled eyes and asks if she’s coming along. “Two hearts,” she says. “One happy, one sad,” and Yaz will miss Ryan and Graham, but she can’t help but feel the sun golden on her face when she thinks she’s responsible for the happy heart.)

(The problem, of course, is that Yaz is very, very sure this will happen again. They lead dangerous lives, after all. And the TARDIS is unreliable.)

(The problem, of course, is that tragedy is a cycle.)

Intermission

The TARDIS is just the same as Yaz remembers, with a few exceptions. Steps in the console room, for example. And her room has changed slightly— evolved, perhaps, to fit the new version of Yaz that has emerged from the last ten months. Her bedspread has gone from purple to a red-brown, and the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling have gone from cartoonish to nearly photorealistic, swirling in fluorescent galaxies when she turns the lights off. She collapses into her bed, curling up immediately— she never sleeps as well at home as she does in the Doctor’s TARDIS.

The next morning, she practically runs into the console room, not even trying to suppress her smile. The Doctor is already there, writing in a little notebook, and she turns around when Yaz steps closer, her eyes sparkling.

“Good morning,” Yaz says, suddenly shy. She hasn’t been alone with the Doctor in the TARDIS before. Or— she has, in the sense that they’ve been the only two in the room, but she hasn’t, in the sense that Ryan and Graham have technically always been on board with them, even if they were far out of earshot. It feels different, now there's no chance of Graham wandering in with his tea, or Ryan poking his head through the door to ask if they want to play a video game.

“Morning, Yaz!” the Doctor exclaims. She’s back to her usual bouncy self, of course— she never reveals her sadness for long. “Was waiting for you to wake up.”

Yaz smiles. “What’s in the notebook?”

The Doctor returns her smile with a grin. “How would you like to learn to fly the TARDIS?”

Yaz steps forward, barely believing her ears.

“You mean it?”

The Doctor nods, expectant. An impossible joy rises in Yaz's throat, threatens to spill out her eyes. Maybe, she thinks, it won’t be a cycle after all.

Yaz watches, and the Doctor turns to stone.

She can’t help but feel like her watching is what does it. Even though plenty of others are looking on, immobilizing the Doctor as wings sprout from her back.

The angels’ weakness is in their observation, after all, and Yaz keeps watching the Doctor, even when she shouldn't.

She almost dies, lunging forward, desperately reaching. It’s Dan who saves her, pulls her back, keeps her from her death.

And that's how she falls for a second time.

It’s different, this time. Less familiar, for one: it’s a hundred years before she was born, in a time when half of England is still using chamber pots, and everything feels strange.

But— the other difference is the Doctor.

She hasn’t left Yaz alone, this time.

Yaz feels the difference the second she and Dan and Jericho and Peggy get back to the village, before she even finds the hologram. She’s already composing a game plan in her mind, just like the Doctor would: get food. Get money. Get period-appropriate clothing. Find a way back to the Doctor.

It’s not until that night that her left hand drops into her pocket and meets cool metal, tugging it out to see the trapped crystal and smooth ridges of an unfamiliar device.

Hope wells up in Yaz. Or— not quite hope. Love , she realizes. Love, because whatever this is, it has to be from the Doctor, and that means the Doctor cared enough about her to leave her— well, to leave her something, even if she hasn't figured out what.

She will find her way back this time.

She doesn’t have a TARDIS, but over the last ten months, she’s learned to trust herself: she’s learned high gravity circus arts, bluffed her way through a peace treaty to rescue the Doctor from a hostage situation, and, in one memorable occasion, defused an actual bomb with one second left on the clock. She’s not the Doctor, but she is good.

By the time they’ve spent two weeks in the empty village, Yaz even has a plan. She’ll spread messages to the Doctor throughout the time period, hoping one of them makes it to the future. Might even try and make one big and permanent enough that the Doctor will see it from space in 2021. And while they’re doing that, Yaz will look for traces of time travel in the 1900’s: the Doctor isn’t the only time traveler out there, she knows, and someone is bound to have abandoned a bit of technology somewhere on Earth. Dan and Jericho are on board— they’re a little taken aback by her fervor, she can tell, but they want to get home.

The hologram, of course, changes everything. It activates when Yaz is doing laundry, her arms burning with the effort of using a washboard. She’s been keeping it in her pocket, her one relic of the Doctor, when suddenly she hears a muffled voice.

The Doctor’s muffled voice.

She pulls the hologram out of her pocket, mouth hanging open, and watches as the Doctor, golden, untouchable, appears in front of her.

Yaz stares at her.

She stares back.

Except— she's not really staring at Yaz, is she? She's staring at the hologram— the hologram that represents Yaz— and—

Has the Doctor been looking at her like this this whole time? With so much emotion in her eyes? Or is she only looking like this because Yaz isn't really there, because it's safe? Yaz is afraid to call the look loving , not when the consequences for being wrong involve the bitterest disappointment, but her breath catches in her throat anyway.

She misses the Doctor. More than anything.

For the next four years, she travels the world. She realizes, at some point in there, that she’s changing— she’s growing into someone new, someone separate from the Doctor, separate from Sheffield, separate from her family and the 21st century. It’s strange. Change is inevitable, of course, but the person she’s becoming is so shaped by the 20th century— shaped by the fashion and the technology and the social rules. She's gotten used to cobblestone streets and horse-drawn buses and traveling miles on rickety trains only to arrive somewhere with no electricity or plumbing, and she has to wonder— when she gets back to the Doctor, to the TARDIS and the convenience of 21st century life, will she even still fit? She still has her smartphone, tucked in a corner of her luggage, and it might even have a little bit of charge left. But she doesn't know, because she hasn’t tried to turn it on in months. She reads newspapers now, anytime she can get her hands on them. She knows how to book tickets by mail to sail abroad, even when her address isn’t quite fixed. She can lace her own corset and do her own hair in the complicated styles of the day, and after a few months of wearing impractical skirts and itchy collars, she’s finally found clothes that suit her. She’s formed an identity for herself, in this era, an identity that’s completely hers.

And yet, she doesn’t belong.

It’s not her era. It’s temporary, she knows it is. She will see the Doctor again. She will go home. And if she doesn’t belong in Sheffield anymore— well, she’ll have the TARDIS, all of time and space, to help her readjust.

It does remind her of the ten months. She says as much to Dan and Jericho, detailing those awful days and nights spent in the wrong console room. She’s got the same dull sense of detachment, the same laser focus on the Doctor.

But… it’s different now. She knows what she has to do, and she knows how to do it. Even if she’s still not sure how she’s going to get back to the Doctor— even if some days, her mission is just, “Keep Dan and Jericho alive.” She's figured out how to fake it, how to act like she knows what she's doing, and slowly she realizes she actually knows. Maybe she knew this whole time. She manages to smooth-talk all three of them onto ship after ship, she manages to bandage a gash in Dan's arm with a piece of her own corset cover while camping deep in the woods, she manages to dispose of a dead body without a second thought. She's always prided herself on doing the things that need to be done, after all— if those things have evolved from tricky homework assignments and white lies to her parents to wilderness medicine and corpse disposal, well, that hardly matters. It's still got to be done.

And, of course, she has the hologram. A ghost of the Doctor, keeping her company. Or maybe Yaz is the ghost, stuck in the past— it’s hard to tell, sometimes. Although— she doesn’t feel dead, this time. Not like before, when she barely went through the motions of keeping herself alive, when she did the same tests on the unfamiliar TARDIS every day until it became familiar but still impenetrable. She’s no longer a high-tech Sisyphus— she’s Odysseus, maybe, displaced in time as well as space, and sailing the high seas in the hopes of making it home. Odysseus has a crew, has control.

Yaz always said she wanted to be in charge.

She’s in charge now, leading Dan and Jericho through a convoluted set of tunnels. Technically Dan’s the one who knows the tunnels best, but they’re all used to Yaz being in the lead, and it’s a hard habit to break. So she’s in front, trying not to let herself hope too hard, trying to tamp down the feeling that she’s walking upward again, out of the Underworld, towards the 21st century sunlight. It’ll hurt too much if she’s wrong— if she falls again— but—

But she’s right.

There’s a door to 2021.

After four years of searching, it turns out it’s as easy as stepping across a threshold, swapping one tunnel for another. Yaz almost cries when she sees the modern font on clean plastic mounted to the wall, part of a museum display— and again when she sees the TARDIS, solid, stalwart. If it weren’t for the stranger in front of her, blocking her, Yaz would be running right to it, opening the doors, flying away.

The good news is she doesn't have to. The Doctor appears, suddenly, miraculously, and when the Doctor appears—

She’s like the sun. She really is. Yaz has finally made it up to the Earth's surface, and now, after years in the darkness, she feels light again. The universe is ending, but the light is soft on Yaz's face.

For a split-second, she’s afraid of the Doctor seeing her. She remembers last time— standing in Graham’s living room, full of hope and whispered prayer, but then the Doctor looked at her, and the hope crashed into anger, plunging her back into a roiling darkness.

But things are different now.

When the Doctor looks at Yaz— it’s like she sees her. She sees everything. Yaz is mesmerized. She can’t look away.

There’s a lot going on, and the Doctor is frenetic, distracted, but she still takes a moment to pull Yaz into a hug, and the way she melts into Yaz’s body, just for a second, brings Yaz completely back to life, heals any lingering wounds, if only for the moment. And then the way she looks at Yaz when she asks if she’s okay—

She does look at Yaz like that, then, even when it’s not a hologram, when there’s no time or space between the look and its recipient.

Or at least, she does now.

(The problem with tragedy is that it’s a cycle, and the problem with cycles, of course, is that they can be broken.)

Coda

Yaz steps into the console room. She’s back in 21st century clothes— slipping into the world of the living, finding her foothold.

The Doctor, standing at the console, straightens up. She looks tired, a weight in her shoulders and in the droop of her eyelids. Her eyes meet Yaz’s, and Yaz feels the corners of her lips rising into a smile.

The Doctor smiles back. Not one of her big showy grins— no. She’s not performing right now. This smile is genuine. It’s real.

“I really did miss you,” she says, her voice soft.

“You, too.” Yaz is awkward, suddenly. She’s forgotten how she used to act around the Doctor. In four years, she’s been an adventurer, she’s been a friend, she’s been a codebreaker and a sailor. But she hasn’t been a copilot.

There’s an awkward silence, stilted in the presence of all their time apart, everything they haven’t said.

“I was thinking,” Yaz blurts out. “We should invite Dan along. He was a good sport, back in the 20th century.”

The Doctor nods. There’s a shift in her demeanor, a flickering of a light, and she’s back at the console.

“Brilliant idea, Yasmin Khan,” she says, and Yaz’s stomach flutters to hear the Doctor say her name again.

“Copilot?” she asks.

And at the Doctor’s responding grin, she knows she’s back home.

#doctor who #thasmin #thirteen x yaz #character study #references to greek myth #revolution of the daleks #doctor who flux #pre-relationship #short

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greylunar · 2 years

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Hey, can I ask you an device in something very personal? I recently had some sucess with my art and is on track to becoming a career which makes me incredibly happy. But, like, I was born in an upper middle class family. I graduated high school at 16 and got into college at 17. I changed majors so much that now, at 24, I'm no close to graduate that I was back then, I actually just gave up engineering(my like 6th major). I've been very depressed since I got into college, actually, because yes I wanted to make money but I also really really wanted to like what I do for living and the only thing I ever liked was art but I never had the courage to take that risk which is so stupid. But, my point is, I don't deserve to be able to live off my art, you know? Im lazy and a fuckup. There are so many more deserving people out there. Even doing this, coming here and whining about it, just proves how out of touch I am. And I know this. I know this and I think i should step aways from the arts, I think it's not right for me to occupy a place there. I know all that people will talk is how I only succeeded because I didn't had to work(more like couldn't get work) until 23 and because my parents supported me(which fuck they are abusive asholes but they did). Look, I don't know, I know that if I say this stuff my friends will say that I'm crazy on giving up a dream but I just want to hear the truth from an unbiased person. I'm 24, never worked until 23, live with my parents still, a college dropout who spent 7 years fucking around in college with an existential crisis. There's people who suffer through uni, I just gave up. There's people who work awful jobs, I just rely on my shitty parents. There's people who worked harder, deserve it more, right? Besides, I tend to be so delusional. I told my friend I was self-made, can you believe it? That because I wrote my book and it was sucessuful then I was self made. She did right and pointed out all my privileges, and she had a point. A very valid point. Now I'm asking around for strangers opinions I guess bc I don't know what to do

Long reply under the cut c:

Alright, upfront I’m going to be honest friend, I don’t know if I’m going to be the person who’s able to give you what you’re looking for here. Even if this small look into your life allowed me to make some sort of unbiased evaluation of your situation and merit, I don’t think I would. I don’t think I have any right to do that for anyone. So this isn’t going to be like some sort of point evaluation of wether or not you tally up enough personal worth to deserve to do what you’re passionate about for a living, because blanket statement, you do. You’re not evil, you’re not unworthy of happiness, you’re not a fuckup, you’re literally just some guy who’s had a couple privileges but is obviously still going through a lot. That’s like half the population. It doesn’t make you an asshole, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be happy. It just means you’re a person. You’re just a person. And I think people deserve inherently to try and find what makes existing less shitty for them.

I’m going to be real bud I think it makes a lot of sense that you’re struggling with this. Like you graduated so early and it’s fucking insane trying to know what direction you want to go with your life when you’re 19 and 20 and in college, already it’s unreasonable to ask of someone and you started trying to do it when you were 17. No one could be ready for that. It doesn’t mean you were lazy or stupid it means you were 17 and scared and overwhelmed. You were just a kid. And of course throwing a kid in that environment would affect your depression, of course you’d be stuck in what felt like an endless existential crisis. There’s nothing wrong with dropping out. It’s not because you weren’t strong enough or determined enough or anything like that, it’s being honest with yourself and brave enough to acknowledge that college was not helping you, that in order to take care of yourself you had to admit that it wasn’t the right time for it. Relying on your abusive parents for money and housing? One, that’s a problem in its own right for you like it sucks to be financially dependent on your abuser. Two, fuck them, if you have the option yeah take their money. Three, having the privilege to not have to work is just that, a privilege. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person inherently. You being able to rely on your parents for financial help does not equate to “and so they don’t deserve to have an art career.” You’ve had a shitty couple of years. You don’t need to turn away a career that would make you happier as penance for stuff that was already shitty. I think you deserve this chance. I also think you deserve to give yourself a break. Self esteem sucks and I know it’s not as easy as just saying that, but maybe talking to a therapist would help if that’s an option for you. You’re beating yourself up for just trying to exist man. We’re all just trying to exist. I mean I changed my major a bunch, I dropped out (twice), I’m unemployed right now. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you don’t think it makes me a fuck up who’s unworthy of something good. The same goes for you, it’s just harder to see it when it’s yourself. I dunno if this will help at all, but even if it doesn’t I guess I hope things get better for you soon friend. In some ways I hope you let them get better for you. Take care of yourself, and try and be gentle with yourself, in the moments you can.

