#but I also recognize that he has done some pretty fucked up things
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Pro-Damon arguments have always been pretty stupid imo, but an argument I've been seeing a lot more of recently is people saying that they prefer Damon to Stefan- both as a character and as a love interest for Elena- because "Damon was aware that he was a monster whereas Stefan pretended that he wasn't", and I have got to say, this is such a brain dead take.
Let's start by addressing the first part of the claim, that Damon's self-awareness inherently makes him better. No. Believe it or not, being self-aware does not make you a good person, it's what you do with that awareness that does. What does Damon do with his self-awareness? Absolutely nothing. He whines and cries about how much of a monster he is and how he can't change whenever anyone tries to hold him accountable for anything, or he just puts the blame on Katherine or his mother because "they didn't wuv him 🥺👉🏻👈🏻". So, he recognizes that he's a bad person, but then he proceeds to continue to be a bad person anyway...I'm not seeing how this is a good- or even a respectable- thing. Damon also doesn't care! He enjoys murdering and r*ping people. How does someone knowing they're a bad person, and then doing nothing to be better, make them a better person? It doesn't. The logic of that argument is non-existent. And to then go on and say that this is why Elena should choose him?? Why? How does Elena begging Damon to just stop being horrible, and then him responding with "I'm a monster, I'll never change" scream "I'm someone you should be with"?? There's a reason she told him he was the worst choice she would ever make.
Now, for the second part of the claim, which states that Stefan pretends that he is a good person when really, he's a monster. Once again: no. Tell me you don't have general comprehension skills without telling me because Stefan's desperation to hold onto his humanity and morality are very central parts of his character. He recognizes that he's done horrible things and takes full accountability for them. Whenever Elena asks him a question about his past, he's honest with her. He doesn't hide things from her, downplay them, or push the blame onto someone else (and if someone tries to bring up him not initially telling her he was a vampire, I will scream. Because duh! Why would he just be like, "Hey, I'm Stefan, I'm a vampire, nice to meet you!"? Please be serious) He's said the words "I am/was a monster" multiple times on screen - same as Damon - the difference between the two of them is that Stefan does something about it. Stefan trying to be a better person is not him pretending he's never done bad things. It's him trying to atone for all of the bad things that he has done. So, when he says that he's not Damon, It's true! Because he does everything Damon doesn't do when it comes to facing the consequences of his actions. Which also winds up forcing him to face the consequences of Damon's actions as well!
Only in the TVD fandom will you see people say that the guy who actively does the wrong thing in every scenario and who revels in being the bad guy is better than the guy who hates the part of himself that does horrible things and puts all of his effort into being a better person simply because guy #1 is "self-aware".
I hate it here.
#the vampire diaries#tvd#anti damon salvatore#anti damon#anti delena#I personally love stefan salvatore#but I also recognize that he has done some pretty fucked up things#and I'm willing to hear criticisms of his character#but the SECOND a damon stan tries to slander him#my ears are closed
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in every other life- s.r.
a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan.
summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy.
wc: 3.3k (holy shit)
While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair.
Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind.
But he wanted her.
His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.
It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her.
She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life.
“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure.
“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”
It’s a calculated question.
She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness.
It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility.
When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists.
But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his.
She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.
“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”
It’s all that he can do not to freeze up.
Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way.
And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time.
“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.”
It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete.
“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”
She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers?
“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.
“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”
Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-
Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him.
It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy.
“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded.
“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“
Please kill me, he thinks. Please.
“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”
Thank god.
Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again.
When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality.
The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does.
Ben, is not in fact, going away.
If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore.
It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.
“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”
She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.
But her cup says Ben.
“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”
She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.
“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”
If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have.
“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”
It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes.
The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison.
“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is.
“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.”
Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition.
Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.
“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”
It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess.
He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile.
Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp.
“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.”
In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his.
It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company.
He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it.
The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem.
At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.
But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben.
She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face.
He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?
This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?
It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.
“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?
“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”
His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights.
Ironic, really.
The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself.
In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering.
She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known.
“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.
“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for.
“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”
Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this.
“I’m not entirely sure what it is.”
She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.
“This whole Ben thing.”
“Oh.”
Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to.
He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from.
“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass.
“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time.
She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation.
It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot.
Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together.
Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting.
“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-
“I only went out with him the once.”
“What?”
“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”
Romance?
Wasn’t it romance, though?
Her eyes widen in something akin to horror.
“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“
“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”
She blinks.
“No?”
He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry.
He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment.
He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire.
Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s
Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her.
“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion.
She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.
It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him.
“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness. “There was never anyone else to pick.”
#spencer reid#spencer Reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fanfic
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Joel turns around. Martyn is standing there. His eyes are a burning red that gives Joel the heebie-jeebies. If anyone would know to be scared, it's Joel! He would! He'd recognize a mad dog if he saw one anywhere!
Anyway, all of that is to say that his high-pitched scream had been totally justified. "Oh my word Martyn what are you doing here?" he says, clutching his hand over his heart, several feet further back than he'd been thirty seconds ago.
Martyn snorts. "Is the sign not for me? Figured there was no one else it could be for."
"The what?"
"The sign."
Joel turns around. Outside his base, the other Mounders have hung a helpful banner: "SORRY EVERYONE YOU LOVE IS DEAD <3".
He'd told them it was kind of rude, hanging that up. Sort of made light of the whole thing, really. His wife and Mumbo and Jimmy had died, guys, don't be idiots about it. Bdubs had loudly told him that he was TRYING to be helpful, Joel, geez, why don't you appreciate his efforts? Pearl had shrugged and said they don't exactly make cards for this kind of thing. Joel's pretty sure they do, actually but...
Sorry everyone you love is dead. Hah.
"My wife is dead, Martyn," Joel says.
"Who, Lizzie or Jimmy?" Martyn says, weirdly dark. "Anyway, my husband's dead, so--"
"Your what?"
"Mumbo and I got married one time. Everyone forgets that for some reason."
Joel has to think about it a while. "Huh."
"Yeah. Anyway, you've still got the other Mounders, huh? Don't know what you're crying about. Thought the sign had to be for me. Thought I'd show up. Get cake. Kill some people. You know how it is."
"If there's a TNT minecart in my base, the first thing I do after I turn red is kill you," Joel says.
"That's not really how it works this time," Martyn says.
"Yeah, well, screw you," Joel says. "Also, they didn't make me any cake. I should ask them for that next. Hah. A cake."
"You know, maybe don't ask for that? Parties tend to go wrong in this game."
"And who's fault is that, huh?"
"Hey, don't look at me! Or, do. Since I'm going to kill everyone, on account of everyone I love being dead and all. Really convenient excuse for murder, that. I should use it more often, if it didn't involve the crippling grief," Martyn says.
"Oh, please. At least you tend to have people to love in the first place," Joel snaps.
"Oh, right, that is your curse, isn't it?" Martyn says. "Sorta broke it last time, but you do tend to get isolated and a bit crazy. Hey, I wonder if we're the ones who traded, actually what with the whole wolf thing."
Joel blinks. "What?"
"Oh, we're all cursed," Martyn says. "After all, They like it better that way. Hey, do you think Jimmy's curse transferred to Lizzie, got cancelled out by the fact Lizzie tends to die stupidly, or got broken? Personally, I'm thinking random fluke, when it comes to canary nonsense."
Joel stares at Martyn. His throat is dry. "What?"
Martyn stares back. "Hey, I'm the mad dog this time," Martyn says. "You probably shouldn't be the one growling."
"Well then, you should stop saying stupid shit," Joel says.
"Stupid? Please. It's obvious everyone is cursed. Nothing to be done about it but to play into the--"
"NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED," Joel shouts, his vision suddenly red and blurry in a way it shouldn't be when he's still on yellow. "NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED. THERE'S NO SUCH THING! YOU'RE JUST, JUST MAKIN' UP REASONS IT ISN'T ALL A TRAGEDY THAT EVERYONE I LOVE IS FUCKING DEAD, MAKING UP REASONS THAT IT--NO ONE IS CURSED! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST FUCKING HAPPENS! AND WOULDN'T IT BE BLUMIN' NICE IF THERE WERE A HIGHER POWER BUT THERE ISN'T SO SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT CURSES!"
He's panting. Martyn is staring at him. He stares back, a snarl on his teeth, the echoes of wolves and of grief, grief, grief, grief playing at the back of his throat.
"Joel?" Martyn says, hesitant.
"My wife is fucking dead. My best friend is fucking dead. One of my new possible best friends is fucking dead. Sorry about your husband, I guess? Get out."
"Bold thing to say to the guy who can kill--"
"I SAID GET OUT!"
Martyn stares at Joel a moment longer, and Joel finds he's not scared of the madness in his eyes at all.
Martyn leaves.
Joel realizes he's crying. The tears turn into giant, ugly sobs. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead.
"I blumin' hate caring about people," he says to no one at all through choked breaths, and he kicks a rock at the banner for good measure. It pokes a little hole through it and bounces off the dick-shaped tower behind it.
"Someone really should have made both of us a blumin' cake, they should," he says next, and he sits down until Pearl runs over, having heard the shouting. His face is red and his vision is still swimming. She stares at him, gathers him in her arms, and cries with him, and for the life of him, he doesn't know if that's any better.
#secret life smp#secret life spoilers#a bee fic#joel smallishbeans#martyn inthelittlewood#ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD THIS SESSION HAS INSPIRED ME TO WRITE APPARENTLY.#anyway the life series is a tragecomedy and everyone copes with that differently i think#i am trying to really CAPTURE the simultaneous tragic and comedic vibes here#anyway. opposing views on curses and causality in the face of grief huh?
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It Hits Different This Time, Part 2
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie x Steve Harrington
TW: Mentions of alcohol, drug abuse
QUICK AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry that the last entry was so angst heavy, I promise this one provides some comfort! Eddie needed to take a big step here and he really, really does. Also, much love to everyone who commented, I've tagged you at the bottom of the post - let me know if anyone else would like to be notified of the next entry!