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knight-riot-c · 2 years

Text

Late Night Thoughts on NPD Parents

After embarking on my self healing journey, I have found that both of my parents appear to have NPD. It's a wonder that they stayed together as long as they did with how much they love to be the center of attention. Albeit my father seems to have traditional NPD and my mom covert NPD. I came to grips that my father has it easier than I did with my mother. However, today after yet another misunderstanding turned into a fight where I get called defensive for trying to explain my side, begging to be heard by someone, who as my bf so pointily put it: can't see beyond her nose in her own righteousness, I'm thinking this is my reality. There's more to this, of course. This is in the wake of little under a month of becoming estranged from my father due to his abuse becoming physical. I am taking the proper steps to ensure the abuse stops here. My mom was here for me though this, all of which I am grateful for. However, no good deed goes unpunished with her. She has a history of throwing it back at me later anything she does to help me. Expecting me to pay up as if each accordance of love is a transaction to be collected and used against me at a later use. Each instance that fights have happened, which is often as of late, my parents have told me, in one way or another that they are sorry, thinking it solves the problem. Never acknowledging anything they did, it's never sincere either. There is no integrity for them. No authenticity. Never following though on what they say their going to do. Constantly keeping me on with empty promises to do better. As they say, the best apology is changed behavior. As I sit and think of it, my mother gets mad at me for all off the thigs she does. The same with my father. I learned it all from them. I am just their little mirror. Though recently, in their own way they have told me that they don't like who I have become because it is no longer the daughter they want me to be. But I am who I want to be, finally. I am proud of myself, as they should be. But all they see is flaws. I've never been good enough for them and their appearance, simply, I will stop being their daughter until, if ever possible, they can do the inner work, facing their demons and healing to be better. I believe that is in all of us and that we are all capable. May be naïve of me to say and believe but were all unconscious until we aren't and operate from a place of separation and fear appearing as anger until we have healed and operating from love. Unless that was always the norm as a child. Though studies are beginning to show, I may be misquoting, but this is where things like hereditary diseases come in as well as neurobiological developmental disorders like ADHD and Autism. Generational trauma if you will. The cycle stops with me. Things that I have struggled with for the majority of my life, stealing so much time and enjoyment from a fulfilling life. I allowed for them to take those things from me for such a long time. I've now decided to choose something different for me and my current relationships and potential children/relationships. Though, I feel at such a loss of what to do. This seems to be something that I have tried to hold out hope for another outcome but realize that it may never happen. I am at a point where peace of mind and being content in my own life with my own relationships and dynamics that are healthy for me are of priority. Both parents never know how to accept that they could be at fault for something and I grew up often believing that the emotions and moods of ADULTS were mine, a child's, responsibility to fix. Not that they too are their own person's who are capable of choosing to stay stuck in their ways or of change. I have seen, too many a time of the former rather than the later. The latter I want, so I can have a healthy and happy relationship with them, as their adult daughter. I am still treated most times like a child, even though I am nearly 30 and have been living independently caring for myself for nearly 10 years at this point, even longer emotionally and socially. I'm not even sure on where to start to process through all of this. I guess mostly, I want some advice on how to move through this, heal from this, what my next steps could be, what's on the other side of healing from these wounds?

#current events #npd abuse #npd parents

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1d1195 · 11 days

Note

SAM MY LOVE PLEASE DONT FEEL LIKE YOUR RESPONSE WAS NOT GOOD ENOUGH!! I honestly don’t care how long they may be, like the fact that you’re even acknowledging my asks is already so special to me! So if you ever don’t have the energy to answer, you really don’t have too! I won’t be hurt because you’re well being is far more important ❤️I’m sorry you were feeling a bit off :( I hope you felt better or are feeling better! Hopefully you don’t get sick right before your break!

Also side note when you mentioned sneakers with a wedding dress TELL ME WHY WHEN I THINK OF MILLENNIALS I THINK OF THIS! Like you mentioned side part and I didn’t even think to associate them with that up until this whole GenZ vs Millennial comparisons started to become a thing lol

ANWAYS now let me express my LOVE for toothpaste part 2! Once again you wrote such a good part! And omg this MC is BOLD bc I would actually EXPLODE from the embarrassment if I said that my dentist😭 but honestly I don’t blame her because if my dentist was Harry I would be so down bad it’s not a joke 😭 I loved how we got to read Harry’s pov from reading her file and seeing her for the first time! Ugh it was so cute like you know I love how obsessed each of your Harry’s are with their pairs! AND I LOVE WHEN HARRY GETS FLUSTERED!! It just does something to me that I love when the MC’s do that to him 🤭 AND THAT LAST LINE SAM I CRACKLED AHAH

So good bestie! Hope you are treating yourself well! -💜

NO BUT I LOVE SENDING YOU THOUGHTFUL MESSAGES.

I'm feeling fine! I have semi-chronic stomach issues. I think I (knowingly) ate something that I shouldn't have. It really didn't sit well with me. BUT I feel fine now 😂 BUT REALLY I ALWAYS GET SICK ON OR BEFORE VACATIONS. Ever since I was little. Fortunately I will only get my period during break this year. Lucky me 🙄 Pollen season is upon us though which will be stellar too ☠

I try not to do a whole lot of millennial/gen-z comparisons if I can help it but I will probably be buried in skinny jeans and I would rather be bald than do a middle part 😂 That's so interesting about the wedding dress and sneakers thing! I didn't really think of it as a millennial thing. I meant it as a me thing hahahahaha mainly because I used to DESPISE heels. I had some structural damage to my ankles due to sports and anything with a heel terrified me because I was scared of snapping my ankle again hahahaha but like I said last time, I'm such a wedge girl now so I would probs wear heels at my wedding.

SO glad you liked Toothpaste! I tried to write a version of myself I wish I could be (just slightly bolder than my current self I think--she was still a whiny baby last time about her toothache which was so me). I would never flirt with my dentist either--maybe if he was Harry, that I agree 💕 I have great ammo for my next part after my own trip to the dentist. I know it's part of his job but this man really stuck his whole finger in my mouth and massaged my cheeks and lips around my gum line. It's hard to explain but I either don't remember him doing it the other recent times I've been to the dentist or if I was paying closer attention since I was thinking about Toothpaste the whole time. Honestly it was hilarious when he did it, I was lucky I didn't laugh. Too bad I'll be making it sexual for Toothpaste and probably make it harder on myself when I have my next appointment in six months 😂 I love to make men flustered in general. Always keep them guessing, ya know? 🤭😉

Speaking of men, how is our hot TA?

I am def going to be treating myself to a shopping trip that I cannot afford but I don't care. I am in the mindset (for this weekend) that I am here for a short time and I need to enjoy myself while I can and the money will come back eventually.

Hope you have an amazing weekend and you get to do something fun again! 💕💕

xoxo

#💜

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clusterbdiary · 1 year

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Striving for enlightenment level ups. So much trauma acknowledged. So much causes and effects self-dissected to realise the cause so I can change the effects, reactions and outcomes. Even when I feel like I’ve levelled up and think I can transfer this knowledge to every trauma or negative feeling that warns me - I can choose to feel this way or not, if I figure out the root of it… I still get new surprise hidden trauma causes and effects popping up every so so triggering old habits to return to make sure I behave immaturely and hurt others like I feel in that moment instead of remembering all I have learned; old unenlightened me has no trouble returning to take charge of driving my old faithful, unhelpful behaviour with a well known outcome that will cycle round and round until I figure out the trigger.

Even with these unacknowledged traumas and my reactions - which comes the hind sight and light bulb moment of me being self-aware and decision to not feel that unhappiness again and my enlightenment helps me to still learn after old habits die hard.

I have reached a level in my abilities of living the happiest life and growing my ability to perceive human behaviour and psyche in an intuitive, 6th sensey type of way that I never used to and that I thought not possible.

Im now stuck in my ‘living my happiest life’, mental health journey, at a higher level I have experienced, than ever before. Where my ability to see and read other people’s trauma causes and effects, behaviour meanings, body language and coping behaviours is so clear and obvious, like an anomaly, standing out and calling attention, that I didn’t notice before, on people I know, and people I don’t.

To be able to see all this trauma all around me with only 1 person with the same knowledge or willingness to learn the knowledge, feels so lonely. It feels like I’ve tried my best to work on my mental health for the happiest life ever and genuinely make the most of my one life time being alive during entropy decay and guaranteed death and when my perceptions have widened so far and all I can see is people who don’t know what I know, and who can only know when or if they are mentally ready.

Living my happiest life is my goal but my drive to deeper enlightenment has led me to an existence of someone, who is an empath, to constantly without choice, sense or see so many people unnecessarily living with their inner hurt child’s traumas. An existence that is a new experience of being unable to save everyone that crosses my path, no matter how much I want to.

How do I get out of a depressive funk that is because I’ve become too aware, with a self-described superpower that I’ve been nurturing to get to this point and further? I want this enlightened awareness, but as an empathetic person with empathy overdrive it has given me a new perspective to discover and learn about that has to teach me : I can only control what I can control and I cannot save every-single-one. I did not expect this kind of depressive funk to be something that will send me on another cause-effect-outcome lesson… which will then level up my enlightenment.

Tell me I don’t sound crazy and someone on here is where I am and is relating to what I’m trying to say.

#enlightenment #perspective #mental health #happylife

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chthonicillness · 3 years

Text

i think it’s unfair that i could be losing my whole entire mind feeling like all of my bones are going to crawl out of my skin and stack themselves up into a living skeleton which will run around rogue committing acts of unspeakable violence and yet when you look at me from the outside there is no visible difference from when i am, like, thinking about what the weather will be like tomorrow and whether i should bother shaving my legs. my mental state should be observable so people will know when to just give me a minute. maybe my eyes could change color, or there could be like one of those scrolling led signs across my forehead that says PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE i don’t know i’m just spitballing here

#the truth is that my desire to be turned inside out is empty & fruitless. it does not matter how many warning signs there are #people do not listen to me when i tell them the truth about how i feel and those same people would not pay any attention to a visual marker #i’ve convinced myself that people do not see my needs because i make them small and quiet because i have to believe that there is some way #to force people to acknowledge them. but the truth is that i made my needs small and quiet because people refused to see them #and now i’m stuck here because i will never be acknowledged until i become an inconvenience #but i cannot be an inconvenience without risking punishment #anyway. all of this is why i should be able to turn into like a pterodactyl or something #who is going to blame a pterodactyl for shrieking and eating people. dinner that’s who

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frogtanii · 3 years

Text

tw. serious self loathing

kenma hated hospitals.

the cold sterile air, the incessant beeping of machines, the loud voices of the doctors — mix it all together and you get the perfect recipe for kicking up kenma’s anxiety.

it was bad enough, what with you being the one in the hospital bed, tied up to all those machines but all the other more extraneous details certainly didn’t help.

kenma’s eyes darted around the white hallway, his knee bouncing erratically as he tried to listen in through the door at what the doctor was saying. earlier, when he had tried to follow behind the rest of the house members to get your diagnosis, he was stopped by kuroo’s hand on his chest and a sad shake of his head.

he’d made his way back to the cold, unforgiving seats lining the hall right outside your room and attempted to overhear, something, anything, that would abate his anxieties.

unfortunately, the conversation was over before kenma could glean anything of substance, the door swinging open as the doctor exited, the atmosphere left in the room being tense and uncomfortable.

kenma quickly stood to his feet, glancing from face to face to discern some kind of news, be it good or bad. “w-what— is she okay? what’s going on?” as much as he willed it not to shake, his voice cracked in the middle of his sentence, his fear for you clearly bleeding into his words.

at the sound of his broken voice, all heads in the room turned towards him. he scanned all their faces but his eyes were stuck on atsumu’s, his own burning with a righteous fury.

before kenma could blink, atsumu was on him, shoving him up against the wall while pressing an arm against his chest. the thumping in kenma’s chest intensified, his eyes widening in dread as his breathing quickened.

he could faintly hear the sounds of protests from the other house members and off-duty nurses but they were swiftly becoming drowned out by the blood and static rushing in his ears.

“atsumu. step down.” sakusa gritted before yanking atsumu off of kenma, allowing kenma to collapse onto the floor. the residual adrenaline and anxiety came to the point they were overwhelming, his breath coming in short pants as he tears leaked from his eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, i didn’t know, thought that it would be ok, thought she would be okay but she’s not, oh god this is all my fault, i’m sorry, m sorry,” his words came out like a broken faucet before he couldn’t stop them, his arms wrapping around himself as he rolled into the fetal position, determined to erase himself from his surroundings.

a presence appeared in front of him, crouching down and grabbing his hands before where they were digging into his skin, cradling them gently within their own. “hey bud,” bokuto said kindly, a big smile on his face despite the circumstances. “breathe with me, ok?”

kenma nodded before matching bokuto’s exaggerated breathing, in and out, in and out, until his heartbeat was finally back to normal and he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse. “you wanna tell us what happened?”

he firmly kept his gaze on bokuto, determined not to look at everyone else’s scared, angry, or hurt expressions as he explained himself. “i-i saw yn g-go to the bathroom and it was fine because o-of course it was but then i s-saw meiko follow and it d-didn’t register? it happened so f-fast and then i got distracted and it e-escaped my mind until y-you guys brought it up. i j-just— i didn’t think m-meiko was gonna do anything. we were in public and—“

“that won’t stop her.” kenma chanced a look at suga who was the one who spoke, his eyes downcast and stormy with anger and... sadness?. “you didn’t know and that’s whatever, but meiko is fucking crazy. never underestimate her again.” he warned with a grave tone. all kenma could do was nod, a fresh wave of tears coming to his eyes.

“‘m sorry,” he whimpered, his gaze falling upon the white lines on his suit pants. the group let out hums of acknowledgment before falling back into a tense silence, the only sounds coming from the hospital around them.

it didn’t last very long.

“yn! yn!” a deep masculine voice rang from the entrance of the hospital, followed by a quieter platitude and then a host of shushes from the nurse on the floor. the taller man with dark hair managed to lock eyes with kenma, his body moving quickly until he was right in front of the group.

“i need to see her. now.” the man’s voice was dark and menacing but kenma was the only one who seemed to shrink at the sound, the others sizing the outsider up and glaring him down. atsumu waved them away before bringing the pair into a hug, the shorter pink-haired man sighing deeply into the embrace.

atsumu exchanged short “pleasantries” with the two newcomers before turning towards your door wistfully. “uh, ya will be able ta see her soon enough but her throat is fucked pretty badly. she’s asleep right now but doc says she won’t be able to talk for at least a week.”

kenma’s heart caught in his throat. you wouldn’t be able to speak?? because of him?? the thought made him clam back up, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders to shield him from the rest of the hall. he could hear more voices, a door clicking open, a soft gasp, and a growled threat but he was too strung up to focus any more than that.

my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, played over and over on repeat in his mind, his inner demons taunting him for ruining your life. you would never forgive him, never lay your eyes upon him again without showing disgust and disdain. it was what he deserved, especially after the hell he put you through, no matter how much it hurt.

he faintly recognized at some point in his self loathing, that he was moving somewhere with the group, their hands on him as though they were leading him someplace, not that it mattered.

kenma already knew he was a horrible waste of space and this cemented it for him. but, his mind so helpfully offered, even if you are a piece of shit, you can still do something, something big. make meiko pay for how she hurt you and suga and the rest of them.

oh, he was going to do something alright. he was going to do something so large, so enormous that meiko’s reputation could never, ever recover.

kenma was absolutely going to get his revenge. not for him, no, he could care less about himself. no, he would do it for you and all those who had suffered by her hand.

after all, it was the very least he could do.

℗ poker face

the least he could do

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - i feel so horrible today so i don’t have much to write here??? KJSSN ty for reading n don’t forget to feed me <333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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reilliane · 2 years

Text

Enigma ★ Scaramouche

— ★ Scry: Ecliptic Umbra + Scaramouche + Modern AU — ★ Genre: Romance + Fluff & Angst — ★ Concept: You finally found the one who got away after he left and became an enigma. What was his reason for leaving without notice? Careful now, the truth always comes with a price. — ★ Words: 5.1k — Death, Blood, Violence, Foul Language

“Reporting now, a body just fell from a thirty-story building here in [ - ]. Mauled beyond comprehension, responders were only able to identify the body by the identification card.”

“The body is identified to be the assistant chief in the police’s Favonius sector, containing another insignia from the infamous organization presently being tailed by the government. They are discovered to run amok in the city of [ - ] as of the present, so it is urgently advised to stay indoors—”

A newly received message silences the news being broadcasted on the radio channel you’re listening to on your device. You groan, puffs of frosty breath leaving.

The night’s frigidity has never been a bother—but it is rather troublesome this particular evening, what with its picking frost on your gloveless hands.

It was a mistake rushing out of that hotel room after getting an anonymous tip.

Now you’re in the middle of an eerily silent city, tapping away at your phone that’s stuck at the contacts.

“It’s getting late..” you frown, leaning by the walls of a closed store with a sigh, “He’s not picking up, either.”

It isn’t the first time you receive a tip and still end up at a dead-end, but having it occur one after the other just dampens your hope further.

This case has been running mellow for the past few years, only garnering interest after a series of recent killings were unraveled to be linked to the old case.

What captured everyone’s attention now? Because the killings are all from the government; known politicians, attorneys, senators—the list can go on.

You shake your head, letting your grumbles fill the silent night as you start to walk down the sidewalk that leads to the hotel you’ve booked in a couple of hours ago.

So much for that tip.

It’s difficult work—but one you’re willing to persevere through until the end of your career. You did not take up this path to let this chance go.

The screen of your phone lights up with another ring, showing your partner’s message that read his panic.

Not bothering to hold back the urge to roll your eyes, you sigh once more, responding that he needn’t come any longer now that you concluded that the tip was—bluntly put, useless. And that you’re coming back to the hotel.

You pocket your phone afterward, whistling away as you continue your trek down the road.

There is no one else in the vicinity.

At least you thought.

“Hello there, lady~” drawls a man from one of the alleyways you’ve just passed.

The haunting slur of his voice prompts you to move faster, the neon lighting of the hotel looking so far away.

Albeit fear has an acknowledged presence, it isn’t the one rattling your bones, but impatience.

There is no time to lose and you can’t have someone taking up your space now. But alas, the quicker your steps become, the more ground the man continues to cover.

This is playing out to be a scene you’ve seen in flicks and you can’t say you’re not prepared.

“This is a dangerous city to be in… surely you’re aware of that.”

Ah, the hotel is nearby, you mull. Perhaps I should notify him that I’m getting tailed, for precaution. Idiot, why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Your building annoyance does not go unnoticed. Perhaps it has even influenced the stranger behind you because suddenly his steps are thundering. Your heart pounds in your ears.

A click of the tongue is all that is heard before you are being yanked backward to one of the nearby alleys.

“You’re a rude one, aren’t you? It’s alright,”

So much for taking my phone out, the swift whiplash clatters your eyesight—the dark environment does not help, too. The disadvantage is clear judging by the way the man moves about in the blackness. He’s a local.

Maybe… the realization freezes you for a moment. This is the man that tip was talking about? If this is the situation then you’ve struck gold.

“I can discipline you, anyway.”

You’re brought back to reality when you are slammed into the wall, the back of your head throbbing with a pain that has you gasping.

“What—let go of me!” the hold transfers to your neck and you begin to choke, your one hand darting to grab something in your bag—but then there is no need to take any weapon of sorts.

Because the vice grip suddenly loosens and you’re freely taking in all the air.

“What the fuck, you’re out in the open, you dumbass.”

The new voice is yet to be processed.

Your mind is currently running the priority to survive because this is it—undoubtedly, these two must be the members of that criminal gang. And you’re alone.

Ahh, idiot! You should’ve phoned your partner when you had the chance.

The man that seized ahold of you laughs, voice raspy, “Open and midnight. You aren’t any fun, are you.”

You press your back to the wall, a futile attempt to merge with the shadows. Everything within is screaming for you to run while the two are still locked in a conversation, but something grounds you in place.

The sound of an incoming car presents the possibility of survival.

“We don’t need the cops on our tail after another sherlock'a corpse. Learn some restraint.”

Now that you can hear them properly… that other guy… ah—oh no, wait, he’s turning-!

“As for you—… !”

A car zooms past the street, its headlights enough to shed some light in the alley.

In a flashing second, white trounces the black—and albeit it’s only for a sliver of a moment, the figures shown buzz you with both horror and relief.

It can’t be.

“Quite the catch isn’t she?”

The man wearing a mask hauls you out of the alley, nearby a lamppost where you can be seen under the orange light.

You’re unable to move, eyes blankly gazing into the other acquaintance’s violet ones.

You do not say his name out loud, but he flinches in the slightest—like he’s snapped from whatever reverie has ensnared him.

“I’ll take care of this. Report to the Tsaritsa for me, will you?” he’s not waiting for an affirmation from the other person, already slapping away the hand on your arm so he can grab you himself.

The way you jolt does not go unnoticed. The fact that relief has started to seep in instead of panic cannot be denied, as well.

Although it remains true that you’re in the midst of two criminals, knowing one out of the two puts you at morbid ease.

“It’s not every day that the nasty Balladeer asks for a favor,” rasps the masked man, his crimson stare burning daggers into your profile like he’s attempting to uncover any relevance you had to this comrade.

“Really, calling my name like that?”

Why the pause? The sudden interest?

“You’re going to kill her anyway, I don’t see the point.”

Fortunately, that curiosity of the stranger does not linger for too long. If anything, the masked man looks more amused.

“I’m holding this one against you,”

Scarmouche scoffs, “I get it.”

They begin to exchange a few short phrases in a language you can’t understand and your sense of reason returns, bidding you to grab your phone again.

This is an opportune time, you can’t have this pass—

Thud!

“Not a nice move, doll.”

You can barely register the lulling whisper in your ear, too focused on easing the pressure on your neck. It’s strong enough to beckon black dots around your sight. You can’t believe this—Is this really-

The weight vanishes and you gasp, almost falling if not for the arm that circles your waist to hold you back up. On impulse, you latch onto it.

“Scara,” his expression is stone-cold, it’s eerie, “So, this is where you’ve been all along? I can’t say I’m surprised—but-”

He lets out another scoff, choosing not to respond to your questions as he forces you up properly with a small kick to your calves. Your attempts to struggle are easily impeded.

“Answer me,” you demand, but he does not listen, only hauling you away farther from the hotel.

Seeing that he will not bend to any of your wishes, you swipe him off the floor with a leg, breaking free from his clutch.

“Shit—”

You cut him off with a slam of your fist to his face, feeling your knuckles burn at the contact.

Though your body is running hot with a rush of adrenaline and a kick of vigor, the cold temperature that has stiffened your limbs a while ago proves to be a nuisance.

You find yourself clenching your gloveless fingers, endeavoring to get rid of the cold as you deliver another swing.

Though it meets its mark, the receiver merely laughs in nonchalance.

Scaramouche slides his foot to a circle to throw you off but you’re able to jump and avoid it—but that paves an opening.

Before you can raise your guard up or even land, you are being tackled to the sidewalk with a speed uncatchable by the eye.

The brutal collision manifests a dizzy spell—so painful and strong that you’re seeing stars, but you’re keeping your fists up anyway.

“Hold still when you’re at my absolute mercy, we don’t want to soil your pretty face red now, would we?” he tuts.

It’s a certainty that your face isn’t smeared with blood, but you can’t say the same for the back of your head—nor the recent wound at your shoulder from a nasty run-in just a week ago.

Glaring with a zeal that intends to entail your refusal to surrender, you’re met with harsh eyes of violet that respond with a vicious, untold warning.

Familiar as they may be, however, they are no longer the ones you used to gaze into so fondly.

Your silence is met with a huff of presumable triumph, then there is a movement to take the handcuffs that peek out of your jacket.

“No funny business.”

Hauled back up, the momentum sends you crashing against the man’s chest, who steadies you with his free hand.

It is only with the flickering light of the lamppost do you see the scrunch of his eyebrows, bewilderment evident when he appraises the blood on his palm and your shoulder.

Now that you’re simply standing, you are able to slowly comprehend the stinging pain from a wound that has re-opened. Crap.

Scaramouche only gives a look before raising his hand—then, not taking any chances for you to struggle as you did before, knocks you out cold.

The friendly darkness that comes to greet and be your companion for who knows how long has thinned your patience by the time you wake up. It had been another colorless sleep.

It doesn’t take too long for your senses to kick in, replaying all that has happened leading up to this very predicament.

He knocked me out, you grumble inwardly, testing your limbs and looking on in surprise when you realize that you aren’t bound as you initially thought. A kidnapping…

The room you’re in is, shockingly, not the stereotypical basement.

You’re in a living room—a rather luxurious one, at that, maintaining its pristine and sharp appearance belying the fact that its owner is a criminal man whose middle name is slaughter.

Wary, you try to find solace in your bag—only it’s nowhere to be found. As expected.

Where is he? You stand up, careful not to make any noise. If he’s even here and not somebody else.

There is a strange comfort in having Scaramouche be the one present—but alongside it, there is also distress.

If worse comes to worst and you end up with the need to end him, it will definitely mar you for years to arrive.

Down a lit hallway, you walk through, passing by paintings that contained faces, some familiar and some not.

The soles of your shoes are silent with their contact upon the mauve carpet. Shuffling sounds then alert you from the rightmost room and before you can even do anything—someone appears by its threshold.

“So you’ve become a detective,” Scaramouche lifts your badge and your wallet containing the identification card before sighing, looking crossed, “That’s even worse.”

The temperature Is peculiarly freezing.

Is he really not doing anything? Your thoughts are answered when he disappears in the room, only to come back with your stuff.

He rolls his eyes at your apprehensive stance then throws to the floor your belongings before crossing his arms, keeping his leaning figure by the door frame.

He doesn’t do anything else—and you laugh in disbelief.

You don’t know whether to be relieved or vexed.

“You’re kidding.”

He’s letting you go—just like that, without so much as an injury, without anything at all.

For a moment you almost thought him to be as normal as he appears to be, a civilian, and not someone affiliated with a criminal organization that’s being hunted by the government.

Unsuccessfully, too, telling of the group’s surreptitious nature and ability to be invisible—with only their crimes being traces of their presence.

Pursing your lips, you take your bag and stand your ground.

“Scara,” his eyebrow twitches at the nickname, “You disappeared without a trail after the death of your sisters—everyone’s looking all over for you. It’s been years.”

When he makes no sound nor movement that indicates a future response, you step forward, pushing him by the chest with a burn of courage you didn’t know you had.

Words from the heart—tears you previously cried, disbelief and worry that you harbored throughout the past, you try to prevent them from achieving full control of your perception.

You allow only the tiniest bit of emotions to slip through, fearing that if you hide them then you’ll literally crumble apart.

But it comes as an epiphany that just looking at his face alone, devoid of care and interest, is more than enough to make you question why you even decided to bother appealing with pathos.

He steps back again—though his fingers are starting to grip his arms a little tighter—letting you push him back as you grit your teeth, hissing.

“I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing so I chose this path to search for you and now that- now that I did, you’re just going to let this pass by?”

You’re sending me away? It isn’t raised, but the question hangs openly.

Finally, he cracks, swatting your hand on him away with narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t ask for you to look for me,” his snarls are full of warning and danger, but you stay rooted on the ground, sizing him up with a glare of your own as he continues, “I wanted to stay hidden. I didn’t want to see you.”

“Why kidnap me then? Why not let that masked person do as he pleases?”

He steps closer, narrowed vision of violet acute with forbearance.

“I told you, you’re on my last sliver of mercy. Take it while it’s free.”

Is that all the reason you can give?

Rendered speechless at his behavior that might as well be tantamount to that of a stranger’s, your shoulders drop.

That’s really everything?

Scaramouche bumps into your shoulder when he walks past with a frown, not batting an eye to any of your stuttering gestures.

For a wink, you lag behind in that room, watching the back of the man who has occupied a great time in your life vanish once more.

There are whispers in your head, olden recollections, and naïve promises.

Once upon a time, your hand is clasped within a child’s. Then, your pinky is linked with a teen’s—shy, shy touches… but then, little by little, the distance grows longer.

Until that day.

“Scara? Why aren’t you picking up the phone? Where are you?”

The one you’re reaching your hand to is nowhere to be found.

“You’re worrying everyone. Can you answer? … Please?”

All that’s left is the memory of him, susceptible to pale and be forgotten in the aging of time.

“I’ll find you.. even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.”

And you did.

Air fills your lungs as you clench your fists, recovering the earlier paroxysm of valor and striding after the one that got away.

“Scaramouche!”

He turns back around at the call of his name, his countenance speaking of a future retort, but he doesn’t get to say anything.

In a flash, all he sees is red hot burning fury, then he’s being thrashed against the wall by the collar of his shirt.

It’s a brutal move that sends dizzying white to his sight, but he can tell with ease that it contained restraint.

“I did not hunt you down all this time to be simply overlooked as nothing. How do you think I felt when all of a sudden, one day, you were nowhere to be found?”

Teeth gnashing down, he ‘tsk’s, peering into hues of [c] that holds intransigent will. It’s rather awing if he’s going to be honest—but then again, obstinacy has always been your friend.

He starts to grab you by the arm, without a doubt to throw you off, but you let him go, opting to pin your stare instead.

Miraculously, he does not walk away.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me exactly why the fuck you’re working with the thugs that wrecked the living hell out of your life and mine,” you say through bared teeth.

Eyebrow arching in amusement, he throws his head back to the wall and laughs, breath a little raspy.

Aside from that, only the ticking of a faraway clock can be heard in the silence of the hour.

His fingers thread through his bangs, tugging at the roots as if they’ll rip the words he wants to say out of his mind.

When he lolls his head and drags his hand down, a lazy smile can be seen—one that appears mocking—on his handsome visage.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

“Hah, you’re dumber than ever… but I can’t blame you for being oblivious,” he laughs, “The facts are buried with bias.”

What does that even answer? It’s either he’s playing with ambiguity or just giving you nothing. It’s insane—unacceptable.

Still in a cloud of wonder, you start to pace back and forth. The urge was too strong to hold back.

It doesn’t make sense at all.

There are portraits of his sisters in the hallway you passed a while ago, and some had unfamiliar faces—except for that one masked person you came across in the alley.

You almost throw your hands up in resignation.

“Weren’t they the organization that harmed your sisters? Even my mother? Why would you be working for them now!?”

Cold bodies upon a pool of red, broken whispers of pleas hushed to the unmerciful… the recollections falter your valor.

You can never forget the gruesome sight—you were but a child then, a witness who saw the insignia often marked by the criminal faction. It was written on the floorboards, messy and bloody.

With shivers beginning to disconcert you for the memoria, you start to take steady, mediated breaths.

You’ve never really worked past seeing that traumatic incident, and when you turn your eyes to observe someone you used to think of as your other half, you’re shellshocked.

No longer is there vexation on his face, but equal gloom.

It bolsters the incentive to reach out to him, one that he looks at with immediate warning.

“Scara—”

“Shut up already, [Name]! You don’t know anything! Just leave already before you push me to do something you’ll regret.”

He cuts you off with a bellow and a fist to the wall, his whole stature trembling. Having known him for so long, you know his tremors to be a way to hamper his anger from doing anything foolhardy.

Despite his back turned against you, however, you make no effort to stop spluttering all that you wished for him to hear.

“We just met again after eight years, and you’re already blaming me?” you couldn’t help but scoff derisively, “I wanted to know—I wanted to help you, and I promised that, but what did you do!?”

“If you want, you can stay with me for a while, my family doesn’t mind.”

It was mere days after… that happened, and though neither of you could function properly, not with the traumatic scene you’ve both stumbled upon—there still laid the priority to ascertain each other’s welfare.

Unlike you, who still had a father—that you eventually lost to murder years later—, your friend had no one. He was just fourteen.

Scaramouche was eerily silent when you took the usual place at his side. His jaw was clenched tight, though, speaking of his inner conflict. He used to tell you all that bothered him.