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
It was another five days before Steve heard from Eddie. Another five torturous days of radio silence, only this time, there wasn’t anything online. No new articles were popping up saying he’d been spotted somewhere, no new TikToks of him meeting fans on the street. The rest of the band was MIA too; Steve had thought about sending Jeff a text to check-in but ultimately decided to wait another couple days. Robin had been texting with Chrissy, after all, and if something bad had gone down, she would know.
When Eddie did finally call, it wasn’t from a number that Steve recognized.
“I’m getting a call from Malibu.”
“Holy shit!” Robin sat up on the other end of the couch and shot him a look. “Okay, just breathe dingus, okay? It’s going to be okay, I’ll be here the whole time.” She squeezed his ankle comfortingly. “You can do this.”
Steve accepted the call with shaky hands and brought his phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Hey Steve.”
He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “Eddie.”
He heard Eddie let out a watery laugh across the line. “Do you, uh, have a minute?”
“Mmmm hmmm,” Steve hummed. He physically couldn’t get an actual word out.
This was it. Eddie was leaving, he’d cheated, it was over –
“I’m in rehab.”
Steve’s eyes shot open. “You’re what?”
Robin started rocking back and forth. “Turn it up!” She hissed, and Steve obliged, turning up his volume so she could just barely hear what was being said. (Was this a private conversation? Yes. Did Eddie know he’d probably immediately tell Robin everything? Also yes.
Was this news big enough to warrant having Robin eavesdrop?
Absolutely yes.)
“Yeah, I’m, uh, at the Promises Treatment Center in Malibu,” Eddie continued. “We got back about five days ago and when I saw your note, I –
“Look, Steve,” Eddie continued, and his voice was choked up, like he himself couldn’t speak, “I fucked up. I’ve fucked everything up. You are – you said in that note that you didn’t want me to give up on my dreams, and you’re right, making it big and getting famous for my music was my dream for literal years. Because I kept thinking “once I get a record out there,” “once I go on tour,” “once I win a Grammy,” “once I get a million dollars,” then I’d finally be happy.
“But it turns out the only thing being famous has done is make me pretty fucking miserable,” Eddie let out a harsh laugh. “But I was so goddamn convinced that this was it, you know, that I’d accomplished my dreams so I must be happy that I started taking whatever I could get my fucking hands on to make me feel that way. The thing is drugs and the alcohol and the parties never made it fucking last. It just made every other second that I was in the public eye that much worse.
“But I’d still made it, you know? I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel this fucking miserable. And everyone back home was so fucking proud and I didn’t want to let them down - ” Eddie paused for a few moments to clear his throat before continuing. “I didn’t want to let you down. Because Eddie “The Freak” Munson didn’t deserve you, but maybe Eddie “The Rock Star” could.”
Steve can feel his own throat closing up and he can barely see Robin’s face, his eyes are watering that bad. “Baby,” he sobbed. “I wish you’d told me.”
“Me too,” Eddie sniffled across the line. “I didn’t though, I just kept self-medicating and ignoring it, because that’s always worked,” he huffed sarcastically. “But then - ” Eddie cut off again, and Steve can hear that he’s trying so hard to hold back his own sobs, “then I came home last week and realized that I’d missed our goddamn anniversary because I was too fucking high and that you were gone and I just – I called Jeff and I told him to get me on a plane out here because you – you, Steve Harrington, you are the best thing in my goddamn life. And the only dream I want to chase now is the one where we get married and adopt some kids and grow old together.”
“Eddie,” Steve sobbed out again, and he heard Eddie start to cry too, and then suddenly they were crying together, even from hundreds of miles away.
“So I’m gonna be here for the next six weeks,” Eddie finally continued, his voice still full of tears. “I’m, uh, meeting with a therapist for a few hours every day and working through my shit. I wanna be a guy who deserves good things, baby. I wanna be a guy who deserves you.”
“What – what about the band?” Steve sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. A handful of Kleenex appeared in front of him. Robin must have gotten up to grab them at some point. He shot her a thankful nod and patted at his eyes; Robin nodded back and did the same, her face flushed that bright shade of red that accompanied her own tears.
“Murray wrote a provision into our contract where if one of us checks into rehab, then the band is instantly put on a two-year, non-negotiable hiatus.”
“But – what about your momentum, the label kept talking about it?”
“The label can go fuck themselves” Eddie practically growled over the phone. “Who do you think hosted the party where I first got my hands on the hardcore stuff anyways?”
“Babe - ”
“Murray said he was going to look into some sort of contract termination so we can sign somewhere else. And even if we didn’t have that thing written into our contract, we probably would have gone on hiatus anyways, or worse. That – the last leg was rough. Gareth was just as fucked up as I was and Jeff was fucking pissed. He kept having to pull Gareth out of orgies and shit while babysitting Phil and I too.”
“Did,” Steve swallowed harshly, “did - ”
“No, baby, never,” Eddie declared quickly. “Even when I couldn’t fucking see straight, you were the only one I wanted to be with. I honestly don’t even know who we were partying with at the end there, the label sent them for some PR shit, I don’t know. It’s just another reason why we want out.”
“Oh,” Steve murmured, “okay. Good. Or, well, not good. You know.”
“Yeah, baby, I do,” Eddie replied softly.
They sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe. “I, uh,” Eddie started up again quietly, “I’m wearing the ring.”
“Yeah?” Steve found himself smiling despite the fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice was just as choked up as before. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Eddie - ”
“Look, I know, I know I hurt you so, so badly and I’m never going to fucking forgive myself for what I did, but I – you’re everything I want, baby. If I had to give up Corroded Coffin tomorrow for you, I would do it in a heartbeat. And I – I know I can’t expect for you to just, like, forgive me after the shit I pulled, but – will you be there, when I get out? Can I – I want to come home to you,” Eddie finished, and Steve could hear that he was crying again.
Steve looked over at Robin, who was wiping more tears out of her own eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments.
It might be crazy, but I think I want to say yes.
I don't blame you. I mean, this is one hell of an apology, especially from Mr. “I’ll Never Need to Go to Rehab Ever.”
Yeah. And I love him.
And you love him.
“I’ll be there,” Steve murmured reassuringly, and Eddie burst into a new wave of muffled sobs on the other end of the phone. “Just do what you need to do and come home when you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting for home.”
“At home?” Eddie’s voice broke on a whimper.
“At home. I’ll even clean the bathrooms and everything,” Steve joked, and Eddie let out a loud laugh despite the quiet sobs Steve could still hear.
“Really? You’ll be there?”
“Yeah, Eddie. I’ll be there. We can get through this.”
“Together.”
“Together. Because I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”
“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie let out an incredulous laugh again, “I love you so fucking much, baby. I’m going to marry the fuck out of you someday.”
“Save the sweet talk for when you get home, okay?” Steve could feel his heart settling in his chest, and whatever tears he’d had left to cry were all gone now. There was just the twinge of missing Eddie, but that would go away soon enough. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”
“Thanks, baby.” Eddie’s answer was soft now. “So I, uh, get a couple hours to call people every day from one of the site’s phones. Can I keep calling you?”
“Please,” Steve heard Eddie exhale in relief. “Every day sounds perfect.”
“Good, good. I’ll have to, uh, use some of my time to talk to Wayne, but the rest of it is yours, baby. And Gareth, Jeff threw him into a different center too. His check-in was much less voluntary though.”
“Shit,” Steve winced. “Is there anything Robin or I can do to help?”
“Take Jeff and Chrissy out to a nice dinner and use the Amex,” Eddie snorted, causing Steve to laugh.
“Consider it done.”
“Good." Steve heard the sound of another voice behind Eddie. Eddie replied something Steve couldn't understand, but it was in the affirmative. "Doc says my time is up for today. My, uh, talk with Wayne took up a lot of time,” Eddie returned, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “But I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll see you in six weeks.”
“Yes you will.” Steve shut his eyes and imagined Eddie was standing right in front of him. Eddie with his riotous curls and holey graphic tees and tight jeans. Eddie with his rings on his fingers, with Steve’s ring on his finger. Eddie, standing across from him and smiling at him with that twinkle in his eye that had first caught Steve’s attention all those years ago.
“I love you, Eds.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Tags List: @gregre369 @starman-jpg @skoomy-doompy @thequeenrainacorn @sleepyboosstuff @strawberrykore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @amoris-no-smut-allowed @steve-the-hairrington @iknewyouweremuggle @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sunfloweringstories @loverkasp @hyperfixationgoddess @steddie-as-they-go @zerokrox-blog @messrs-weasley @thelittleclare @lovelyscot
#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things#steddie fanfic#steddie fic#robin buckley#platonic stobin#rock star Eddie munson#sweetheart steve harrington
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Tim?
Tim did not actually mean to kidnap an alternate reality's version of Kon.
In his defense, he'd had very limited time in that reality and everything in it had been going to shit and . . . well, everything in it had been going to shit.
Also, Lex Luthor had been a lot more heavily involved in that particular reality's Cadmus, and fuck it if Tim was ever going to leave any version of Kon with that bastard.
With any bastard who could ever look at Kon and call him "it".
"Ow," Tim grunts into the dirty pavement of what he hopes is his own Gotham as blood drips out of his mouth, and feels Kon's fingertips brush very, very tentatively against his back. He's a little too dizzy to lift his head, but he figures it doesn't matter. Like it's just . . . it's fine. They're not in Cadmus and Kon is safe and Tim is . . . conscious, at least, which means he can work with the situation.
Whatever the situation actually is, anyway.
Kon's hands flatten against his back, which is a very familiar tell, and Tim immediately feels the even more familiar embrace of TTK wrapping him up.
Less familiar is the impulse to find said embrace adorable, but in Tim's defense, this Kon is physiologically about ten years old and so far every single thing he's done has been either adorable or heartbreaking or some terrible combination of the two.
"Robin?" Kon asks anxiously. "You're okay, right?"