“Thanks,” his voice had always been snappy… but he was particularly harsher this time, “But I don’t need any help.”

“Scara-“

He all but shoved you away in your attempt to grab his arm, and glared with a sneer, “Just lay off. You’re not worth my time.”

Astounded, you remain glued to the floor, watching as he disappeared down the sidewalk—alone.

You’re laughing when you recount the specific memory to the man, who seems to have calmed himself down.

Which is far from being the truth. You know that there simply is a brewing squall within him that he refuses to liberate.

“You’re such an asshole, too! Who in their right mind would kiss someone after apologizing and disappear afterward?”

Skin growing warm and a little flushed, you sigh wryly, pressing a hand to your hot forehead.

All those years learning to rationalize over the ability of emotions to spur things out of control—gone in a snap when it comes to facing this man.

Or maybe it’s because that stupid kiss of apology stuck fresh in your head?

You were both just teenagers, running high with abominable hormones.

That isn’t a valid excuse, though.

Petty things done as a teen is more than welcome to be forgotten, but that moment has not once paled in the crevices of your mind.

And you know that the simplest reason behind it—the only reason, rather—is because it’s him.

But you suppose your hard work did have some good fruit. You wouldn’t be standing in his presence if it didn’t have any.

“What happened, Scara? Just tell me.”

A beat of silence.

The tick of a clock.

A crow of a rooster.

Then the ringing of phones simultaneously.

The both of you made no move to acknowledge anything beyond each other’s presence and that silence, that pause made you believe that you got through him.

Maybe he’s cracked, maybe he’s finally choosing to enlighten you about everything.

And as he turns, the look on his face tells all that you’ve won him in your favor… until.

“Hey, hey, Scara, not picking up the phone again? You might want to listen to this as soon as possible, then!” the two of you freeze.

Another.. ‘co-worker’ of his?

Following that is the opening of your own phone’s voicemails, the voice coming through the speakers belonging to your partner in arms.

“I called the police, [Name], where are you!? I finally reached your phone but you’re not answering, what’s happened?!”

Scaramouche stiffens at the sound and hardens his gaze when you make a small move to get your phone and silence it. You chose not to proceed, however.

There is a dangerous glint in his eyes and you’re not going to risk it.

So, you both stand still, statuesque, ears bare to the simultaneous calls.

“The Tsaritsa is calling an urgent rendezvous at [ - ] in an hour’s time, you better get there as soon as possible or Dotto’s going to snitch whatever he’s hiding!”

“Thank heavens your GPS is on. Don’t worry, [Name], we’re going to get you out of there!”

Both calls ended in a unified beep—and you fear the look of realization in his eyes.

No matter what angle it’s looked at, this situation is compromised.

A detective has gotten a direct lead to the organization’s meeting point and backup is on the way to this exact location.

Even if it’s you, you can tell that he has his priorities straight.

The next turn of events may be tragic.

And that fact solidifies itself when in a flash, a gun is pointed straight at you.

The iciness of a stranger’s gaze pierces against yours, opposing the past in which the man was not a stranger, but a dear friend—maybe something even more—who held a warm, fond stare.

The same lips that once touched yours part to utter the ultimatum with a grave, sinister tone.

“This is it.”

Fitting for a bitter reunion.

“Don’t look for me,” were his last words when he was fourteen.

Perhaps this is the price to pay for going against what he said before?

You don’t need a minute to be able to measure how certain—how prepared he is to raise a gun against you.

He’s a pull away from another kill.

It’s upsetting, but is there even anything to salvage now that fate has decided to play its hand? It is checkmate now.

“So this is how it’ll be?” you whisper, adeptly whipping out a pistol of your own and dropping the bag you took it from to aim the weapon towards the criminal in a similar fashion, “It’s not too late to turn yourself in. I promise I will help reduce your sentence.”

The corners of his lip quirk up but he shakes his head, dismissing your offer. To this, you swallow thickly—and sigh, tightening your grip on the gun.

Your heart is racing. You wonder if his is too.

“How miserable we’ve become, Scaramouche.”

He clicks his tongue, his dominant finger dangerously curling around the trigger.

“Life’s like that, doll.”

You mirror his movement, chuckling, “Since when did you even do pet names..”

Scaramouche laughs and tilts his head to the side, the look on his eyes reminiscent of long ago—it’s as if he’s standing before you as the child you grew up with, and not the criminal he is now.

This very second—you like to envision that you’re both simply who you once were.

And how you used to be.

“So, you still want to know my reasons?”

The gun in your hand grows heavy with suspense, but you nod, anyway, not trusting your voice—afraid that you’ll say something that you’ll regret.

Which is funny, because should you really be thinking over regrets when death is but a possible second away?

He smiles—you can’t tell if it’s of amusement or sorrow.

“You’re certain?”

You are. Besides, is it really better to stay oblivious? In some cases, yes, but in this one, you’d rather learn the truth. Even if it means taking it to your grave.

There is nothing else for you to lose.

“Answers have prices, darling.”

It’s very distant, but in the quietude of the hour, blaring sirens can be heard.

Time is ticking.

You prepare yourself to shoot. He does the same thing.

“Out with it.”

His violet eyes gloss with resignation.

“Very well.”

Bang!

Broadcasted in the news, reporters are flocking all about the crime scene, cameras zooming and panning through the crowd of investigators and police in an attempt to catch today’s bearer of misfortune.

“Coming in live-! We are now at the city of [ - ] after officials have been told of a gunshot just half an hour ago at the time of 5:13 in the morning. It’s believed to be another work of the criminal group—”

A police officer gets into frame and he falters for a moment, blind to the flashing lights, before clearing his throat and providing the news. His voice is grim.

“Another body has been found, mauled and burned black beyond recognition and is once again, identifiable only by their card…”

He lifts a paper bag, with credentials of the victim and the sort of evidence inside written on the material.

If someone pays close attention to that officer’s voice, maybe they would’ve caught the slight waver in it as he says,

“Detective [Name] [Surname].”

The funeral isn’t big—and began just a week after investigating the crime scene.

DNA testing has been confirmed the body to be the detective’s, and the tailing of the organization continues.

No one but a few friends and fellow officers in the division attended.

Thoma’s frown can be mistaken to be perpetually attached to his face as he stands idly, watching as dirt is being thrown over the pristine white casket.

The badge attached to his hip feels heavier despite its actual weight.

Somehow, it is like he’s carrying a mass of guilt in that silver plate—and he is.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so trusting of his partner, perhaps if he just met her halfway… then this could’ve been prevented.

“Look at how quick the officials dismiss this case as nothing. They’re scumbags.”

At the contemptuous voice that rose belligerence towards the civil force, Thoma goes as still as a rock.

It’s not uncommon for some people to hold malice against the police, it happens rather often… but it surprises him, still.

In a way, he can understand. This case, as well.

“It can’t be helped,” he murmurs, not finding the strength to look at the stranger in fear that the guilt within him will fester, “They’ve already gotten what they needed. It’s back to the manhunt… I won’t fail [Name], her death won’t be in vain.”

“Dead doesn't mean gone.”

The wind rustles through the trees, wafting the cold on an already cloudy day.

He thinks the stranger is gone, but then he hears a grumble of ‘pathetic’ and words he isn’t quite able to catch.

What?

The blond finally finds the strength to look at the stranger but doesn’t get to see him at all.

At least, not a face.

All that he sees is a tuff of violet hair being hidden in a helmet before the man speeds away on his motorcycle, presenting the implication that he’s only there to give a quick check on the funeral.

Which is a little odd.

A mere stranger… ?

Thoma feels the cool surface of his badge and thins his lips. What did he say again? Ah.

‘And is there really death for someone vying for justice?’

a/n: writing curse words sucked my soul lmao, i'm not an active cusser so writing it is a little weird. but hey, it's not too much! now this piece i like as well.

there is a body and all (poor thoma), but doesn't scara's words just leave a small impact? :')) is there really death for someone like mc?? ehehe

ooo the ambiguity~

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

#m-event #reader insert #female reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin modern au

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

juxtaposition ~ eminem

word count: 1209

request?: yes!

@girl-toxxic “I don't know if you've seen the cat meme from "she did ballet and he was a punk" so I came up with this for an Imagine, Em and Reader go out to spend the day and there are a lot of hugs, kisses and fluff and they They are having such a good time that they do not realize that there are paparazzi and they take a lot of cute photos and one of them that goes viral on the internet is where Em is serious and hugs Reader, while she is all sweet giving kisses on his cheek. AND ADD SOMETHING MORE, LOVE THIS IMAGINE.”

“hiiii, I love your contents!! can I request a eminem x reader? reader is a softie. that's all you can do the rest. tysm!!”

description: after being caught out together, their fans start to realize that they are exact opposites and decide to make memes about it

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

They say opposites attract, but I never thought it was an actual thing. I always thought it was just a trope used in books and movies for a cute plotline. And then I started dating Marshall, who was the polar opposite to me. Publicly anyways.

Marshall’s public persona for years was that of a serious, cold rapper who liked to drop more explicates in one sentence than he probably should’ve. In private he was much sweeter than anyone would ever believe, but no one ever really saw that side of him besides the people closest to him (so mainly me). Then there was me, who was constantly a happy and positive person - in private and in public. It was like a whiplash in personalities whenever someone met the two of us together.

Going out in public was always somewhat amusing. The looks we would get when I was being all touchy feely and Marshall was his stone cold self was priceless.

On a day the two of us were out running errands, my usual desire for affection hit me suddenly. I took Marshall’s hand in mine and placed my head on his shoulder. We stumbled a little as we walked in our awkward position, which made me giggle.

“You’re gonna cause us to fall over,” Marshall teased.

“That’d be a sight,” I said with a giggle. “I’m just feelin’ all warm and fuzzy right now.”

“Don’t you always?”

I looked up at him and stuck my tongue out. His cold façade broke for just a moment as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

We stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light to tell us we could walk. Marshall wrapped his arms around me, which surprised me because it was an unprompted public display of affection and he usually wasn’t big on that. I wasn’t about to fight it, however, and leaned into his embrace. Just before the walk signal flashed, I quickly kissed his cheek then pulled away from him to cross the street together.

It was a moment that I didn’t think too much about. Forgetting how extremely famous he is, I just thought of it as a quick moment of affection with my boyfriend while we were out running errands. Looking back, I should’ve been more aware of any potential paparazzi around us, but it was honestly the last thing on my mind.

It was Marshall’s daughter, Hailie, who made me aware that our picture had been taken. She had sent me a text with a picture attached, the message reading, “you and dad have become a meme! 😂”

It was the picture of the two of us at the crosswalk, Marshall with his arms around me and me leaning up to kiss his cheek. Of course whoever had been there had managed to catch the one moment of the most PDA that Marshall and I had ever shown. I really should not have been as surprised as I was.

Above the picture was a tweet from a fan account that read, “Em and (Y/N) really are the real life versions of that one line in Sk8er Boi”. The picture had a white bar above it with black text that included the aforementioned like from the famous Avril Lavigne song: “He was a punk, she did ballet, what more can I say?”

I couldn’t help but giggle to myself as I looked closer at the picture. Whoever had taken it had managed to perfectly capture Marshall’s serious looking face, while also getting in the slight smile I had on my face while I kissed his cheek. It was the perfect picture to show how polar opposites we were, while also just being funny to see Marshall looking so serious while being so sweet.

Marshall was sitting on the other side of the couch watching football as I received the message from Hailie, and my giggle caused him to look over at me and raise an eyebrow.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked.

I moved closer and held my phone up so he could see the image. I saw his eyes looking over the screen before he looked at me and said, “I don’t get it.”

I laughed. “It’s just a joke. It’s pointing out how different the two of us are in the image. So like you’re all serious and I’m all soft. I think it’s funny.”

I rested against him as I went on scrolling on my phone. Marshall didn’t say anything else about the image, but I could feel hid body tensing against mine. I knew he was thinking about something, and I was almost positive I knew exactly what that something was.

After nearly an hour of the silence, besides the sounds of the game coming from the screen, I tilted my head back to look up at Marshall. His eyes were staring straight forward at the TV, not making any acknowledgements that I was there at all.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked.

He shrugged in response. I sat up so I could actually look at him. “Marshall? Come on, what’s up?”

He shrugged again, but this time he added, “Nothing.”

“You forget that I know when you’re thinking about something. Is it about the meme I showed you? It’s just a joke, I didn’t mean to upset you with it.”

“You didn’t upset me,” he said. “I’m just thinking.”

“That’s usually pretty dangerous,” I teased. “What about?”

He didn’t respond at first. I didn’t want to push him, so I was about to let it go, until he said, “What if I’m not right for you because we’re so different?”

It caught me so off guard that my first reaction was to laugh a little, but when I saw the serious look on Marshall’s face I realized that he was being serious.

“Look at us in that picture,” he said, nodding towards my phone. “I look like I’m almost mad to be there, but you look all happy. You should be standing next to someone who is going to mirror your happiness in pictures like that.”

“Babe, this is just your public persona. I know that you’re happy to be with me, and you’ve mirrored my happiness in plenty of pictures. You really don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Maybe you should be with someone who is genuine even out in person, not someone who has such a negative public persona.”

I sighed and cupped Marshall’s face so he would look at me. “Listen here, you are not that persona you put on for the cameras. You have your reasons for that and I understand them, but just because you put that face on when we’re out in public does not mean I deserve someone better. There’s no one better for me than you, Marshall. I adore you so much, and you are the sweetest person in the world. Don’t let something like this get to you.”

For added measure, I pulled him forward to kiss him. He smiled at me as I pulled away and put an arm around my shoulders to pull me back into his side.

“That was corny as fuck,” he said.

I laughed and playfully elbowed him in the side.

hi i know it was short i’m sorry i hope you enjoyed it though

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #imagine #one shot #request #drabble #blurb #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Could I request a Bucky Barnes x reader smut? Basically she and Bucky have been together for some time and maybe it’d be a little angst where the two are talking about the future and Bucky not thinking he can ever have a normal future? Which would result in soft smut and later reader being revealed as pregnant so Bucky finally gets his family

I’m Home

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | based on the request ^^

Warnings | angst, smut, oral sex (m receiving), fluff, pregnancy, mentions of death

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

The Wilson’s boat rocked sturdily upon the water, swaying as the boats worked aboard. Your hand held the weight of a silver spanner, twirling it in your fist as though it were a knife, thinking of the long road ahead of you. Sam had the shield now, that was a good start, but still, there was a ways to go until the world recognised him as the captain that he was meant to be.

There was so much destruction ongoing in the world, what with the flag smashers, and whomever the power broker was, and surely, you knew on the shallow surface, that there would be masses more problems to arise. It was exhausting, to know that there was no end to the war on earth, and that you were surely going to be fighting the threats until you could no more.

Bucky felt the same; he had just gone from one war to another, losing everyone that he cared about along the way. Steve had given everything up to finally find peace, and yet, the two did not share the same opportunity. An escape was never laid at your feet, instead, the pair of you were trapped in the cycle of cruelty, being blended around in a shredder by reality.

“Hey.” A voice confiscated you from the lonesome containment of your thoughts; it was Sam’s hosting sister, Sarah. I’m her own way, though you doubted that she would never admit such a thing, she was a hero. She had become a widow, and not to mention she remained a stable mother to keep her boys afloat, as well as nurturing half the kids that lived within close proximity.

“Hi Sarah.” You put the tool down, giving her your ample attention as you stood, tugging your fingers into the loops of your jeans as you stepped out of the boat, and onto the dock. “Anything I can help with?” It hadn’t passed your attention that Sam and Bucky had disappeared, but not into ash like last time. Instead, they had walked off in the direction of the house, most likely meddling about with a ball, in the back yard with Jim and Jody.

“I just came to let you know I’ve made the sofa up for you and Bucky. Are you sure you’ll be all good, I could always kick Sam outta his bed and make him sleep on the living room floor?” The two of you had nightmares, if you were to be separated from him for even a night, it was certain that the pair of you would greatly suffer. That was something you didn’t want to burden any of the Wilson’s with, screaming in the middle of the night because flashes from your past struck an unconscious nerve.

“All good, and thank you Sarah. You didn’t have to let us stay here, we both appreciate it, a hell of a lot.” One thing that you had learnt throughout your years was to show gratitude. The smallest amount shared had the ability to spring up moods, and had even set you on a much more heroic path than the one that you had been originally been placed upon.

“You’ve earned your stay.” Sam’s sister shrugged with modesty, acknowledging the help that you and Bucky had not only given to Sam, but to her family’s legacy. The two of you had aided with fixing the old wreckage that had now returned to the form of a boat, keeping it afloat rather than permitting it to sink from the quarrels that Sam had with himself regarding fixing the damned yet meaningful port of transport.

“This life you have, it’s great. I get it’s not easy, but it’s beautiful. You have two wonderful kids, that you’ve done such a great job raising, and not to mention, these community that you have is so loving and kind, even to us outsiders.” The pair of you had paused outside of her front door, speaking. “Sam is lucky to have you, he truly is.”

“Well, maybe one day this life could be something similar to what you’ll have.” The sister of your friend smiled, though your mirroring expression retracted. In a stumble of thought, you shook your head, not believing that possibility. This all was... perfect. That was something that you had never had, nor would you think that you’d ever be permitted such a peaceful lifestyle.

“I don’t think that would work out.” You sincerely mumbled, feeling the sad swelling in your chest at the prospect of all the luxuries that life had denied both you and Bucky of. It wasn’t fair all the same, but the two of you were used to being denied human rights, let alone the simplicity of nothing more than a life together. “As nice as it sounds, me and Buck aren’t really cut out for all this I suppose.”

“The world does not choose who can and cannot have a family, there’s always a way. Just because you haven’t had the most ideal line of story does not at all mean that you can’t make it work, from as much as i know, you two deserve a life together, that doesn’t include being shot at, or shooting at other people. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta go for it, and hope for the best.” She gave you a final nod, before heading inside, and you trailed after her into her her residency.

The two of you went your separate ways, and there, you saw Bucky, sat up on the sofa, his hands clasped together as his eyes stared towards the tan bag, that concealed not the shape, but the Stars and Stripes of the infamous shield. It was much a relief that it was no longer in Walker’s toxic clutch, however its presence, among other things, were taking a clear toll on your boyfriend.

“You ever feel like we’re stuck?” The air was tense around you both as he spoke solemnly, it diverting to match the mood of his question. “Like we’re us, and I love us, but it makes me think that it’s it. Just me and you, on this path for the rest of our lives, never getting a compensated break, nor an average person’s future. I want this, what these people here have, not the combat that is aided by this metal arm, or the associations that stick to us like life lines.”

“All the time, it’s on my mind James.” With a sigh, you came to sit beside him on the couch, resting your head against his bionic shoulder. “I ever wonder if there’s a timeline of you and me where there’s none of this ruckus, we just have a nice little house in a quiet and accepting place, and maybe a kid or two in the future.”

“I’d give anything up for that.” He looked at you, almost wide eyed, as his hand slithered down onto your knee cap, rubbing small circles as he wore a blunt and endearing smile upon his infatuating lips. “I mean that Buck, that sounds...”

“Perfect?” He asked, leaning closer as he grabs your chin with his wondrous fingers, his nose brushing alongside your own as his puckered lips fell upon yours, earning a small hun of content from within you. “Because you’re perfect to me, and no matter what life we are encased in, I want to share it with you. I want stare at the night sky and watch the moonlight illuminate the side of your face, and the stars reflect in your entrapping eyes, that I want to look into like a medium’s orbs forever, because that is how I will see the future that I ever so hope for.”

“How long have you been working on that one Barnes, because you are usually not that smooth?” A small laugh erupted from your mouth, but you were quickly silenced as you felt a cold metal hand slither up and beneath the back of your tank top, rubbing along the seam of your spine, as his lips ran down the column of your throat, evoking small and delicate whimpers out of you.

“Shut up doll, because I really want to fuck you now, and those words leaving your mouth are making it kinda hard to concentrate.” A furrow imbedded between his brows, as you tilted your head at him, a smirk proclaiming your expression as you pulled the material over your head, and reached behind yourself to unclip the back of your bra.

“Kinda hard to concentrate, hun?” You asked nonchalantly as his gaze zeroed in on your bare breasts, his hands smoothing along your ribcage as he adjusted his grip of you so that he was palming at your breasts, and squeezing the nipples. “I want you in me baby, I’ve practically gone days without you inside of me.” Licking your lips, you reached down to palm your beloved through his layers, earning a positive groan from the former assassin.

“Hours, you mean. I fingered you on the road trip here.” Yes, that was true, however, it was only his fingers, not even the metal ones, and whilst you loved what they alone could do, he had to be discreet as you were sat on the back of the truck, which had carried the primary parts for the Wilson’s family boat. If you were to scream out, they’d have surely thought that you’d fallen off the back of the truck and pull over, or if they had much sense, they’d have noticed that there was more going on than two passengers sat side by side on the journey to their small neighbourhood by the docks,

“You heard me Barnes, otherwise I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have any problem if I came to his room in this state of undress that I am currently portraying.” Growling was never Bucky’s fortes, however the sound aggressively ripped through the tunnel of his throat, as he threw off his grey top, quickly unfastening his belt, as he awaited for you to strip the rest of your clothing before him.

But rather than doing so, as he stood before you, your hand had trouble resisting the sight of his cock that had bobbed to attention, and thus, you wrapped it around his toned flesh, giving it a couple jerks that had his head reeling back, before you tongued his tip, moaning to yourself at the taste of him invading your sensitive taste buds. “Love your cock.”

As soon as you said that, Bucky gently gathered your head in a ponytail so that it was free from bombarding your face, and groaned as quiet as he could as you sucked him in your mouth, running your tongue up the side of his shaft. “Is that a part of your dream world baby doll, the sight of my cock throbbing to be inching down that perfect little throat of yours?”

To answer him, you pressed your head down deeper, humming around him as your eyes ogled up at the sight of your super soldier, who was trying his hardest to keep his eyes open, and attuned to the sight of you. He held his bottom lip between his teeth, as you lightly gagged around him, pulling off him, and squeezing his balls, before running your hungry tongue along the middle of his sack.

“Always. It would be a dream if you made love to me right here and now though, I’m not sure I can wait any longer James.” Bucky took a long inhale, before ravishingly pulling down your jeans and panties in one go, and tossing you so that he was below your form, and you hovered over him, toying with his erect cock. “I love you so much Bucky, and I’m scared of what’s to come. I have a feeling that there’s gonna be a fight.”

“There’s always a fight doll face.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly across your jaw, pulling your hips down closer so that you were rubbing your slick folds against his standing cock. “But this is what we’re fighting for, the rest of our lives together. I’d be damned, one day after this, and if I were to die, I’d be a happy man. There’d be the memory of you to keep me forever happy in the afterlife, and not to mention, there’d be no more wars for me to participate in.”

“I’m not going to let you die Buck, even hypothetically. We saw how your little hypothetical synopsis went last time.” Tapping his cock against your clit, a breathy sound evicted from your lips, as you stared down at the two of you intimately touching, the sight alone making you more turned on and impatient. “No one is allowed to kill you, otherwise I’ll unleash hell on all their flag smashing asses.”

Giving him one last stroke, you guided his tip towards your entrance, removing your hand once you had him situated, so that you could rest it upon his sturdy shoulder, and sink down on him, the feeling of him stretching you being the most euphoric sensation that you had ever endured. Hushed moans ceased from the both of you, as Bucky’s hands gripped your ass cheeks, only adding to all of the pleasure that was erupting within you.

“Think your pussy is gonna kill me before anyone else does; your so tight.” His pitch had rose, as your fingertips danced along the left side of his handsome face, invisibly connecting the dots of his beauty marks. You allowed the pair of you to adjust for a simple moment, before you began to raise your hips, sliding up his super soldier rod, only to slide down it again.

The actions were repeated, as your own hands trailed down his warm skin, to drag down the golden lines of his vibranium arm, only to bring the weapon to your mouth, and kiss every black finger up, as you tried your best to muffle the moans that were hoping to reap free. “So fucking big, I love you and your cock.” You muttered, your sight turning blurry as Bucky realised that it was his turn to do the work, and thus, he thrusted up into you, making echoing sounds of your skin slapping together reverberate around the room.

“Love you more.” He gritted his teeth, pulling his metallic hand away from your numb lips, so that he could swirl the elegant digits around your clit, the action provoking whimpers to rapidly surpass your exterior, as you bit harshly onto your own lip, and screwed your eyes shut. “Cum for me doll, want you to cover my hard cock in everything you have. Come on baby, you can do it.”

Without much thought, as your mind was too scrambled to do so, you reached for Bucky’s spare hand, pulling it to your mouth as you sucked on his fingers as though you were blowing him. A low moan that was dialled down from the presence of his flesh digits, ran from your mouth, as you began to bounce your hips, chasing and eventually reaching your high. You came around him, pushing him too over the edge, his seed filling your walls, as you collapsed atop of him, huffing from exhaustion as you removed his salivated hand from the realms of your mouth, resting your head against his panting chest.

Stringed sighs fell from Bucky’s breath as he tried to catch his own breath. His hands rubbed your back, not only to comfort you, but also to subconsciously pull you closer against him, and his softening cock that was still inside you, and was keeping his cum plugged within your tender and pulsating walls. If life was easier, there’d be more time for this, and that, but for now, it was just every now and then. Maybe you’d win this fight and survive until the next one, but maybe, you’d lose and never battle again.

Life was precious, that was something that you had not only learned as an avenger, but also something that had been told to you by Isiah. That man thought that you deserved a normal life, no fighting, no super soldiers. He himself was the biggest yet silent critic of those with additional strength, but his opinion was never going to sway you, not as you stared out into Sarah’s backyard, and watched the man that you loved play with the boys.

They had the shield, and were whisking it through the air like a frisbee; dangerous, yes, but again, life could only amount to so much without an ounce of pain. A content and satisfied smile absorbed any pain on your face, you were enraptured with the sight of Bucky like this, he was like an uncle to these two kids. He was no captain America, that was for sure, but you didn’t want a man in Stars and Stripes, all you wanted was him to be at peace, and it was a fact unbeknownst to him, that you had made such an alternative to that.

“Still want all this?” Sarah emerged, a cheap yet formidable bottle of wine pursed in her hand, as she held two clear and tall glasses in her hand. You hummed, watching as she poured the thin red consistency into one glass, but as she went to fill the other, you held out your hand, shaking your head. The woman was confused, last time you had visited, and were entangled on her sofa with the limbs of your boyfriend and a shaggy old blanket, you had kindly accepted her offer.

“Sure do.” You sighed, staring out into the green abyss where Jim was hanging from Bucky’s arm like it were a branch. “How do you do this, this whole mother thing? I’ve never been able to wrap my head around how you make it look so easy, it’s just, you do such a good job.” Your palms rested flat on your thighs as you laughed at Sam ordering Jody to jump on Bucky’s back, as he fell down in faux defeat.

“It never is easy y/n.” She placed the open bottle down, along with the mismatched glasses, that were asymmetrical considering one was half filled and the other wallowed in emptiness. “But every step of difficulty is worth it. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss their father, but they’re my priority. For Jim and Jody, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, and you’d understand that if you ever opened yourself up to giving your life of heroism up to have all this.”

“I might have to.” Twiddling with your fingers, glancing up at your boyfriend, realising that he was in fact not looking over, you clasped your intwined hands over your stomach, smiling softly to yourself. “And maybe not having another option is the best option for me and Buck, because we don’t have to fight with ourselves over being included in our duties, we have new ones.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Sarah asked, resting her nurturing hand upon the tile of your shoulder, prompting you to turn your face towards her. There was a conflict in your eyes, it was something that she recognised her younger self having once worn. It was the idea of putting everything aside, all for a child, everything that she had ever known, so that she could put her baby boy first. “Does Bucky know?”

“He will.” You shifted your head down, unsure of yourself. This had been what you had wanted, and whilst you still envied Sarah for the role she had, you were hurt. A part of you wanted to be an avenger until you were nothing but a soul drifting in the abyss of non existence, another didn’t want to let the knowledge of being a carrier for a new future crumble you. “I just need a moment to tell him.”

“I’ve got it.” She sent you a wink, picking up the items she had brought out, before she called on Sam and the kids to come inside. Sarah had gifted you the opportunity of revealing the truth to your partner with no one else around; you appreciated that. As he stalked closer, you met him halfway, sinking into his arms as he hugged you.

“Looked like you were having fun with the boys.” You verbally noted, loving the feeling of him running his fingers through your hair. “You’re amazing Bucky Barnes, to me and to everyone. I just, don’t want you to freak out on me, I have something big, really big, to tell you, and-“

“Baby, I know.” He smiled, pulling back so that he could look you in the face. “I have super human senses, I heard their little heart beat for the first time yesterday. We’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be happier about it. In fact, I want to ask you if you’ll accept my question of making Sam the godfather.” You nodded, tears standing in your eyes, as you brought the man down for a kiss.

“Yes. But I’m not sure that he’ll be praising us for making a baby when we technically created him or her on the couch inside.” Bucky shook his head at you, kissing your forehead before walking inside with you, preparing to tell the Wilson family, that had along the way became your own, the good news- well, not the sofa bit.

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

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I Burn For You

***So THIS has been stuck in my head all day and I just- I love it. I love it so much. And it reminded me...So you guys all know how I hate/love Lucifer...it gave me those vibes. So........... Well I haven't written anything actually relevant to The Facade of the Suitor or anything else that I've been procrastinating, I have been able to push out this little short inspired by this beauty of a duet that is EVERYTHING to me. -B***

Summary: Since MC's arrival, Lucifer and them have never fully gotten along. There was always a large, unknown and undiscussed tension between them and they were fine to keep it that way. But when MC's security in the Devildom is threatened by both the angels and the nobility of the Devildom itself, everything changes. As a ruse to persuade the celestial realm, MC and Lucifer wed. After the ceremony, they finally talk about the unacknowledged feelings burning inside of both of them.

MC x Lucifer

The air hung heavy and thick like the gold bands that now decorated both of your fingers.

You and Lucifer stood on opposite sides of the room, your backs facing one another with nothing but silence between you.

You couldn't help but reminisce on how you got here, on your supposed 'honeymoon' married to none other but the prideful, arrogant, avatar of sin, Lucifer Morningstar himself.

Diavolo had burst into the House of Lamentation an entire month ago. He desperately explained how the angels had received word about you through the fond, innocent-intending, stories of Luke and we're demanding that you be 'released' from your 'imprisonment in the infernal Devildom and that they wished to cleanse you of the 'hellish corruption' the demons had 'forced upon you' through your pacts. Wanting to avoid yet another Celestial War, even on a small scale, the noble court had wanted to agree and simply hand you over to them, cut your pacts, and banish you from returning as an act of agreement and co-operation with the angels.

Obviously, this didn't sit well with you or any of the brothers.

You had all tried to come up with a number of plans, but they all promised retaliation from the angels.

Eventually, it was Lucifer himself who begrudgingly came up with the final plan. The angels wouldn't believe you if you simply told them that you liked it here and wanted to stay. They'd think you were charmed or manipulated. However, if the two of you worked together, and pretended to be in a relationship, convince the angels of your 'genuine' feelings and prove to them that you were in love, and finalize this by marrying Lucifer, it just might work.