"M'okay," Tim mumbles blurrily, because it's more or less true. More blood drips out of his mouth and splatters on the pavement. "All okay. S'fine. You hurt?"
"No," Kon says, still sounding nervous. "Dunno where we are, though."
"Should be Gotham," Tim says, forcing himself to lift his head enough to check and nearly laughing as he recognizes their surroundings as the exact part of Crime Alley that he got interdimensionally yanked out of seventy-six hours ago. "Yeah. Gotham."
He pushes himself up enough to look over at Kon. Kon looks very small crouched down next to him with buzzed-down hair, barefoot in pristine white lab scrubs with a shiny metal cuff stamped with an identification number locked around his wrist. "13" features prominently on it.
Tim wants to melt it into slag.
"Is it your Gotham?" Kon asks.
"No clue, but I'm hoping," Tim says. He thinks about getting to his feet but he's pretty sure he'd throw up if he tried. Or fall over. Or both?
Probably both, at this point.
Oh well, he figures, and pushes himself up. He doesn't vomit, surprisingly, although he is very definitely sure that Kon's TTK is the only thing keeping him from falling over.
No reason to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, Tim decides.
"I need coffee," he says as he gives Kon's shoulder an appreciative pat, because the caffeine withdrawal is real. Also he needs medical attention, probably, but also-also he needs to come up with either a cover story for the ER or an explanation for Bruce and therefore caffeine can't hurt.
"Uh, okay," Kon says skeptically. "I don't think Starbucks or anything is gonna be open right now, though, it's pretty late."
"God, what did Cadmus teach you, kid," Tim says despairingly, making a face at the thought. "Starbucks is a punishment from God. We're going to the nearest twenty-four diner and I'm ordering roofing tar. And we're getting you a hot chocolate. Do you want a hot chocolate?"
". . . yeah," Kon says, biting his lip. "Um. I mean, I dunno if I'd like it, though."
"If you don't like it, we'll get you something else," Tim says. "But I haven't slept or eaten properly since I left my reality and I need coffee before it becomes a legitimate medical emergency."
"Shouldn't you get, like, real food, then?" Kon asks skeptically. "Not just coffee?"
"Coffee is food," Tim lies reflexively.
". . . I don't think it is," Kon says, squinting up at him suspiciously. "Are you taking advantage of me being too stupid to know if coffee's food or not?"
". . . we can get something to go," Tim says, wishing he'd blown up a bit more of Cadmus on his way out of that fucking cesspool of a reality. "You're not stupid. Luthor can choke on a fucking cactus for all the shit he kept saying to you."
"I mean, I didn't come out right," Kon says uncomfortably. "I'm not as smart as Dadd–as Lex is. Or as Superman was."
Tim pretends that Kon wasn't about to say "Daddy" for both their sakes. Just . . . yeah. At least for the moment, anyway.
Luthor was a lot more heavily involved in that Cadmus.
And horrifyingly.
Tim tries not to think about the way that Luthor had kept touching Kon. All the little too-deliberate points of contact he'd made time and again and too often.
Much too often.
Tim hadn't seen anyone else even so much as enter Kon's personal space the entire time he'd been in that godforsaken lab, and every single time that Luthor had made a gesture like he might touch him, Kon had tensed in something that couldn't decide between being fear or anticipation.
It'd made Tim want to burn the whole fucking lab and every single LexCorp-owned building he could find to the ground.
He'd settled for interdimensionally kidnapping Kon and destroying all of Cadmus's systems and DNA samples as thoroughly as possible. C-4 had been involved.
A lot of C-4 had been involved.
Possibly that had been a slight overreaction, but fuck if Tim cares. Just–Clark had still been dead, and Cassie hadn't had powers and Bart hadn't been in the time period and Tim himself hadn't even existed, for whatever reason, and apparently neither had Cissie or Greta or Anita or Slobo, and Bruce had already had his hands full with Damian and Dick had been off-planet and Jason had also still been dead and just–
Options had been limited, alright?
Options had been limited, and by that point Tim hadn't had time to go check and see what the Kents were up to or track down Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even just tip off the Justice League or the Titans, because by that point he'd been in an examination room with a Lex Luthor who was stroking a frightened Kon's face with one hand while holding a syringe that was glowing kryptonite-green with the other and Tim had just . . . he'd just made some choices at that point, okay?
He'd made some very decisive choices.
And some very decisive commitments.
Or at least one very decisive commitment, anyway.
#dc robin#tim drake#superboy#kon el#conner kent#rinfic#anonymous#long post#implied molestation#implied abuse#wip: interdimensional kidnapping via robin
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I said Sunday? Well, it's 1am of the 29th here, happy Sunday. Also this was gonna be a drabble so make of that what you will. I should write more dubcon and intox kink cause those are two of my fav things (+ somno), esp the intox kink part, love getting railed while I'm high beyond cohesive thought
summary. you and Nagi have been having a thing for a while, but recently you've taken to avoiding him, and that has been making him more upset than he can take. so when he finds you alone at Reo's Halloween party, he finally decides to take action. too bad you are too high for a conversation - well, maybe not bad at all.
pairing. Seishiro Nagi x F!Reader
wordcount. 3k
warnings. nsfw (minors back off) cw: intox kink, dubcon, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, semipublic sex
halloween party.
For all intents and purposes, Nagi never really liked Reo's Halloween parties. They were a hassle, too many people, too loud, and he was always forced into a costume. He always left early, staying only long enough to appease his friend. But this time he stayed longer - just because you had come to the event.
Nagi had every so often seen you out of the corner of his eye, never in his groups, but still around. For the past couple of months, you'd been having a fling - a situationship, maybe? Though, recently, you'd started ghosting him. And with his poor social skills, there wasn't much he could do about it.
Reo had said he should just approach you, easier said than done. Nagi had spent most of the party ogling you - and for once he was thankful for having to wear a costume. He had bought a Ghost Face mask to wear with a black hoodie, the laziest thing he could think of. Every now and again he'd put the mask back on, despite how hot the fabric covering his head could get, he was glad the damn thing covered up how he kept staring at you.
You'd come to the party with a costume from that one horror movie with - was it Megan Fox? He was pretty sure it was. Jennifer's Body - yeah, that was the one. It didn't matter. What mattered is that the costume made you look even hotter than usual. The white coat, covered in fake blood, did nothing to hide how tight your top was, nor how your jeans' miniskirt hugged your ass tight and left little of your legs to the imagination. Nagi was losing his composure already, he couldn't stare at you for too long without his cock getting hard.
It's later into the party that he finally finds you alone, in Reo's kitchen, further from the crowd. Nagi is careful to approach you slowly, steps silent until he is close to you - and shit, he can already smell your perfume. It was sweet, and made his body heat up like crazy. When you finally notice him it's too late, he is already close, almost boxing you against the counter, tall frame looking over yours. Fuck, he wanted to take you right here, right now.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" Nagi asks in a low grunt, but you only mumble in response. That's when he notices something, underneath the overpowering sweetness of your perfume. It's a smell he recognizes, and with how slow you are speaking and the red tinting your eyes - oh yeah, he is sure now. "Are you high?" Your stutter is confirmation enough, but Nagi still brings his face close to yours, taking a sniff again. Yep, that's weed.
"Seishiro, no," you whine, eyes droopy and voice almost slurred, and he can't help snicker, barely swallowing a laugh. Your hands collide with his chest as you try to push him away from your personal space. But Nagi is much too strong for that, all you manage is to make him straighten up again, narrowing his eyes with a smirk. "You didn't answer my question? Why have you been avoiding me?" He leans in your direction, holding his body up with one hand on the counter, chuckling at the annoyance crossing your face - there was some weird pleasure in pestering you while you were in that state.
You take half a step backwards and hit your back to the counter, almost stumbling. It's cute, your hazy eyes look around, like a confused animal. "Sei, can we not do this now?" You are slow to answer, mumbling again, your gaze struggling to focus on his own. Your dazed state is sweet, but too bad, he wants to solve his problem now. "No. Now, why?" You grunt, frustration bubbling through you - you are usually far more controlled than this, which makes everything just adorable. Oh, you look so vulnerable and so pretty. It really makes him want you even more.
"Ugh, I have other things to do with my life too, you know, I actually have a life," you sneer, and it doesn't sound quite as cutting as it usually would. He watches you fidget, body swaying slightly, eyes looking at him through heavy lids and long lashes. You look beautiful, but he doesn't much like your answer. "Other things or other guys?" Nagi's voice is restrained, but he is jealous, he can't deny that - and the alcohol in his system is making him all too open about it. He brings his body closer to yours, invading your space even more.
You huff and groan, a mix of frustration and confusion noticeable in your expression. Your hands make contact with Nagi’s chest again, trying to shove him away once more, still to no avail as he just lets you keep on trying. "Really? We have nothing, don't act stupid," you shoot back, and while it's true, there is nothing between you, that still doesn't stop Nagi's jealousy. He can be as stubborn as he can be lazy sometimes, and his mind had been stuck on you for a while now. The solution is simple, getting you back on his bed - and while he may not be a charmer, like Reo, he has gotta try something.
"You know they can't fuck you like I do, right? Why even try, it's a hassle," Nagi lowers his face close to yours, trying to see if the proximity bends you towards falling for his smug boast. You freeze for a second, taken aback by the heat from his breath touching your skin, hazy eyes finally focusing on his. There is a silent moment before you grunt and try to push him off again, still failing against his hulking size. Nagi uses his free hand to hold one of your wrists, keeping your fist glued to his chest with a grin.
"This is stupid, let me go, Nagi," you groan out in a tired voice - and using his last name, something you only did when frustrated. Your half lidded eyes move from his face to his hand as you weakly try to struggle, lips almost coming into a pout as you speak. Once again, it's cute, your mind too slow to properly react. He can feel your breath speeding up, chest rising and falling with your pants - Nagi can't tell if you are scared or aroused, you always did like being restrained. To him, it could go either way.