First of all, love was something that had sparked war in the past, that both sides had learned from and had grown to deeply treasure and value. Secondly, Micheal, head Archangel of the Celestial Realm, trusted Lucifer the most of all the brothers. The two of you could take advantage of that use it to convince him that you were actually safer in the Devildom by Lucifer's side. And finally, if you were willingly bound by marriage, there was very little that the Celestial Realm could do to force you to leave.

The plan wasn't terrible, but there was one thing about it that caused you to clench your fists and grind your teeth: it was with Lucifer.

Lucifer who constantly teased you and pushed your buttons in a way that he knew would cause you to either give in to him or snap.

Lucifer who was cruel and sadistic and did nothing unless there was some personal gain or it was under the demand of his precious Diavolo.

Lucifer who never ever put anything before his own stupid pride.

Though you were normally a calm and positive person, there was just something about Lucifer that had always caused an inferno of anger and rebellion to burn within you. You felt this strong need to constantly prove him wrong and to defy him.

As a result, the two of you consistently butted heads, arguing about Lucifer's treatment of his brothers and your recklessness on an almost weekly basis.

The idea of being chained to this...this demon for the rest of your mortal life caused your stomach to twist tightly into knots. Though, if it ensured you'd be able to stay with the rest of your found family? You'd make the necessary sacrifice.

So the two of you did the whole show. You went on dates, smiled and laughed together as though you were the lead roles in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and played every card in the book to convince the angels that you were safe and happy under the kind watch of your lover.

Those weeks had started off painful, as you pushed back all feelings of disdain for the eldest brother to play the role of the perfect partner. But as time passed, you hadn't noticed that it had become easier and easier to stay by his side. The smiles you gave him were no longer forced, but sincere ones that brought joy. The lines between what was real and what was fake began to blur.

You sealed the deal with your wedding only a few hours ago.

The vows Lucifer had spoken...promising to watch and protect you even as your skin wrinkled and your hair grew grey. To hold your hand and aid you when you no longer had the strength. To shower you in love and devotion even in your final hours.

They had been spoken with such passion and raw emotion that you didn't dare think too deeply about. It had caused your breath to catch in your throat, and you had to remind yourself that this was all an act. Soon the curtain would close, and Lucifer would return to the cold-hearted monster that you knew.

Yet even now, hours after the ceremony had finished, you couldn't get that intense gaze, and the sparks that exploded under your fingertips as his hands gently squeezed yours, out of your head.

Lucifer sighed from the other side of the room and glanced over at you. "Are we just going to continue ignoring each other?"

You scoffed and turned your head further away; ignoring the loud pounding of your heart and instead focusing on the flickers of frustration licking up your gut. "What else are we supposed to do? There's no one else around. The act is over."

You whirled around at his sarcasm and could practically feel the wrath blazing behind your eyes. "Sorry, my Lord, if I'm not exactly giddy about the fact that I just signed myself to the likes of you just for the approval of some fluffy winged assholes!"

You could practically hear Lucifer roll his eyes as he walked over to the liquor cart and poured himself a drink. "Right. So you just plan to spend the entirety of the weekend that Micheal paid for us brooding in a corner? How mature of you."

Lucifer, the fucker, had the gull to act unphased and casually swirled his drink in his hand. "It could be much, much worse," he took a sip of the amber liquid before staring down in his glass. "It's not as though you didn't agree to this."

"Only because I didn't want to be kicked out of the Devildom and never allowed to see your brothers again!" You growled. Your anger only grew as you noticed him clench his fingers tighter around the glass. You groaned and ran a hand through your hair. "This was a stupid plan! You probably just invented this entire ruse as yet another way to get under my skin. Well congratulations, Lucifer. You win!"

You refused to look at him, as you turned your heated gaze out the window.

You didn't see the flash of hurt that washed over his expression, nor hear the way his breath caught in his throat. "Is being married to me truly that awful? Are you honestly telling me that you haven't enjoyed even a single second of this past month?"

You tensed and crossed your arms over your chest, as you continued to avoid looking at him. "What kind of question is that? You're a demon who cares about nothing but himself," you pursed your lips and mentally tried to deny just how wrong those words felt on your tongue.

"I wouldn't say that's true. Believe it or not, I do care for my brothers." There was a shaky breath, one so uncharacteristic for the confident Morningstar, before he continued. "And you. I did promise to love you until your final breath after all, and I do not break my promises."

There was silence once again. Though this quiet seemed to crackle with the anticipation for something, though neither of you quite knew what.

You closed your eyes, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in your heart at his words. "Those vows were only part of the act. They weren't real."

"Perhaps not for you," your eyes snapped open at the response. You looked back at the demon. Lucifer stood leaning against the wall, drink still in hand, as he stared intensely at the floor. "This may have all been an act for you, MC, but it stopped being a ruse for me mere hours after we began."

You felt yourself frown as you stared at him. Your traitor heart dared to grow warm with hope, only adding fuel to the growing frustration inside you. "You're lying. You're just trying to get me worked up again."

"Actually, I'm not," his eyes met yours and it felt as though time froze. His expression was so unguarded, so honest. For once, you looked into his eyes and you could see every emotion that he wore openly before you. You could see the hurt, the certainty, and most of all the same passionate love that shone so brightly in them throughout the ceremony. "From the moment I met you, you caused a fire to ignite in my heart. I was determined to control you and to make you be the human representative for Diavolo. But then, you acted against me, and that changed. I still wanted to make sure that you fulfilling your purpose in the exchange program, but I took on the challenge of finally having you respect and listen to me. You were stubborn and fierce, yet so beautifully driven and I admired that." your eyes widened at the admission. "It wasn't until I was forced to look at you in a romantic light for this scheme that I understood the true nature of these feelings. It wasn't that I wanted to control you, or break you, or shape you into what I needed. It was so much deeper, so much more dangerous than that. I wanted to have you fall in love for me, as I had fallen for you, and make you mine."

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you don't feel the same. I've accepted that. But I...I'm done with acting like this isn't real for me. I refuse to pretend that there's nothing there between us any longer."

He finally broke eye contact, looking back at his now empty glass as you practically gaped at him. Love. Lucifer...loved you? You gulped and took a step towards him, "Lucifer..."

The fire burning within you consumed you as your face heated up. "You...You love me? You actually love me?"

You flinched as he glared sharply at you. "Don't rub it in."

You didn't know what to make of that. You weren't sure what to make of any of this. Your feelings towards Lucifer had changed over the past month, but you had assumed that was simply part of the act. But if everything he had done and said as you two were pretending to be a couple was real, then what did that mean for you?

What did that mean for the way the sight of him caused your heart to skip? Or the way his rare smiles never failed to make you smile back? Or the unwavering sense of comfort and security that he provided?

What did that mean for the ruthless, scalding fire that he had always caused to rage inside you? You always assumed it was anger, but what if...

You gasped in realization. "I burn for you."

The demon tensed as he blinked in confusion. "You...I'm sorry, you what?"

You moved closer to him, each step more certain than the last, as you shakily spoke the words that rang through you. "I burn for you, Lucifer. I don't know entirely what it means myself, but ever since we met you've caused this irrational passion and drive to sear inside of me. I-I had always assumed it was hatred. You're so infuriating. Every word you speak does nothing but cause that fire to flare brighter within in. Every action leaves me filled with sparks of restless energy that won't be satiated until I combust at you," as you now stood nearly toe to toe with him, you grabbed his hand and placed it over your roaring heart. Hope flickered like a candle in the darkness of his black eyes. "I had thought that this couldn't be anything other than anger and hatred. I refused to believe even the possibility that it could be anything else. But this past month you...you were honest and almost kind and vulnerable. Your teasing didn't make me want to punch you, but rather made me laugh. You showed me a side of you that I didn't even know existed. I...I think-"

You were cut off by a finger on your lips. Lucifer looked down at you with a stern, cold expression. The action paired with that face would've caused you to become infuriated by his audacity and superiority complex in the past. But now you could see past it, and could see it for what it truly was: a carefully crafted barrier that hid his most vulnerable feelings and protected him. "If you do not mean the words you were about to say, if you are pitying me, I must demand that you stop here. Do not say those words unless you truly mean them," his deep voice was tinged with distrust and caution.

You held his gaze as you kissed the pad of the finger against your lips and whispered gently, "Lucifer, I think that I love you."

Suddenly your lips were captured in his as he pulled you close and ever so adoringly cupped your face. For the first time since meeting him, the flames inside you were extinguished by the cold touch of his hands on your face and the surprising gentleness of his affection.

His hand slid from your face and came to rest on your shoulder as his eyes widened. His gaze scanned your expression for any traces of falsehood or insincerity. You could hear the breath leave his lungs as he found none.

He softly kissed his temple, effectively hiding his face as it grew redder and whispered, "Of course, beloved."

Lucifer laughed as he pulled away, his thumb caressing your cheek, as he smiled. "To think it only took us getting married to realize it," you laughed as you felt happy tears prick the corners of your eyes. Lucifer sighed in content as rested his forehead against yours. "Remind me to send a thank you to, Micheal."

You hummed and nuzzled closer to him as you rested your head on his shoulder. "Forget Micheal. He's still an asshole as far as I'm concerned. Instead, focus on me. On us. I want to learn everything about you, about the real you," you smiled as he looked down at you with flushed cheeks. "My husband, Lucifer Morningstar."

You couldn't help but wonder how you had been so oblivious to your true feelings as a shiver ran down your spine and warmth spread throughout your chest simultaneously.

This honest and pure love between the two of you, was new, yet it felt so familiar, and it was abundantly clear to both of you that the depth of those feelings would only become clearer and clearer in time as the fires of your love only grew.

***Gasp. I actually finished something. Would you look at that. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic! Thank you so much for your support during my hiatus and for being so understanding. I love you guys! Thanks again for reading!***

Taglist: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @lovelymushi @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 324: Is There a Force Field Around Him??

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal was all “please tell Midoriya that I spent a concerningly small amount of money upgrading U.A. into a wacky physics-defying funtime grid so as to make the final battle much more confusing for everyone.” Present Day!Mic (or Present!Mic, if you will) and Jeanist were all “if only somebody could deescalate this dangerously unhinged mob, we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.” Ochako was all “LISTEN UP PEOPLE.” The mob was all, “god??” Ochako was all, “NO, IT’S ME, OCHAKO. I’M REALLY HIGH UP ON THIS BUILDING AND THE VISIBILITY IS LOW DUE TO THE RAIN, SO I CAN SEE HOW YOU MIGHT MAKE THAT MISTAKE. ANYWAYS, DEKU WAS OUT THERE RISKING HIS LIFE FOR YOU CLOWNS EVEN THOUGH HE’S JUST A KID, SO I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD ALL REMEMBER HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS, THANKS.” Let’s see if her Big Scolding Energy has any impact.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “so I have this speech planned out, and it’s really good, but it also only really needs about 6 to 8 pages, but I’m gonna see if I can stretch it out to 17 pages so I can kill time before we get to the next volume cliffhanger two weeks from now.” Anyway but it really is a good speech though. There are feels, and tears, and more talk about how Deku is so in need of a shower that just looking at him requires a tetanus booster, and more feels, and more tears, and bonus ship drama, and an iconic callback to the very first chapter which reframes the entire series in a new context in a totally epic and moving way, and it’s all very good. Except that Horikoshi is determined to never let anyone actually give this kid a hug. Who hurt you, dude.

omg we are opening on a callback to chapter 212, a.k.a. the chapter with by far the cutest flashback that doesn’t involve any baby Todorokis

baby Ochako is lethally cute. she could literally murder someone with her cuteness. I just want to scoop her up and play airplane with her until she accidentally activates her quirk while we’re spinning around and we both helicopter up into the air never to be seen again

“a child’s insistence” huh well that’s all well and good, but I sure hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to drag out the whole “sternly lecture the obnoxious citizens” plot for another whole chapter. no offense but I think we’re good

so page 2 is just continuing the whole happy/worried faces monologue, which of course is very important to Ochako’s character as it provides the context for why “who protects the heroes” ended up becoming her thing. and this is making me think we actually are in for a whole second chapter of this sob. when will my boy finally get to rest

OH MY GOD SUDDENLY THESE PEOPLE HAVE EYES IMAGINE THAT

HORIKOSHI: [reaches for a box of tissues while tearfully penning an homage to his beloved Spider-Man 2, specifically the train scene where the crowd sees Peter without his mask and they suddenly realize just how young he is]

HORIKOSHI’S HOMAGE SCENE: “COME TO THINK OF IT, I GUESS IT WAS KIND OF MEAN FOR US TO PICK ON THIS TEN YEAR OLD KID WHO WEIGHS 75 POUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE HE LOST A FIGHT WITH SATAN’S MOLDY OLD BASEMENT”

lol at this one guy who can feel the mood of the crowd shifting and is all “WAIT, NO, I WANTED TO KEEP BEING AN ASSHOLE DAMMIT”

as many pointed out last week, this man is wearing an All Might shirt. that’s some fantastic irony there

-- SDKFJWIGKS

“LITTLE GIRL, I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE WALKING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A SOVIET-ERA BUS STOP.” heh. last week I said I was ashamed of BnHA being my favorite manga. that was a lie, actually

(ETA: in the original Japanese Ochako’s next two lines are basically “the only ones covered in mud will be us heroes!” followed by “please give us some time to get rid of the mud”, with that second line basically being the single funniest thing I’ve ever read rdslkjl. Ochako thank you so much for supporting my running gags. “YEAH WE KNOW HE’S DIRTY. WE ARE GONNA TRY AND CLEAN HIM UP, BUT IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, I’M JUST SAYING. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE AN ASBESTOS COSPLAY.”)

doesn’t the megaphone kind of look ever so slightly like an axe that she’s wielding maniacally here

easy there Lizzie Borden

also that’s a really bold claim to make there. and not one she necessarily should have to make, either. but as we all know, there’s nothing that shounen manga likes more than having its heroes bravely hoist heavy burdens of responsibility like good self-sacrificing citizens

p.s. lowkey loving how Kacchan is positioned here standing slightly behind Deku. not presuming to stand in front of him all overprotectively (because he would hate if anyone ever did that to him), and kind of being unobtrusive and letting others take center stage -- but still being close enough to Deku that he can catch him if he stumbles or passes out again

(ETA: or maybe not lmao.