"I missed you," he came closer, breathing out in your ear. "I missed fucking that pretty pussy," it's crude, but it's the truth - and it makes him sound less clingy. You struggle, groaning his name as he holds your hand to his chest, fingers wrapped tight around your wrist - he can feel your pulse on his fingertips, your heart beating fast. Nagi's mouth hovers over yours, hot breath fanning your skin. "Come on now, if you don't want it, just say it," he doesn't give you time for that, crashing his lips against yours in a flash.
His kiss is rough and desperate, assaulting your soft lips with passion. You still squirm, but Nagi is just too strong, one hand caging you against the counter, the other holding your forearm tight to his chest. When you try to say something, he slips his tongue in your mouth, exploring your warm wetness. You try to push him off but fail, and it doesn't take very much for your protests to begin to fade. You just let him push you against the kitchen counter and explore the taste of your mouth, mind too dazed and tired to tell the body to fight back, your own muscles too heavy to react.
It takes a little longer for you to kiss him back, hands still trying to push him away for a long minute before you finally give in. When you do, though, Nagi is all too eager to pounce on your heavy and sluggish body - if you smoked enough you'd generally turn out like him, and he remembered spending a good few afternoons lazying with you just like that. But now there is no slow afternoon, only the rushed beating of his heart as his hands desperately travel over your body, groping and kneading whatever they touched in a frenzy. The body haze caused by the weed made your body feel even more pliable to his touch, which only made things better, your skin welcoming his long fingers in a warm embrace. Shit, when he notices it, he is already rubbing his clothed hips against your body, rutting into you like a damn dog.
When his patience finally runs dry, Nagi drags you into the bathroom near the kitchen - you are so easy to just manhandle when you are high, it takes almost no effort at all. The minute he locks the door, he already has you shoved against a wall, your yelps being drowned by the muffled music coming from outside. He takes one moment to look at you again, and fuck, you are so pretty like this, looking vulnerable and small against his towering frame. He feels like his cock is already about to burst just from the sigh alone, pants feeling way too tight for his comfort, so he doesn't take very long to go back to kissing you.
"Sei," you manage to cry out when his lips wander to your ear, kissing your soft lobe, feeling the velvety touch of your skin. "Seishiro, we shouldn't - hmmf," your words a cut by a whimper when Nagi bites into your sensitive skin. "We are in Reo's bathroom, we gotta stop, you can't," you try to squirm, but he holds your body tight between his and the wall - all your moving around does is make the tightness in his pants even worse.
"Hah, Reo is busy with some random girl, he isn't even gonna notice," Nagi responds in a grunt, warm breath fanning over the skin of your neck before he bites at it, making you tremble. " 'sides, you say to stop, but your body says something else," he punctuated his words by rubbing his clothed thigh against your crotch. You react with a whine and deep shudder, whole body trembling when you feel one of his hands grope your breast over your shirt, teasing your already perky nipples with a smirk. Honestly, Nagi was surprised you still had the mind to try and resist, but your body's increased sensitivity made it hard for you to actually put up any fight.
Nagi sucks and nibbles at your neck, pulling a reluctant moan from your throat, your shaky noises growing deeper and more lowed. His large hands travel down and slip under your clothes, feeling the heat of your skin on his fingertips. The thin fabric of your shirt poses no challenge to him as he exposes your breasts. You whine and whimper, clinging to his black hoodie, muttering things he can't really discern. Nagi gropes your tits as his lips crash into yours, pulling you into a rough kiss again. When he is finally satisfied with exploring your mouth with his tongue he moves to a new target. You cry out his name when you feel his lips on your nipple, fingers tugging at his hair, soft white locks messed up from the mask he'd worn for the first half of the party.
While Nagi's mouth is busy with your breast his hands roam lower, rubbing over your thigh and then trailing up until they find the edge of your skirt, feeling the rough touch of the jeans. He unceremoniously pulls it up - and it's not even that long a climb until your skirt bunches around your hips, exposing your panties. Nagi has no interest in the soft black material so he pushes them to the side, rubbing his fingers over your wet lips before sinking them into your plush pussy and earning a breathy gasp from you. You call his name again and Nagi's lips once more find yours, silencing your words with his tongue.
He thrusts his fingers into your damp cunt, feeling your soft walls like a welcoming touch. His free hand kneads your breast as your tongues dance against each other in a sloppy mess of a kiss. You tremble against him, moans silenced by his mouth as he uses his thumb to massage your clit while his middle and index finger are sunk knuckle deep into you. Oh, yeah, you feel so warm, so wet and soft inside, he can't wait to be balls deep into that hungry pussy of yours. It doesn't take long for you to be giving into pleasure - weed did always make you more sensitive, and he fucking loved taking advantage of your state whenever you got like that. In a few minutes he has you clenching around his fingers, juices dripping down his hand and onto the floor, body trembling in ecstasy as the only sounds you make are broken gasps.
Nagi doesn't wait a moment longer, long fingers fumbling with his zipper while trying to open his pants and free his aching cock. The thick length throbs, veins popping all around the shaft, the swollen head leaking precum already, begging for the sweet touch of your tight pussy. While you are still basking in the fading light of your own orgasm, eyelids fluttering with every shaky breath , Nagi pulls you up by the hips, pressing you against the wall again to keep you in place as he shoves his cock into you in one swift movement. The gasp you give out when you feel him sinking all the way inside is loud - and for a moment he thinks that maybe it could have been heard from the outside, but by this point he doesn't give a shit.
You whimper and grab onto his shoulders when Nagi begins moving, keeping you tight against the wall as his hips move back and forth in a wave motion, slamming against your own with each thrust. He fucks you like a beast, indulging in the multiple sensations ravaging his body at the moment - the smell of your perfume, the warmth of your skin, the way your pussy clenches around him so tight. Nagi wastes no time to get to what he wants, hammering into you hard and fast until you are both moaning and groaning along the sloppy noises of your sex. Once again he feels like a damn dog, but he doesn't really mind - not when your cunt feels so snug and so warm around him, soft, gummy walls stretching to fit his massive dick. Maybe that's why he was so addicted, your pussy took his thick and long cock better than any he'd fucked before.
He fucks you on instinct, mind blank from the pleasure, only taking in the sensations and nothing else. Every nerve on his body is lighting up, making everything feel so clear and intense, from the sweat beading on his neck to the loud drumming of his heart. Nagi can feel clear as day the heat of your skin like lava to his touch, wherever his fingers sunk they could burn down to the bone, it's like your flesh could melt together.
You are making noises he can't even categorize, weak little sounds that die on his tongue whenever he assaults your lips, but they still sound loud to his ears - loud and erotic. All you can do is cling to him, arms and legs wrapped around his frame, your body so vulnerable under his touch, eyes even more dazed and unfocused than they were before. God, that's his favorite sight, for sure, he loves it when you are that gone - mind too lost to the drugs and the sex to even register the world around.
Soon Nagi begins speeding up, chasing after his own high. He can feel the coil in his gut tightening, pleasure climbing until it nears pain. Every thrust pulls at the edges of his sanity, his movements becoming more erratic as his mind starts to slip into that blissfully emptiness only sex could bring. Part of him wanted to prolong the moment, but he is far too gone for that, far too lost to the pleasure of your body. Your warm pussy clenches around him and Nagi shudders, his cock throbbing and twitching in response. His groans turn more and more into guttural sounds as the sets on fire every nerve in his body. He can feel his balls tight and heavy, begging for release, begging to fill your pussy with his cum.
And that he does. When his orgasm finally hits him, Nagi sees starts take over his vision, all the muscles in his body tightening at the same time as ecstasy floods his system. He buries his cock balls deep into you as it shoots rope after rope of his thick, sticky cum, flooding your quivering pussy with it. Shit, he'd missed that, missed painting your walls white and feeling like he'd claimed you'd body for him. It's almost nasty, you are both sweating, breathless, and he is still pumping a big load deep into your cunt - it's so big that he can already feel the cum spilling from your lips and down his balls, until it drops onto the floor. That's when the door opens.
"Oh, come on," Reo breaks the eye contact he'd held with Nagi for a moment with a pissed off grunt, slamming the door and making you flinch. "The bathroom? I gave you a room in this fucking house, man!" Oh, yeah, Nagi had been too horny to remember that - well, what's done is done.
#seishiro nagi x reader#nagi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi seishiro#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader
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main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦
kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña
prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]
word count : 5.1 k
summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction
warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol
a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!
“What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice.
“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder.
“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face.
“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient.
“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair.
“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him.
“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it.
“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs.
The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction.
He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)
It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing.
So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely.
You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk.
You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place.
You recognize the website he’s on.
You’d know that red bar anywhere.
There’s no fucking way.
You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.
Archive of Our Own beta
And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction.
You’re so fucked.
You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan.
That somehow hurts worse.
Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.
In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants.
You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car.
Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed.
You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head.
It doesn’t.
You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you.
Stupid fucking Peña.
You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone.
Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one.
[ I’m coming over. ]
Son of a bitch.
You quickly scroll through the previous messages.
[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]
[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]
[ Please just text me back. ]
[ I really liked your story. ]
[ I’m sorry. ]
There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else.
He liked your story.
Why does that make your face burn up?
You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole.
Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat.
“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face.
“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous.
“I just wanna talk.”
You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead.
“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence.
“Your file.” He says sheepishly.
“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”
“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough.
“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.
“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze.
“Why did you read it?”
“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.
“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm.
“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better.
“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly.
“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown.
“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know.
“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation.
“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”
“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction.
“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now.
“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse.
“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.
“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.
“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms.
“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively.
“You said I dress like your grandma.”
“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.
“How the fuck is that a compliment?”
“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious.
“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion.
“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face.
“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit.
“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff.
“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away.
“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”
“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down.
“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”
“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind.
“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly.
“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again.
You both know what that means.
“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.
“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home.
“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door.
“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady.
“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting.
“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.
“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him.
This is exactly what happens in your story.
“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are.
“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth.
“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?
“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”
You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her.
He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.
“Don’t mock me.”
“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.
You finally snap.
“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded.
“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss.
“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions.
“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically.
“You keep saying that.” You whisper.
“It’s true.”
“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further.
“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.”
“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious.
“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”
“Unrealistic?” You feign offense.
“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end.
Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise.
“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked.
“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud.
“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red.
“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”
“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering.
“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.
“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed.
“Well I’ve kissed people before.”
“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”
“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”
“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm.
“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“Oh come on, you said it was good!”
“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back.
“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly.
“Seriously?” You glare at him.
“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine.
“So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing.
“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you.
“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous.
“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else.
“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh.
“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle.
“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?”
“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things.
“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.
“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before.
“What do I do first?”
“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip.
“What do I do next?” You look up at him.
“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth.
After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady.
“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips.
“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down.
You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you.
His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs.
“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats.
“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed.
“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide.
“Why?”
“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here.
Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition.
But here he is.
Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.
“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.
“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in.
It doesn’t take much from there.
His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours.
“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point.
“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom.
“Okay.”
“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock.
“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs.
You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.
God, you wish you’d done this sooner.
It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours.
“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth.
“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile.
“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”
“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him.
“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you.
“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.
“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes.
“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.
“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you.
“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you.
“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out.
“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.
a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.
#lincolndjarin#kinktober#kinktober 2023#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#javier pena x you#javier peña / reader#javier pena smut
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Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 1/7)
Since the edited episodes are starting to come out, I figured that bc of that and the fact that I've been keeping this in the back burner for a loooong while now, might as well complete all my friendlocke violet gijinkas!! Some are gonna stay the same while others are gonna have slight/ complete redesigns, so please keep that in mind!
I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv
(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)
!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!
@saltydkart-reblogs
And that's pretty much it, designs under the cut!
LARK:
HUGE nerd. spent most of his time during the Uva Academy studying different kinds of pokemon as well as different fighting styles he can utilize once he is able to go out on his own journey with his very own trainer! Too bad that didn't really help in the long run...
His entire wardrobe consists of McDonald's related outfits. It's fucking insane. He even has some from long LONG ago that aren't available anywhere else.
The bubble pattern on his hair is able to move and change. Nobody knows how this is possible, not even Lark himself. All Lark knows is that his hair looks incredibly stylish!
Speaking of bubbles, he has the ability to blow bubbles whenever and wherever he pleases!
Often keeps himself extremely clean and gets upset if even a small speck of dirt gets on him, despite this he somehow smells like McDonald's food and axe body spray. Disgusting. He's so cool!
Even after death he still likes to hang around the other team members as a ghost, often getting to know the newer members as well as reuniting with the old ones. Sometimes they see him, sometimes they don't. It usually depends.
SARA:
Due to being a human in her past life, Sara is able to actually speak with the other humans in the pokemon world. However she usually doesn't due to it being seen as extremely weird and out of place. She did slip up once while talking in the presence of Arven, who thought it was the weed making him hear things.
Oinkologne are usually unable to do much with their hooves but Sara spent nights practicing how to knit with her new hooves and now she's able to do it flawlessly. I don't know how she managed to do that but go queen!
When first joining the team she'd often have the urge to eat her food related companions. It was a strange time for Sara, but she managed to overcome it.
When Peppy gets sick, she usually is the one who nurses him back to health. She was a human once so she often is able to figure out whatever sickness Peppy has and treat it properly. I suppose she's like a second mother to him.
The bag she carries with her is full of thread that she collected from various Tarountula she encountered on the journey, as well as little things she knits together in her spare time.
For the most part, Sara forgives... but NEVER forgets.
Did you guys know that Sara has a new YouTube channel? Check it out!
Pastey:
Before joining the team, Pastey was a nameless wanderer. He's been down every road in Paldea and knows almost the entire region (except for Area Zero) like the back of his hand.
He's gotten hurt pretty badly throughout the run (ie. the Mikey fight, the Atticus fight, and ESPECIALLY the final battle), however, he does not gain any (physical) scars from those fights. This is bc he's basically an axolotl, and axolotls are usually able to heal without scarring.
Pastey's "arms" are, to put it simply, mud prosthetics. More info here vvv
Pastey HAS met Mall Bingo once before the run, however, he doesn't recognize her. The only reason he does not recognize her is bc she wears glasses. (You know how people somehow aren't able to recognize Superman bc he wears glasses in his civilian attire even tho his face remains the same? It's basically like that lmao)
Unlike the lightbulbs he eats, the gasoline he drinks isn't really mandatory to his diet. Gasoline is like alcohol to him and he drinks it like an absolute CHAMP.
He goes fishing when there's nothing else to do or when he can't sleep at night. He doesn't do this bc he thinks it's fun or anything, only bc it's a "good time passer" or so he claims. Other members of the team will often sit with him and vent out anything that's troubling them at the moment, and Pastey is always there to listen to them.
And that's pretty much it. Next is Joe, Hannah Ü, and Mykyie!
#I am a firm believer that Sara can and will beat ass#No i do NOT plan on making gijinka designs for Chatbike and Phil sorry guys#just getting that out of the way i know how much yall love phil /j /lh#Anyways it feels so good to finally start on this like holy moly#also idk when the others will be done... HOWEVER...#The sketches for Joe Hannah and Mikey are already pretty much done I just gotta make em digital#so ideally they'll be out pretty soonish I'd say... I hope#but yeah if anyone has any questions abt them feel free to send them in my askbox and I'll be happy to answer them as best as i can!#<- No anons tho sorry yall#Also I need to be honest here Lark's outfit kinda does look atrocious and I couldve changed it... BUT...#I honestly thought it was WAY funnier if Lark's attire looked weird on purpose so I kept it like that lol#Anyways sorry for the word vomit here are the tags#friendlocke#friendlocke violet#saltydkdan#should my gijinkas have their own tag...? Sure why not#Violet Gijinka Au#cherris canvas
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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 26 all chapters
WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘
-The next day, he does not even try to ply you with the promise of release. He is not cruel, but he simply takes what he wants from your increasingly sore body, offering nothing in return. You almost prefer this, at this point, except he is absolutely running you ragged. You’d thought you could wear him out with your advantage of youth, but this man is fucking insatiable.
By the next day, you can’t stop yourself from begging, when he wakes you with insistent kisses on your neck and sweet nothings delivered with a growl in your ear. “John…I can’t,” you whine. “Please, I need a break.”
He dismisses this with a disbelieving snort, thinking you are crying wolf, no doubt. But when he flips you to fuck you from behind, something he’s grown increasingly fond of over the past few days, because he likes the shape of your ass, the tight angle—or that he doesn’t have to look into your accusing expression—you find yourself crying into the pillow.
It hurts.
You are bruised to the point where you cannot sit comfortably, and even with the impossible buckets of slick your body has somehow produced in his presence, he has rubbed you raw.
And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
This is the litany that runs through your mind, and it breaks your heart more than anything else he’s done to you so far. That he is so far gone in his madness that you hardly recognize him…
This is the thing that breaks you, and certainly not in the way he intended.
You start to cry even harder into the pillow, the wound in your heart far more devastating to you than anything physical. You feel it in your chest like you did take a blade or a bullet, an agonizing ache that makes you wish for numbness more than anything that has transpired. This is worse than the kidnapping, worse than him dangling you on the edge of pleasure for days on end.
This is the thing that will sap your will to live, and you can almost see the spiraling dark maw of the abyss that looms before you.
This is also the only thing for days that has given him the slightest pause. He drapes himself over you to gather you in his arms.
“Are you crying, baby girl?”
“Yes,” you sniff.
You’ve pretty much taken everything he’s thrown at you until now with a lifted chin and a do your worst. Tears of despair actually seem to throw him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re hurting me, and you don’t care.” You know you sound as despondent as you feel. “The man I fell for protected me, he killed for me, but I never thought he would hurt me. Who even are you?” A new wave of anguish makes you sob into the pillow. It is not pretty crying, sweet glittering tears sliding down your cheeks. This is ugly crying, the expulsion of pain from the darkest depths of your soul, and once it starts you cannot stop.
He goes still as a statue behind you, ceasing even to breathe, the only motion the throb of his rock-hard cock still buried inside you. You do not know if you have displeased him, and he’s dreaming up some new punishment—or if just this once, he actually hears you.
You’re not exactly a religious person, but you find yourself praying to whatever laughing god that might take mercy on you, that he finally hears you.
He stays like this for what feels like an eternity, but can’t be more than a minute at most.
You are shocked, when carefully he slides out you, rolling to pull you against his chest, his big hand protectively cradling the side of your head, holding you hard enough to squeeze the breath from you. You realize, to your astonishment, he is shaking too, and he lets out a long, slow breath, pressing his lips to your hair.
This would have inspired excitement in you, if you weren’t so goddammed exhausted. Wrung out, body and soul. As it is, it takes all your control not to break down and weep again. He doesn’t say he’s sorry outright, but he holds you like he is. At this point, you’ll take what you can get amidst this madness you’re trapped in.
He kisses you again with a promise of, “I’ll be back,” and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the taps of the bathtub running. This too, you have learned to dread. But you cannot fight him, when he returns to scoop you up in his arms, and lowers the two of you together in the rising warm water.
You wait for the usual shenanigans—but they do not come. He just…holds you, and you only keep yourself together by a thread. With a tremulous sigh of relief you dare to settle further into his arms, savoring this closeness without the threat of sex in the air.
“I’m sorry,” he says against the top of your head. “You just…you make me crazy.”
It’s perhaps the closest thing to the truth he’s said since you’ve gotten here.
“I’ll give you a rest,” he promises, and if you hadn’t been sitting you might have fallen over with surprise.
“Thank you,” you say, relieved to the tips of your toes, kissing him sweetly. It’s a gentle press of lips that curls your toes, and a strangled little sound escapes from somewhere deep in his chest.