DEKU: [falls to his knees]

KACCHAN: [glancing up from his phone a few minutes later] “someone just sent me the stupidest meme about milk crates -- oh. uh. you good...?”

really, son. “the burdens you can’t carry, we’ll carry them for you. ...later, I mean. right now it’s late, and we’re all cold and wet.”)

also lowkey loving this OchaTsu moment here

I was going back and binging Ochako chapters this past week for reasons, and I gotta say it really stuck out to me just how often these two are paired with each other. they do everything together. it’s a really sweet friendship that often goes unappreciated but it’s very cute

meanwhile, not to be outdone by the OchaTsu, Iida is staring at Ochako with open admiration talking about how she’s fighting too. it’s been so long since we’ve had any IidaRaka you guys. I was starving and I didn’t even know it

oh my lord IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

THE LIGHT IS BACK. he finally looks like him again. what a cathartic fucking moment omg

ffklkdw

“I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SCARED, BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS, WE DEFINITELY CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFETY AND WE ARE ALL SCARED TOO!” good pep talk there kiddo

BUT, jokes aside, truth be told this is the exact right approach to take imo, and something that’s long overdue. I’ve said this before, but this new generation of heroes is shaping up to be much more transparent than the All Might generation. they’re basically abandoning the almighty, untouchable Superman “heroes as gods” concept in favor of the more nuanced “heroes as people” concept instead. and that’s a good thing. seeing their heroes as humans, with human limitations and weaknesses and flaws, will hopefully not only lead to more scrutiny and accountability, but also more awareness of how hard some of them are working and how much they’re sacrificing. that’s something All Might never quite grasped back at the start of the series -- that the weak, vulnerable, injured him could be just as inspiring as the mighty, invincible him -- perhaps even more so. there’s a power in seeing otherwise ordinary people show extraordinary bravery and compassion. it inspires others to try and do the same

SSDLHK AIZAWA SIGHTING AAHHHHHH

so he was still back at the hospital this whole time?? smdh at this disrespect. that feeling when your sexy self-insert character’s powers of rationality are too strong, and so you have to nerf him so that he doesn’t ruin your Deku Angst arc twice over by (1) immediately talking some sense into Deku and making him come home Right This Instant Young Man, and (2) not allowing him to leave U.A. in the first fucking place. excuse me, you want to do WHAT now, Midoriya?? that’s it, go to your room

also living for Katsuki and Hawks’s soft expressions. Shouto’s too, although his is tinier and harder to see. and Jeanist’s 12-foot-long neck. imagine Jeanist’s head with Mic’s hair. maybe Jeanist had a mohawk back in the day and that’s why U.A.’s doors are so big now

speaking of soft faces, Enji’s is also excellent

what could this random close-up possibly imply?? hell if I know. but Horikoshi truly fears no discourse and that’s what I love about him

OMGGGG

“smh my child is so dumb.” poor Ochadad. your child is cute af count your blessings

SDOFFHSMH

I’m telling you guys. lethally, catastrophically cute

this speech is still ongoing lol. Horikoshi you’re doing so good but I think we get the point now my dude. you gotta learn how to transition out of these things

UNEXPECTED TOGA WHAT

“there we go” Horikoshi says, crossing off the last line on his list of Ochako ships. “that’s all of ‘em”

poor Ochako is just repeating the same “LET HIM REST, PLEASE, WITH EVERYONE’S COOPERATION, IF YOU DON’T MIND, WE APPRECIATE IT” talking points over and over again hoping someone will throw her a bone and acknowledge her already. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HER

literally they’re all just staring up at her silently omg. work with me people!!

now she’s saying it for the 56th time but more dramatically all of a sudden

they got so dramatic that for a minute I thought she had suddenly leaped off the building or something

look, not to rush you or anything Horikoshi, but I’m starting to get the feeling that this is yet another one of those “the volume is ending soon so I need to either hurry things up or slow things down in order to make sure we end it on my perfect cliffhanger ending” chapters where you go to ridiculous lengths to drag things out much to the exasperation of your week-to-week readers

(ETA: ftr, volume 31 ended on chapter 306, and I’m predicting that vol. 32 will end with chapter 316 (a.k.a. “you’re next!” [explodes]). I’m guessing vol. 33 will follow suit and likely end on chapter 326, so keep your eyes peeled for a big cliffhanger in two weeks’ time. Deku’s dad?? All Might in peril?? U.A. traitor at long fucking last?? we shall see.)

is Deku straight up falling in love with Ochako right on the spot lol what is happening

I know I just said that I enjoy when Horikoshi gives zero fucks about discourse, but shipping discourse is a whole different beast lol. I hope he’s prepared

(ETA: and for the record, I have no interest in shipping discourse either, as always. and I think this scene can be interpreted as platonic, tbh, with the context being that Ochako was literally introduced as someone who was willing to help him so casually without a second thought, and now here she is saving him again.

I don’t think it really fully hit Deku until this moment how much he needed saving. like I said in another meta somewhere, selflessness is basically just selfishness on behalf of others. and Deku is selfless to a fault, but that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean he needs to change -- he just needs friends who are willing to be be selfish on his behalf in turn. and I think the full emotion of what it means to have friends like that just hit him at last. everything his friends have done for him, how much he needed it and didn’t even realize, and how grateful he is. anyways what a terrible day for rain.)

-- son of a --

is he apologizing?? or pleading?? please tell me that’s not the case, because what the actual fuck. Deku you beautiful precious radiant selfless child, this is the exact opposite of how this should be. all these motherfuckers should be on their knees apologizing to you

DEKU WHY

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS FREAKING BOMBARDMENT OF EMOTIONS GODDAMIT. OUT HERE ARMED WITH YOUR FREAKING TREBUCHET OF FEELS TO LAUNCH AT ME UNPROVOKED. WHAT’S WITH THAT

FREAKING CHRIST. THIS BOY IS CRYING HIS EYES OUT AND HORIKOSHI IS JUST ZOOMING IN WITH THE CAMERA, LIKE CAN WE JUST CUT HIM A BREAK ALREADY. ENOUGH OF THIS. HE’S SO YOUNG AND HE TRIES SO HARD AND I JUST NEED HIM TO FEEL SAFE, HORIKOSHI PLEASE CAN YOU JUST GIVE ME THAT ALREADY WHAT IS THE FREAKING HOLD UP!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY!!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY PLEASE BE MY HUGGER BY PROXY!! SERIOUSLY GIRL IF YOU JUST HOLD YOUR UMBRELLA OVER HIM OR SOMETHING AND DON’T GO THE EXTRA MILE I’M ABOUT TO LODGE AN OFFICIAL COMPLAINT. THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS NOW

!!!!

A KOUTA IS GOOD TOO!!! oh my god if Kouta hugs him I will seriously 100% straight up cry. go on and test me

FOR THE LOVE OF --

is this man expressly forbidden from drawing hugs in his contract or something. DO YOU DO IT JUST TO SPITE ME?? this is tyranny, sir

AND I KNOW, THIS PAGE ACTUALLY CHALLENGED THE VERY PREMISE OF THE SERIES ITSELF, AND HERE I AM COMPLAINING ABOUT HUGS, OR THE LACK THEREOF. “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes.” and just like that, he waves a polite middle finger at all of the Strongest Greatest Chosen One shounen protags of old, in favor of something much less conventional, much more interesting, and much more suited to Deku’s character. because if that one sentence doesn’t just sum up Deku to a T. he gladly relinquishes his Greatest Hero status in favor of acknowledging the hero in everyone. what a class act. that’s my protagonist

I love this kid so fucking much I swear. only just PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. GIVE HIM HIS HUG

#bnha 324 #uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

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Miss American Pie

Chapter Two: The Perfect Partner Project

Warning!: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing. Please keep scrolling if that’s not for you. 💜

Summary: After you’re freed from Dreykov’s control you team up with Yelena and Natasha to take down the red room.

Chapter One : Chemical Subjugation

“I thought you had a jet?” Yelena cocks her head to the side, as you approach the decrepit helicopter.

“I asked for one.” Natasha mutters, under her breath.

“This isn’t a jet.” You add, the closer you get, the worse it becomes.

“I realize that!” The man who’d been standing with his back to you whips around to defend himself. This must be Natasha’s friend. “But you know what you didn’t give me? Time. Or money. I’m not made of jets.”

“Aww, he’s sensitive.” Yelena coos, “I see why you keep him around.”

“I’m not sensitive.” He protests.

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Listen you-“ he breaks off. “Who are you again?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Yelena introduces you, climbing aboard. “She’s my partner….” She shrugs, “you name it really.”

“Partner works.” You chuckle, joining her in the cockpit.

“If you say so,” Yelena waves a dismissive hand. Getting a feel for the controls.

“Wonderful,” the man acknowledges your title.

“Thanks for the ride, Dick.” You salute him through the front window.

“It’s Rick,” he calls back.

“I know.” You give him a thumbs up. Waiting until he turns back to his conversation with Natasha. Taking the opportunity to lean down, kissing the top of Yelena’s head.

She cranes her head back to see you.

You nuzzle your nose against hers, until an exaggeration throat clearing tears you apart.

“We don’t have time for this.” Natasha, of course.

Yelena scowls at her, “yeah, yeah.”

Breaking Alexei out of a maximum security prison using only an earpiece, stowed inside of an action figure is a terrible plan. Nearly as bad as using him for information on how to locate a facility that’s impossible to find, run by a man who’s too slippery to kill.

That doesn’t stop you though. Generally speaking it’s going well. Until one of Yelena’s shots triggers an avalanche.

“Woah.” She marvels at the scene before you, her masterpiece. “Now this would be a cool way to die.”

“Yeah,” you holler back, sarcastically, over the chaos.

“You were getting no where with your tiny guns.” Yelena points out.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” you remind her.

“Fast is better. Solves problems.”

“And clearly creates new ones.” You jerk your chin toward the mountain.

“Get us out of here!” Natasha’s voice blares through the headset.

“I’m on it.” Yelena assures her. Moving into a better position for extraction. “Watch the side window.”

At her request you shuffle to the main ship. The prison guards are still putting up a fight. Inmates running in every direction.

“Alright, Natasha’s with us.” You confirm, once she’s secured her place on the black hanging rope. “Circle between the walls on your left to grab Alexei.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Yelena snarks, steering the plane away from another explosion.

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Fine,” you huff. “The spot is tight and the angle is bad. I don’t know how you’re gonna pull this off.”

Yelena is silent, processing the information. “Lie to me a little.” She amends.

“You got this.” The blinding wall of white threatens to swallow Alexei whole. You’re holding your breath too as the rope moves past the metal bridge he’s standing on.

“Well?” She yelps, impatiently.

“I don’t know. I can’t see.” Once the snow and ice clears, you spot two figures carefully scaling the rope. “Yelena?”

“Hmm.” She hums, expecting the worst.

“I knew you had it.”

“Yes,” Yelena sighs, before falling into easy laughter. More invested in this than she will ever admit.

————————————————————-

Unfortunately, entertaining as Alexei may be, he has next to no information about Dreykov.

Instead he drawls on and on about how the man wronged him. Stuck him on that “boring mission” in Ohio. Then tossed him in jail and threw away the key because of…hair? A party?

You weren’t entirely sure. You excuse yourself to the vacant seat beside Yelena. Giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Full lips twitch up into a grin.

“Tell us where the red room is.” Natasha grumbles.

“I have no idea!” He shouts, and then in Russian. “Why don’t you ask Melina?”

“Mom Melina?” Yelena whips her head around.

“We thought she was dead.”

“You cannot kill a fox that swift,” Alexei sucks in a breath.

You choke on your own saliva.

“Ew.” Natasha winces.

“What?” The man shrugs. “She was the master mind. His architect.”

“Are you telling me that Melina works for the red room present day?” Natasha leans closer.

“Yes,” he nods. “Remotely, outside Saint Petersburg.”

“I don’t think we have enough fuel for Saint Petersburg.” Yelena decides, after checking the needle on the gauge.

“We’ll make it.” Alexei waves away her concern.

“Ok,” Yelena mutters.

You look over at her.

“We’re not going to make it.” She mouths, with a shake of her head.

You smirk, closing your eyes and relaxing into the seat. It’ll be nice while it lasts.

Before long you’re falling into a controlled crash, at the Saint Petersburg city limit.

“So,” Yelena jumps out onto the dirt. “Are we there yet?”

“No, you will know when we are there.” Alexei begins snorting like a pig.

——————————————————————-

You take a seat in the chair opposite Yelena inside Melina’s humble abode. Her pigs can be heard carrying on out in the yard and Alexei’s early snorting makes perfect sense now.

Your eyes dart around the three women at the table uncomfortably as noises continue erupting from the bathroom. “Everything alright in there?” You bellow, loud enough for your voice to carry down the hallway.

Another groan is the only response.

“Let’s drink,” Melina’s voice breaks the tension. She fills each of your shot glasses in turn.

“Thanks,” you raise the clear liquid and toss it back. Feeling it burn it’s way down your throat before going back for another.

After a moment a clunking from the doorway calls your attention.

“It still fits.” Alexei announces, having stuffed himself into his old costume.

Melina whistles, with a slow clasp as he approaches the seat at the head of the table. “I never washed it once. Come eat.”

He hums a tune under his breath, reliving days gone by. “Look at us, family back together again.” If you didn’t know better you’d think it was sweet, he seems…happy.

“Well,” Melina swallows, dishing mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Seeing as our family construct was just a calculated ruse that only lasted three years, I’m not sure we can use this term anymore.”

“Agreed,” Natasha perks up. “So here’s what’s going to happen-“

“Reunion then.” Alexei offers instead. “I want to say something right off the bat.” He says to the woman who’d once been his wife. “You haven’t aged a day. Just as beautiful and supple as the day they staged our marriage.”

Melina moves closer, “you got fat, but still good.”

“I just got out of prison,” he confesses, “I have a lot of energy.”

“Ooohooo.” The older woman exhales.

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that forces its way from your chest. Covering your mouth with your hand as Yelena takes another shot.

“Please don’t do that.” Beside you Natasha looks physically ill as she protests. Swallowing down her disgust she begins again. “So listen. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

“Natasha don’t slouch. You’re going to get a back hunch.” Melina flicks her fork in Natasha’s direction.

“What? I’m not slouching? I don’t slouch.”

“Eh, listen to your mother. Up! Up!” Alexei joins in.

“I told you, I don’t want any food.” Yelena pushes her plate away.

“Eat a little something Yelena, for God’s sake.” Melina says, piling food onto her plate.

Yelena groans.

“Are you kidding me? Stop it all of you. This is ridiculous.” Natasha bites out.

“Me? I didn’t do anything. That’s not fair!” Yelena argues.

“It’s true, she’s just sitting there.” You shrug.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Natasha roars, effectively silencing the room. “You’re going to give us the location of the red room.”

Melina purses her lips, avoiding the topic. “It’s like when you told them they could stay up to catch Santa Claus.”

“That was fun!” Alexei recalls. “Look out girls, he comes down the chimney. And when the cookies are gone you know he is there.”

Melina clicks her tongue.

“What? I want them to follow their dreams, shoot for the stars girls.”

“No good.” Melina disagreed.

“Killing Dreykov isn’t a fantasy. It’s unfinished business.” Natasha looks between the two of them.

“You cannot defeat someone who commands the very will of others.” Melina says, softly. “You never got to see the culmination of what we started in America. After the perfect partner project was rejected, we took a different route.”

“The perfect partner project?” You repeat, racking your brain. You’ve heard that somewhere before.

“Why’d Dreykov scrap the project?” Natasha’s voice cracks like a whip.

“I don’t know.” Melina’s eyes dart down to her plate.

You can see that she’s lying.

“That’s when we turned our focus to chemical subjugation.” Melina continues, “the control is so profound that when the subject is instructed to stop breathing. They have no choice but to obey.”

Yelena shakes her head. Perfect lips turned into a frown. Hazel eyes glistening with tears as they meet your own.

“That’s enough.” You warn the older woman, seeing the expression. The last thing you want to do is cause her anymore pain.

“No.” The blonde insists. “Tell me more about the partner project.”

“Yelena, we don’t have to do this.” You shake your head.

“Yes, we do.” Yelena slams her fist against the table in frustration.

“The extraction was messy to start. A high profile missing children’s case in North America. But the bond was very strong. Enhanced through targeted conditioning and subliminal messages. Until something happened that Dreykov did not anticipate.”

“What happened?” Natasha wonders.

“The girls became…attached.” Melina’s mouth twitches, “so they were separated.”

“Do you know who they tested on?”

Melina’s guilty eyes land on you. “I am sorry.”

“No,” you suspected, maybe. Somewhere in the back of your mind. You spent the first six months in the red room under solitary confinement. Rapidly and rigorously conditioned in a matter of weeks instead of years. Preparing you…for her. The teenager girl you couldn’t stand, the woman you eventually came to love.

“You,” Yelena laughs, although it’s not particularly funny. “Us.”

“Yelena-“ you reach for her hand across the table.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t tell me that it will be ok. They stole your life because of me. I never asked them to do that. I never asked for you!”

“I know.” You assure her. None of this was ever her fault.

“That’s right, because you know everything. Don’t you, Y/N?” Yelena scoffs, her hands balling into fists on either side of her dinner plate. “You know what I think. You know what I feel. Look at you. Ready to come out of your own skin because I am unhappy. Prepared to move mountains, prepared to start wars.”

“Like you’re any better.” You challenge, she knows you like the back of her hand.

“That is my point!”

“I’m sorry that this happened.” Alexei interrupts. Surely gearing up for a ‘father of the year’ speech. “But we are here now. All together! Wasn’t that worth a few years of-“

“Shut up!” Natasha growls at him. “You are an idiot.”

No response.

She moves her attention to Melina, “and you’re a coward. You’re a coward. And our family was never real. So there’s nothing to hold on to. We’re moving on.”

“Never family, huh?” Alexei throws up his hands. “In my heart I am simple man. For a couple deep undercover Russian agents I think we did pretty great as parents.”

“Yes,” Melina nods her agreement. “We had our orders and we played our roles to perfection.”

“Who cares? That wasn’t real.”

“What?” Yelena’s voice breaks.

“That wasn’t real.” Natasha repeats for emphasis. “Who cares?”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me. You are my mother!” Yelena all but sobs. “You are my real mother, the closest thing I ever had to one. The best parts of my life were fake.” She pauses, drawing in a steadying breath. “And none of you told me.”

You swipe at the tear that escapes your eye. Traitorously running it’s way down your cheek. It was never fake. Perhaps arranged, but never fake. The way you want to wrap her up in your arms, protect her from her own sadness. The way your heart breaks in time with hers. That is real. It has to be.

She turns back to the woman who she considered a mother. “Those agents that you chemically subjugated around the globe…that was me too.”

Finally she addresses Natasha, “and you. You got out. It is impossible to escape. Are you going to say anything?” A pause. “No.”

She pushes her chair from the table, taking the bottle with her as she stands. Turning her back in the four of you.

“Yelena.” Natasha calls after her. Guilt eating away from the inside out.

“No.” Yelena dismisses her a second time. Moving into the next room and closing the glass doors behind her.

You look down at the plate of food in front of you, now lacking any appeal.

“I had no idea.” Melina whispers, wringing her hands.

“I’ll go to talk to her.” Alexei offers, rising to his feet.

“About what?” You hum, “how you handed her over to a life of pain and suffering at the age of six? How you experimented on her? How you didn’t come back for her? Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what she needs right now.”

With that you excuse yourself, back out to the front yard. Slowly circling the perimeter of Melina’s cottage. Not looking for anything in particular. Just killing time until someone produces information about how to get to Dreykov.

The blinding light that appears moments later catches you off guard. A team of men exit one of the three circling planes. Since you couldn’t find the red room, this is the next best thing.

—————————————————————

Waking up is disorienting, coming to from a tranquilizer always is. It’s bright, almost blindingly so. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You attempt to use your hands to cover them, only you can’t move your hands.

Leaning up as much as your restraints will allow you discover that you’re strapped to an operating table. And you’re not alone.

“Yelena?”

“Miss American Pie,” she drawls from a similar position. Neither of which gives you much chance to escape whatever fate awaits.

“You’re not allowed to die mad at me,” you grumble.

“I’m not mad at you.” She blinks slowly, as the surgeon marks a clean line at the perimeter of her hairline. “I’m just mad.”

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh, turning back to the light above the gurney. “Me too.”

“You are my perfect partner.” She murmurs, while gloved hands busy themselves with preparations. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Acceptance…peace. “I love you, you know.”

At this Yelena smiles. A genuine, happy, smile. “I know.”

Something to remember her by.

The syringe at your neck releases a sedative into your blood and you fall asleep. One last time.

—————————————————————

Dying is peaceful, gently rocking in the ocean. Then swaying more violently, giving you the urge to be seasick. Your body should move with the force of it. But something holds you steady, something warm.

“Yelena?” You croak.

“Not quite, but there is resemblance, huh?” A different voice greets you.

“Alexei?” You realize, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

“That’s a girl, up you go.” He says, clapping a hand against your back.

“What happened?” You ask, “where’s Yelena?”

“Still inside,” Melina confirms. “Brought you here so you’d be safe.”

“Natasha?”

“They’re coming.”

You sigh, ready to jump out the open door of the hovering chopper.

“What are you doing?” Alexei demands.

“Going to find them.”

“Wait! Y/N, wait.” He pleads. “There’s something I must tell you. I tried to tell Yelena but I don’t have earpiece.”

“What?” Your brows furrow.

“Never mind that.” He shakes his head. “The point, is you were right. What you said about Yelena. We complete our mission, we move on. But losing her, losing my girls is my biggest regret.”

“I’ll tell her, don’t worry.” You give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Please let me finish.” He stops you again. “She carried your unconscious body through burning building, through explosions. This is not easy, you are very heavy.”

“Oh, Alexei!” Melina scolds him.

“Not that.” He amends, “you know what I mean. It is dead weight.”

You nod, “sure.”

“I look at you together and I see true love and I am happy. You are family now, and this time…we are going to stay together. We’re not leaving without you.” The older man says, helping you onto the metal grate of the falling red room.

Not a second later an explosion rings through your ears, sending Melina, Alexei and your get away vehicle spiraling to the ground.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you’ll make a new plan.

You run toward the flames and gunfire. “Yelena!” You call out, searching the surrounding area.

“Y/N,” Natasha finds you. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t find Yelena.”

“I thought she was with you.” The woman frowns.

“Well she wasn’t!” You bite out, fear and frustration getting the best of you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. You go-“ the red head pauses. Her eyes focused on something behind your head.

You turn to follow Natasha’s gaze. Finding her. Yelena. The wild, unpredictable, firecracker of a woman. On the wing of the jet with Dreykov inside.

“Yelena! Stop!” You rush over, realizing what she’s about to do. Her staff poised at the propeller.

She pauses at the sound of your voice.

“He’s not worth it.” No one is worth it. Not when she is the cost.

Yelena smiles, eyes alight with mischief, “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Natasha tries to reason with her. “Don’t do it!”

“This was fun.” Yelena tells her sister, jamming the propeller and effectively destroying Dreykov’s jet. The force of the explosions sends her backwards, hurtling towards the ground with the remaining pieces of the red room.

“Put your pack on and jump.” Natasha tells you. Rushing for the nearest parachute. “I’m going to save my sister.” She dives head first over the edge, without putting on her harness.

“Not if I get there first,” you challenge. This would be a cool way to die.

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

#marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova fanfiction #natasha romanoff #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

Oh, well, imagine - Andy Barber smut

The one where Andy gets tired of living a double life

Word count: 2K<

Warnings: smut, sugar relationship, infidelity (reader is the other woman), daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon because Andy does stuff without getting reader’s consent beforehand, unprotected sex.

A/N: this was written for @donutloverxo‘s #sugary4kchallenge! I took the opportunity to write something in the same universe as my first Andy fic, I write sins not tragedies, but this could be read by itself. Congrats on 4k, sweetheart!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The sound of the door being slammed startled me, almost making me drop the dishes I’d been washing. My eyebrows furrowed, confused and worried about what was going on. Only Andy had the key to the apartment, so I wasn’t curious as to who it was, just what had him behaving that way. In all the time we’d known each other, I’d never once seen him angry.

Still, when he appeared by the kitchen, it was clear that was the case. His chest heaved with the simple task of breathing, and when his eyes fell on me, they seemed darker. I almost felt scared - I probably would, if I didn’t trust him so much.

“Andy?” I asked, but he immediately shook his head.

“Not what you call me, princess.” Automatically, I stood up straighter, body electrified by the meaning behind his words. I knew what he wanted, even if it was clearly that more than desire. He needed this.

“Daddy.” He nodded once, clearly pleased at my acknowledgment. But there was still so much I needed to understand. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Instead of answering, he just kept staring at me long and hard, making me feel small and naked under his attention.

“Come here.”

My legs obeyed instantly, having been trained long enough to do exactly what he said without having to think about it. “Good girl.” The compliment was like some pavlovian buzzer to my poor cunt. I could feel the fabric of my underwear begin to uncomfortably stick to my lower lips, and I shifted from one leg to the other as I waited for further instructions.

“Daddy needs you tonight,” he finally began explaining, a single finger running under my jaw to make sure I’d keep our eyes connected. “Will you let me do whatever I want to you and this body?”

The perspective excited me, and I didn’t know if I was stupid for it, but I found myself nodding anyway. At the end of the day, I trusted Andy with my life. I knew he wouldn’t push me further than I could take it, and if he ever came close to it, I always had my safeword.

“Yes, Daddy.” He rewarded me with a kiss, but it wasn’t a soft one. His tongue invaded my mouth and before I could even realize what I was doing, I had to find a hold on his shirt, standing on my tippy toes just so I wouldn’t completely tip over.

“Are you excited to help daddy?” He asked, fingers already making quick work of my clothes as I trembled with excitement in his hold. He looked feverish, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, his mouth nipping and sucking and biting every inch of skin he could find.

“Yes, Daddy,” I repeated, forever his subservient servant, knowing that aiding him would bring me to pleasures I’d never known before we’d met. I watched as he licked his lips, taking in my naked body before his, the kitchen a mess of my discarded clothes and abandoned dinner, but instead of taking off his clothes, his hands went directly to his belt.

“Lay back on the floor.” It took me a full second to understand what he was saying, but thankfully he didn’t read it as hesitation. Instead, despite his eager state, he watched as I slowly lowered myself to the cold marble, stopping once I was on my knees to make sure of what he really wanted.

“Lay back,” he repeated, nodding towards me, and despite my confusion, I did as he said, gasping once my naked back met the icy stone. My nipples hardened against the air of the silent apartment and under his gaze, and I gasped when he knelt before me, hands reaching out for my thighs as he pulled me even closer.

“So, so beautiful,” he moaned, and I watched stunned as he lowered himself until he was eye-level with my navel, and I felt more than saw as his tongue stuck out and collected the wetness that was already threatening to drip from me. “And mine, all mine.”

The first time he’d said that, there was a conversation to be held right after we both came back from our highs. I needed to make sure that he remembered what this was, and he laughed when I tried to phrase it as sweetly as possible.

“I know this isn’t conventional,” he’d said, “but as long as it lasts, you’re mine. In and out of this apartment, but especially in this bed.” It didn’t take too long to realize that he was right.

I truly was his. My body responded to him in a way it’d never reacted to anyone else before. And I knew that whenever this little affair of ours came to an end, he would still forever own parts of me I’d never even realized I had before we met.

Andy’s P.O.V.

My mind was becoming hazier by the second. I needed to make sure she understood what was going to happen before I completely lost it. But first, I knew I’d hate myself if I didn’t take advantage of the delicious meal laid bare before me.

“Daddy!” She screamed, fingers curling around my strands as I lapped her up, rubbing my bearded jaw on the apex of her thighs. She was everything. I had never wanted anyone the way that I wanted her. And I knew that I never would again.

It was why I couldn’t lose her.

Connecting our eyes, I pushed two fingers inside of her and immediately curled them as I searched for that sweet spot I’d memorized so many months before, knowing I’d struck gold when she cried out for me again.

“Yeah, baby… I know you like that, sweet girl. So sweet for me, aren’t you?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to answer, and I didn’t mind. I could barely speak myself. The need to have her was just too strong, and so I kept licking her pussy and fucking it with my fingers until I felt her clench around my digits, not even waiting for her to calm down as I immediately raised to my knees and worked on releasing my member from its confines.

“Better get ready, princess… I won’t be able to stop until I’m done with you.” The lust in her hazy eyes was unmistakable, but just as I was about to plunge into her, warm hands found their way inside my shirt, holding my chest to stop me.

“Andy… the condom…” but I wasn’t having it.

“No,” I announced it, the finality in my voice clear as day as I pushed her arms down against the floor and penetrated her slowly, making sure to watch her jaw going slack as it always did at my first thrust.

When I saw that the initial shock had started to subdue and she was about to argue, I took her lips with mine, devouring her mouth the way I’d done with her pussy just seconds before. “I’m fucking you just like this, and you’re gonna take it.”

She wiggled underneath me, but it seemed more like she was going through the motions of showing that she didn’t want that than actually trying to make me stop.

It didn’t stop me. She would never be able to stop me. Not when I was in this mindset, not when I needed her so much. “I’m tired of wanting you,” I admitted. “I’m tired of wanting you, having you and then going back to wanting you again. I will never have my fill of you, I know that now. I need you.”

Her pussy clenched around me sporadically, her moans escaping her lips as she failed to speak when my hips grew quicker, my thrusts more forceful. “I need you more than sexually. I’m desperate for you, baby.”

And finally, she stopped squirming, her eyes suddenly widening in realization as my voice betrayed all of the emotions I was feeling. “I want to come home to you, Y/N. Only you.”

My confession earned her surrender. I felt her muscles relax underneath me, a sign of her acceptance of my new quest for ownership of her body, and so I could finally release her hands to run mine all over her skin.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” I whispered once the tempo became softer, but no less passionate. “I haven’t fucked her since we met.” I could see the shock in her expression, and I knew what she would argue.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I shook my head at her silliness, stroking her cheek after I kissed her one more time. I could see my future in her eyes, even if she didn’t allow herself to see hers in mine.

“I want to get you pregnant, Y/N.” And there it was. The truth and my heart, stripped of all pretense, exposed for her to see. And if I feared the rejection, the way her eyes softened before she pulled me to another kiss sealed our fate.

“I love you so fucking much.” And so we made passionate, desperate sex on the kitchen floor. I fucked her so hard, it didn’t take much to have her drooling for me. I drowned all of my worries and sorrows in her sweet pussy, making sure to worship every single inch of her body with my lips and tongue.

“I’m gonna keep you forever, princess,” I promised, heart aching just at the thought of ever losing her. “She won’t ever take you from me. Ever.” At the reminder of the reality of our situation, the fact that she was “the other one”, her body writhed underneath me, her struggle to fight back once again rising, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“Ever, baby,” I promised against her lips, silencing her cries with a deep, sloppy kiss that only ended when I needed to gather some air. “I can’t even think of having to live without you.”

The rhythm of our hips finding one another kept up, the sounds growing exponentially wetter with each second, with each drop of her arousal that collected on her lower lips, lubricating my member and aiding my goal to fill her up until it lathered the floor beneath us.

“You won my heart,” I confessed, making sure that she’d see the honesty deep in my eyes. “You left me no choice but to fall for you. Now I won’t live without you.” A desperate cry tore from deep within her, rekindling the passion with which I fucked her. Normally I was so sweet to her, so patient. But I knew she liked this as well. She liked to be fucked like a whore, even if she was as far removed from one as possible.

“Call my name, sweet girl.” It was a plea, a desperate need to blur the lines between what our relationship was and what I wanted it to become until they disappeared altogether. “Say you are mine. Say it.”

She was drooling now, and I knew how hard it was for her to find the words I needed her to say as she succumbed to bliss right there, on the kitchen floor, with me. Still, her scream penetrated my hazy mind, adding to the overwhelming tightness that squeezed me, begging for my cum, “I’m yours! I’m yours, Andy.”

The aftermath found us breathless, with flushed chest and flushed cheeks. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as the nervous but hopeful look with which she gazed at me. I knew what she needed to hear, and with a kiss on her forehead, I reassured her, “Let’s go to bed, princess. You won’t be sleeping alone tonight.”

And as we cuddled the night away, the unspoken became clear and clear. Not tonight, nor ever again.

#sugary4kchallenge #my fics #andy barber smut #smut #andy barber #sugar daddy au #andy barber x reader #andy barber reader #andy barber reader insert #andy barber reader inserts #andy barber one shot

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