You pretend not to see it, but there is a glitter of a tear in the corner of his eye too.
After a little while he kisses your cheek, saying again, “I’ll be back.”
You watch him exit the tub and cinch a towel around his narrow waist. Despite everything, you admit that you have yet to tire of the view. Water beading on that man’s skin is a thing to inspire the songs of angels.
Or demons, perhaps, but either way it is divine to behold.
You wait, but he doesn’t return.
You linger in the water until it begins to cool, wondering what he’s up to.
It is telling of what a cautious creature you’ve become, for the way you are reluctant to move from the place he left you. But your fingers are turning to prunes, so you get out of the bath, drying yourself off and slathering yourself with the wonderful smelling lotion he’d gifted you, that cost a whole day’s pay from your time at the coffee shop.
It is hard not to gauge the cost of things against hours of your life, when you work in service. What are your hours worth now? You realize you don’t even know what day it is.
For the first time in a while you take a moment to actually look at yourself in the mirror. Your body is riddled with constellations of love bites in various states of healing, bruises in every shade of the rainbow. John Wick has marked you in just about every way a man can, yet still, you hold out.
Perhaps it is you who is delusional about this situation.
When you exit the bathroom you freeze in your tracks, hardly believing your eyes. The door—THE DOOR!—is hanging wide open, almost in invitation.
Rather than excitement, your first reaction is a thrill of fear running down your spine, as you wonder if it is a sick test.
But in the end, you cannot resist.
Wary of appearances, you throw on one of your numerous new silky nighties and a blue robe that is impossibly soft upon your skin. What mad woman would attempt to make an escape dressed like this? You hope the odds are in your favor.
On soft feet you pad to the top of the stairs, peeking over the landing. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafts up towards you, and the sound of something frying in the kitchen. Cautiously you descend, making your way towards the promise of culinary delights.
For the second time in ten minutes, the sight before you makes you freeze in your tracks.
John is busy cooking in the kitchen, wearing a black kimono-style robe that gapes over his bare chest. He is very intently reading a recipe, whipping something in a bowl, and watching a sizzling hot pan.
You stand there, still as a statue, drinking in the sight until Dog blows your cover, trotting over to greet you with a wagging tail. You get down on your knees to hug him and scratch his ears. You have not seen him since your first escape attempt, and though you strangely hadn’t really doubted John would keep his word, you are relieved to receive proof of life.
“How does French toast sound?” John asks, as though today is a normal day in a string of normal days, and you live and eat together like two normal people who cohabitate.
“It sounds lovely,” you admit, cautiously perching on one of the barstools. “Can I help?”
“No, sweetheart, let me take care of you.” You wonder if this is more to keep you away from the potential weapon of a heavy, hot pan full of bacon and grease, but you are fine to sit and watch him.
You notice the knife block is completely emptied of blades.
When you are seated together in the breakfast nook, your legs tangled under the little table, dining off melamine plates with plastic utensils but enjoying a very good meal none the less, John throws you for yet another curveball.
“I’m sorry, that I’ve been so…insatiable,” he says. He could have knocked you off your stool with a feather. “I…” He shakes his head, clenching his fist on the table, the tendons in his forearm popping. “I just want you, so much.”
Your lip quivers at hearing that, and the truth spills from your lips before you can even think to hold it in. “I want to be wanted by you, John! It’s all I’ve wanted, since…the first moment I saw you.” If you’re being honest. “But all this…?” You wave your hands in an encompassing manner, unsure how else to express what he’s put you through.
It’s a lot, would be the understatement of the year. You’re not able to get it out though, because there’s a stone lodged in your throat, and suddenly you’re not sure if you want to cry or throw up.
Seeing you’re distressed again, he opens his arms to you. “C’mere.” It’s like walking into the claws of the dragon, you know, but you shuffle over to fall into his lap anyway. How insane is it, that this man is the flame that burns you, and the only balm that soothes you? He holds you tight against his chest, rocking you gently. You manage not to cry again, but you can’t stop shaking for a long time.
Only once you settle down does he speak again. “You are tough, you know that? I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”
You blink, unsure for a good minute what the fuck to say to that. The truth is that it is unfathomable, what savagery women can endure, when they have to. You’re not sure you want to say that aloud to him.
It might come off as a challenge.
You are hardly winning any trophies for fastest comeback, when finally you quip into his collarbone, “You forgot you’re dealing with a junior blackbelt. We are trained in the ways…”
He looks down at you for a long second, as though he’s not sure if you’re joking or not. And then it is like the sun breaking from the clouds when he smiles, a genuine, toothy flash of mirth that mercilessly squeezes your heart in your chest. He looks almost boyish in that moment, and it is beautiful to behold.
“So I forgot,” he admits, kissing your forehead.
“I guess you’re like…50th dan or some shit?” you ask, referring to his own belt ranking.
He chuckles at that, though there is a note of melancholy beneath it. “We don’t count dan where I trained, sweetheart. Just bodies on the ground.”
“That’s a lovely thought over breakfast…”
He snorts. “You remind me of me, you know, when I was younger,” he tells you quietly.
“How so?” you ask, thinking you’re not that tough.
“Too stubborn for my own good.” He smiles again, softer this time, but no less heartbreaking. He is not making fun of you. It is almost like he’s…commiserating with you, and it’s weird as hell. “I’ll give you a week to heal. Alright?”
You didn’t expect him to give you an hour, much less a week. “Okay…”
“Ok, what?” he prompts with a smirk, that breathtaking twinkle in his eye that makes you want to throttle him and kiss him all at once.
You can hardly refrain from rolling your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”
He sighs at hearing it, like a sated lion.
You wonder if he’ll keep his word.
#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#keanu reeves x reader#john wick fic#yandere john wick#bittersweet john wick imagine
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Kinky things with the Recoms
Characters: Miles Quaritch, Lyle Wainfleet, Mansk, Z-dog, Lopez, Prager, Sean Fike & Ja
Yea I excluded Brown, Warren, Walker and Zhang because… I just couldn’t characterize them rn
Warnings: SMUT, breeding kink, spanking, scenting, jerking off into panties, daddy kink, spit, choking, pain kink
A/N: just a bit of Recom thirsting while I work on the fics
Miles Quaritch ~ breeding kink
Everybody saw this one coming. This man loves making babies and just the thrill of the possibility of getting you pregnant.
He’ll have his dog tags hitting your back while he fucks you from behind, one hand tightly wrapped around your hair as he grunts about how he’s going to fill you up and make you a mommy. One of his big hands will find your lower stomach, stroking over it longingly as he imagines your curves filling out. God, you’ll be a real sight.
Will have you ride him in the cowgirl position so he can watch as his seed slips back out of you after he cums, continuing fucking your tight cunt. He’ll make you lean back slightly so he can see every little drag of your lips along his length. “Look so good, sweetheart,” he praises you. “Nice and bred.”
Miles loves pushing his cum back in with his fingers or having you cockwarm him after sex. He wants to assure his cum stays in you as much as possible, whispering to you how he won’t take any chances.
Lyle Wainfleet ~ Spanking
Any excuse to call you a naughty girl, he will happily take. He’ll lick his lips as he imagines what he’ll do to you later to punish you for whatever you did wrong, though he already knows exactly what he’ll be doing.
You’ll be laid over Lyle’s lap completely naked, his hand slowly massaging from your soft ass up to your neck. When he reaches your head, he tugs it back roughly by your hair, bringing his mouth to your ear. “Couldn’t help yourself before, could you, baby? Don’t worry, daddy Lyle will teach you some manners.”
He’ll bring his hand down onto your ass repeatedly, making you count every single hit in between your moans and yelps. If you lose count, he’ll tsk and tell you you’ll pay for that later.
When he’s done your ass is marked with welts in the shape of his fingers. After a slow massage and some soothing cooing of how well you’d done, you would normally be done, unless you lost count.
In that case he’ll lay you out on the bed, making you spread your legs and having your hands grab tightly onto the sheets. He’ll slap his hand against your wet, sensitive cunt. He’s far gentler than when he spanks your ass, but he still keeps on going till tears stream down your cheeks, begging and pleading with him that you won’t forget next time, that you’ll be good. The way he eats you out aftwards is divine though.
Mansk ~ Scenting
He loves to make you smell like him till the point that other Avatars regularly comment on it. He’s not really with the whole mating through Tsaheylu thing yet, but he still wants everyone to be aware that you’re his even when he isn’t by your side.
Will scent you through having you wear his clothes, sleep in his bed and just plain out rubbing against you. He loves smelling the nape of you’re neck when you’re naked and instantly recognizing his own scent.
Cumming both inside you and all over your body is a big thing for him. He wants every spot on your body to be marked by him and his release is the perfect way to do that. Plus it paints a pretty picture, his cock instantly getting hard again when he sees your face or tits covered in his seed.
Eagerly smear his cock past your lips or face and he’ll be seeing heaven. Messy blowjobs are his favorite.
Loves your scent as well. Will ask you to grind your wet cunt onto his shirt so he can smell it later. Is also a bit of panty thief for this reason but isn’t secretive about it, returning them unwashed after he’s jacked off in them.
Zdinarsk aka Z-dog ~ Spit
This is one mean gal and she tends to stay that way in the bedroom.
Will force your mouth open with one hand as the other is busy hammering her fingers into your cunt. “Needy bitch.” She’ll groan as she watches you. “Stick your tongue out.” As soon as you do so she forces your face lower till she can hover hers above it, letting her spit dribble slowly into your mouth. She’ll force your jaw shut, smirking evilly as she gives you no choice but to swallow her spit. And when you do, she’ll laugh and give you a nice slap across your cheek in reward. “You actually did it! God, you’re such a fucking slut.”
The type to spit on her hand to lube your cunt up with it before she fingers you or grinds her own wetness against yours. Something about hearing the lewd, wet squelches after your privates are nice and covered in spit sends a shiver down her spine.
Will be sloppy during both kissing and eating you out, making sure that your arousal and her spit gets everywhere. When she goes down on you she won’t stop till your thighs are coated and your wetness has stained even the bridge of her nose.
Lopez ~ Pain
Did you see all his tattoos? He loves a physical challenge. He’ll want to go all out with his partner, lots of the fucking resulting in bruises and tiny cuts.
Lopez wants your nails to scratch at his skin till he bleeds, wants your teeth to sink into his shoulders and your hips to buck into his till he feels they might break. He wants you to fuck him hard.
He’ll be bit rough himself as well, throwing you around to change positions and having no issue with tightly holding your hands behind your back or slamming you against a wall to take you like he might die tomorrow. He just wants you to be the one who’s giving the real pain.
Ride his face without reservation while sinking your teeth into the skin surrounding his lower abdomen and pelvic area and he’ll fall in love instantly.
Prager ~ Praise kink
Just wants you to praise him while you stroke his cock. Wants to hear how handsome he looks as he moans and how big he is in your hand.
Prager loves it when you kiss along his body, looking up at him through your lashes and blessing him with little smiles.
Will fuck into you with all he has while nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His groans and pants sound so good in your ear, and you hold onto the back of his head lovingly. Will love it if you tell him explicitly how good he’s making you feel and how deep his cock is going inside you.
Might like being a called a good boy way too much. His hips will instantly start stuttering when you do so, his orgasm never far behind.
Sean Fike ~ Choking
He just loves to wrap his hands around your throat while he fucks in missionary, grinning madly at the sight of your pretty eyes rolling back.
Over the years he’s become somewhat of an expert at how to choke someone till they’re just at the edge, and if you allow him he’ll gladly take you there in bed. There’s nothing more mind reeling than cumming as soon as air flows back into your lungs.
Will want you to beg him to choke you. He’ll ignore it the first couple of times before his hand will snap to your neck, his grip tight. “Don’t forget that you asked for this, doll.” Is all you hear him groan before he squeezes.
Choking on his cock is also a sight he loves seeing. He’ll grab you by the hair and slam his cock down your throat suddenly while you’re sucking it, enjoying the way you gag and push at him as you choke. Doing it while he orgasms is even better, allowing him to watch you cough up his cum, your pretty mouth quickly becoming stained and thick strings of his spend hanging from them.
Ja ~ Outdoor sex
He loves to get down and dirty in, well, the actual dirt. He’ll chase you outside like an animal before throwing you down to the ground and grinding against your ass. He won’t mind mud or grass getting on him or you, pushing your face down with no regard of what’s below you.
Ja will drill you into the ground or fuck you up against a tree with a haste that he never usually has. It’s not that he minds getting caught, the thought actually quite thrilling to him, but something about being surrounded by all this nature gives him the need to fuck you hard and fast.
Doesn’t mind staying outside for days, taking you to a creek to wash off whenever you get too dirty. And then instantly taints you again by thrusting his cock into you till both your cunt and ass are filled with his cum.
#smut#miles quaritch x reader#lyle wainfleet x reader#z dog x reader#mansk x reader#Lopez x reader#Prager x reader#fike x reader#ja x reader#atwow#avatar the way of water#avatar#atwow x reader#na'vi x reader#na’vi smut#Recoms#miles quaritch#lyle wainfleet#lyle x reader#quaritch x reader#Mansk#Lopez#Prager#Sean Fike#Z-dog#zdinarsk#Ja
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Your honor, I humbly request that the Chain find out that reader has tattoos.
Some are easy to see and explain, “this is my mother’s favorite flower,” “I just like butterflies.”
Some are harder to explain, quotes from video games, references that are really important to reader but mean literally nothing to the Chain.
One is kept hidden pointedly. Just behind their ear on one side is the triforce, tattooed carefully. It’s covered up by hair most of the time (because let’s be honest, your hair hasn’t been cut in a bit since joining the chain, so if it was short before it’s kinda grown out by now) but one day the wind blows in just the right way or someone tries to braid Reader’s hair or maybe Reader just pushed it out of the way because it was annoying them. In any case, one of the boys sees this and recognizes it and now they have a *lot* of questions.
-VS
Tattoo or taboo?
Oooooo I love this idea! The boys would definitely be interested in tattoos AND ypur triforce.
Reader is assumed to have hair long enough to tuck behind their ear and cover a tattoo behind their ear.
Your tattoos aren't something you've been hiding, you just weren't sure that the boys would even know what they were.
What if the boys wanted a tattoo? You don't have the proper equipment! (Assuming you even CAN tattoo.)
But for whatever reason it hasn't come up until now.
An injury has revealed the top half of your body to the world, which includes some tattoos.
"You have such odd markings." Twilight says, leaning closer to a floral tattoo
"You mean my tattoos?"
"Tatt-whos?" Wind echoes with the wring pronunciation.
"Tattoos. They're ink."
"You draw on yourself? This one is on your shoulder balde!" Hyrule is now examining your tattoos.
"Someone else did them."
You then have to explain what tattoos are, how they're done, and the importance of the right artist with proper equipment.
Wind is IN LOVE with tattoos. He's probably seen them and just thought they were makeup/marker. He does spend time with pirates
Wild probably knows what tattoos are. If I understand the lore right his Impa has tattoos and so do other shiekah. He's just glad you
Legend and Four are also pretty interested, but they're not nearly as obvious
Twilight, Hyrule, and Sky want to know EVERY meaning (to you) behind each tattoo. They're all very intrigued.
Warriors and Time aren't against tattoos, but they figure that's your buissness. They're happy to help you with upkeep, though.
However, you are still hiding the triforce behind your ear. That one is one ypu ate keeping from them. Explaining that one would be a nightmare.
Wind is definitely bouncing tattoo ideas for himself off of you.
Unfortunately, your secret tattoo is found out one day after having to pull/pin your hair out of the eay.
"What is that?" Warriors asks, the first to see it.
Well, fuck yo.
Well fuck indeed
"What's what?" Wind asks helpfully, turning his full attention to you.
"Uhhhhh-"
One by one, each of the boys notices it.
And they have questions
Mostly why, how, and are you a hero too?
You choose the easiest route.
"My world is really far removed from any of your's. Your stories have ended up part of pop culture."
"People think we're pop culture?" Legend asks, looking upset.
"Yes. But none of us knew you were real. We thought it was all made up."
"You must live in a peaceful time." Wild says.
"Uhhh- there's no ganon or demise or anything like that."
"Good." Sky says, something in his face softer.
It takes some explaining, but you avoid telling them that not only are they not real to your time, but that people play as them through their adventures.
That seems like the kindest thing
Sometimes you have to leave things out
You also have to promise not to treat their stories as fiction anymore.
#lu#linkeduniverse#misty writes#linked universe x reader#lu four#lu hyrule#lu legend#lu sky#lu time#lu twilight#lu warriors#lu wild#lu wind
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I've finally finished my Danganronpa AU personal project! I personally call it
DANGANRONPA: DEMIX
And yeah, all the swaps as you can see above, and these guys in the middle are the replacements for Monokuma and Usami respectively:
Check out under the cut for some design insights on my take AND closer pictures of each pair:
Finally finished my personal AU project. I hope it's to everyone's liking!
I can go on forever about these designs but I'll limit myself to one-two sentences on some facts about the designs.
Mikan: Mikan's face tattoo was commissioned on her against her will so that she can never hide her nature as a Yakuza, but her leg tattoo was done on purpose, and she and Nagito have matching tattoos on their legs, his is just hidden most the time.
Nagito: He is usually seen with a spear and prefers the weapon over the sword, but he is more famous for his natural skill with the blade. That said, he resents the blade and wishes he could be recognized for the things he actually works hard to do, like throwing spears or protecting Mikan and her family.
Ibuki: I kept her design very similar to her base design because she pretty much just looks like a student, and I don't want to change anyone's personality so there's no reason for her to not get highlights. But I gave her some more symmetry in this design and gave her a cute little semi ahoge I guess with a hair tie, bc she doesn't naturally have one.
Imposter/Gamemaster: Yeah I made the big brain choice to keep him with his colors as "Byakuya" because it made for a more striking visual, and more recognizeable as the impostor. Also I made him too tall because I wanted to give him big legs lol.
Hiyoko: Her four cats are named Heart (scraggly cat), Mr. Pearls (sleepy cat), Big Red (Giant cat), and BB (black cat) bc canonically the four dark devas are named after shonen manga, I named her cats after pokemon games, which she canonically likes playing. Also chickens are her favorite animal, despite her love of cats.
Kazuichi: Kazuichi's not a natural born prince, through shenanigans it turns out he's extremely distantly related to some royal line in a microstate north of germany called "Nordsumpf." Their main exports are cars and Kazuichi is still new to being a prince.
"Kyoko": She'd try her best to act like Kyoko, but she's a little too meek and openy affectionate to pull it off properly. Also her knockers are way bigger than Kyoko's, so there's an immediate discrepancy to the trained eye.
Also in my au of DR1, Kyoko is the ultimate affluent progeny and Makoto is author/serial killer.
Hajime: His hair is actually extremely long back there, he just keeps it tied up. On shows he lets it all out and a wears red contacts, his stage name is "Izuru."
Sonia: Sonia became a team manager because she was escaping an assasination attempt, strolled into a junior laegue soccer game, took over for the coach and started just barking orders and the team won. They were the worst team in the whole league and after that she just sorta stuck around them and won them the championships.
Gundham: Gundham was orginally meant to wear the japanese flag… but there was too much white in his design so I cut it. He has names for all of his gymnast moves and he announces them very loudly when he does any of them.
Peko: I tried to give Peko a unique sort of "zombie survivor" kinda vibe so while she's clearly a mechanic first she can also just fucking kill you by braining you with that monkey wrench. Most of the time she's cool though, she's just like horribly dependent on other people to tell her what to do, so she attaches to Kazuichi because he's the most immediately available authority figure.
Fuyuhiko: He's got that sort of machismo that makes him not like to admit he loves dancing, but the moment he's complimented on it he'll really appreciate it. Also he's still part of a crime family, but it's just not as strong as Mikan's.
Akane: She really looks sporty still, but don't worry she's definitely "lucky," she's just much more focused on the future than her bad luck in the moment… which can be very bad, actually, and can make her come across as kind of aloof.
Nekomaru: Why is nurse Nekomaru not as common a thing. Just think about it, it's perfect. Nekomaru here got inspired by the bravery and hard work of the nurses that treated him and boom he became a nurse, nobody tougher than healthcare professionals after all.
Mahiru: Mahiru as a nurse is honestly a really really really fun concept but I feel like I wasn't very ambitious here, and I can't really show it through the drawing but one of my early drafts had her look more like a european chef a la gordon ramsey bc I headcanon her as a scot.
Teruteru: Decided to give him a raincoat which my sister pointed out to me could also be a trenchcoat, which is just PERFECT for a creep like him. It just writes itself man, though seriously he's mostly a landscape photographer who specializes in pics of the countryside. Still a huge perv tho.
Usowa: Name is a combo of Usagi and Chowa, the word for Harmony. She's less like a chaotic force of nature like Monokuma and more a manipulative and hardline teacher who coaxes the students into doing awful things by playing into their insecuritoies with motives, and which then causes them to kill, allowing her to punish them, "weeding out the weak and undisciplined among their ranks." She replaces Monokuma.
Kyojuma: Name is a combo of Kyoju (professor) and Kuma. He's a pretty silly guy with an easy temper to poke at, but he's good at heart and tries his best to be a more sort of "fun" teacher than the rules lawyer Usami kinda was. He just wants to help his students, too bad Usowa showed up and decidedly does NOT like his approach.
#danganronpa#talentswap au#talentswap#danganronpa 2#danganronpa talentswap#fanart#hajime hinata#chiaki nanami#nagito komaeda#mikan tsumiki#hiyoko saionji#kazuichi soda#sonia nevermind#gundham tanaka#peko pekoyama#fuyuhiko kuzuryu#akane owari#nekomaru nidai#teruteru hanamura#mahiru koizumi#komamiki#soudaionji#twobuki#akanidai#fuyupeko#sondham#mani e.#danganronpa demix#monokuma#usami
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forever and
a firstprince new year ficlet. ~1k.
Alex loses him again, ten minutes till midnight.
The party has been, as Pez put it, positively smashing—hard to top last year’s but I had the utmost faith in dear Alex, well done.
Alex hasn’t been paying attention, because outside of the circle formed by Henry’s arms on his shoulders and Alex’s hands on the dip of his waist, he hasn’t really needed to know.
Now, he takes it all in, the dancing snapshots of bodies beneath the strobe lights, the bass thumping so thickly he can feel it in his sternum, and he registers none of it because none of it matters when he doesn’t know where the hell Henry’s gone.
“Have you seen my boyfriend?” he demands of no fewer than five people—Nora, Pez and June count as one—but nobody knows, or nobody knows what he’s even asking because most of them just grin and bob their heads even more energetically than before.
He hasn’t texted. He’s not in the bathroom, and he’s not at the bar—Alex has checked both places twice. He’s starting to feel panicked in a way that he hasn’t in a long time, worried that he’s done something wrong, that he’s hurt Henry in some way again without knowing.
The not knowing is the worst part. Not that he’d ever hurt Henry on purpose, but that he could still do it now and not even realize is so unbearable he might just throw up.
The thing is that Henry had looked happy. And Alex had teased him mercilessly for it (“It doesn’t feel like His Royal Highness hates New Year’s,” murmured into Henry’s ear as Alex pressed their lower bodies together), which Henry had flushed over while also setting his jaw and pulling Alex firmly in for a kiss, probably at least in part to shut him up already.
Alex thinks back to just moments ago, before he’d somehow lost track of Henry. There’d been champagne, which they’d forgotten somewhere in favor of dancing with Bea, a conversation with some TV actor Alex only vaguely recognized and couldn’t find a polite way to get rid of, and then…then what? He’d turned around and Henry had vanished.
He doesn’t fully mean to, but he ends up retracing his steps all the way back to this time last year.
The snow is not as densely packed underfoot as he shivers his way into the garden. A year ago now, he’d followed the same path to Henry, gazed at him beneath the linden tree, and felt so many things he didn’t know how to name or make sense of until Henry kissed him and made the world go blessedly still.
If Henry is there, he decides now, determination doubling his pace, he’s going to grab his beautiful face with both hands and kiss him like 1. there’s no tomorrow, and also like 2. there’s only tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, ahead.
Henry isn’t there.
Alex’s footprints are the only trail left in the snow, glistening in technicolor as the fireworks start up overhead, and fuck, fuck, he’s missed the whole countdown.
He’s missed it with Henry. Kissing him at midnight like they were meant to this year, without the uncertainty and miserable months of radio silence that followed. This was supposed to be a new beginning for them; he had plans, okay, and it’s—well, it’s kind of their anniversary in a way, and now he won’t remember it the way that he wanted to, he—
“Alex!”
He turns, and the man that Alex can only think about in terms of forever now is jogging toward him, all flushed from the cold but smiling.
“There you are,” says Henry, a little short of breath as he comes to a stop and reaches for Alex’s hand. His touch sends a shock of warmth through what feels like Alex’s whole being. Suddenly, Alex can breathe again. “You’re freezing, love. Come here.”
Alex opens his mouth to protest, because as relieved as he is that Henry is here and acting as though all is well, he’s also kind of mad about it.
But yeah, he’s pretty cold too, so he steps willingly into Henry’s arms, and—well, there’s no other place he’d rather be mad about not being ten minutes sooner.
And then Henry leans in, and kisses him so sweetly that Alex is really not mad at all anymore.
“Next year,” says Henry, a little entreatingly, “maybe consider not inviting Hunter if you can help it? He just trapped me at coat check for what felt like ages. I barely made it out with my life.”
Alex never lets a good opportunity to pick on Hunter go to waste, but he decides to let this one slide. “Why were you at coat check?” he wants to know.
“I needed to get something,” says Henry, like it’s obvious.
“But—you don’t have your coat,” says Alex, like it’s not obvious at all.
“You don’t miss a thing,” Henry murmurs, all warmth and affection as he pulls Alex close. Something round and hard presses against Alex’s thigh, and oh. He would know that shape anywhere, because it matches the box inside his own jacket. “Guess again.”
“Baby,” says Alex, and if his voice cracks a little because he’s smiling so hard, well, what about it? “Is that a rock in your pocket, or do you really, really not hate New Year’s?”
“I just really, really love you,” counters Henry. “Happy anniversary, darling,” and he kisses Alex, just a few perfect minutes past midnight, under the linden tree, under the stars, both of them thinking of only forever.
#rwrb#red white and royal blue#rwrbsource#rwrb fic#firstprince#firstprince fic#rwrb fanfic#firstprince fanfic#usernuria#userveronika#iuserzoe#chrissiewatts#canon au in that i sped up the timeline a little
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because this has been on my mind wrapping up the epilogue, here is a little story about how writing fanfiction for very silly sometimes awesome sometimes genuinely terrible SYFY show the magicians changed my life for real.
i started writing help, i’m alive in may 2020. as i have stated many times on this blog, the overarching goal from which this story sprung was my passionate desire to give quentin coldwater each and every last thing he deserved: i wanted to follow him all the way through a downward spiral, and then i wanted to figure out what it would take for him to climb out of the darkness and make it to somewhere he actually wanted to be. the first part of that, the part that became damage control, was some of the easiest writing i’ve ever done, even accounting for the hours spent google mapping the most depressing road trip of all time. the second part was harder, and not just because it wound up being more than four times as long (lmao). it was thornier; there were more threads to weave through; and, frankly, quentin was so fucked up that it took a lot of effort even to outline what it was he needed in order to change. i had written one story already in which the pivot happened entirely internally, an act of self-forgiveness that proved transformational, and i knew that this time i needed to give him more: actual wants, actual actions, an actual life, with actual ties not just to the people already in his circle but to the world beyond. once i had that outline, the first four chapters flowed pretty easily, anchored by the goal of hitting the story’s first big win, which is when quentin finds a way to fix something for the first time since his magic broke; chapter five was where i got stuck.
by that point, it was fall. i had quit my teaching job mid-pandemic with some modest savings, no back-up plan, and a growing realization that after five years in the classroom, teaching was no longer something i could see myself returning to; working obsessively on this story was, among other things, a great way to quiet the constant humming freak-out of what the fuck i was going to do with my life. in october doing some jump squats after sitting in bed all day i threw my back out so badly i couldn’t walk to the bathroom unassisted and paid a hundred dollars to talk to a telehealth doctor for fifteen minutes for some muscle relaxants. the pain sucked, but so did not knowing whether i was going to be better by election day — i’d signed up to be a poll worker, and i really could have used the money.
i’d started dipping my toe in some local volunteer stuff when i quit, but it was during this time that i signed up for the first time for a particular project i was really excited about joining. i did the zoom training with my camera off because my back still hurt too much to sit up; the follow-up involved scanning and emailing some personal documents and signed agreements. i didn’t do it the next day because, whatever, my back fucking hurt; i didn’t do it the day after that because…? and then, well — then i started feeling like i had missed my chance, and it was too late now.
now, here’s the thing: i say feeling like because by this point i had learned enough about the world that i knew — like, knew — that, objectively, taking a few days to send an email (during a pandemic, while i was having previously established health issues) is not considered by most people to be an unforgivable crime. i knew that i should still send the email. and i also had learned enough about myself that i could actually recognize the thing happening in my brain as an example of the kind of overly self-protective mechanisms in which i have many years of practice; i knew by then that i was an absolute expert at finding reasons to not do things that felt like they were based in truth but were really just cleverly disguised manifestations of fear, because if you do things then bad things might happen, but if you don’t do things then nothing bad happens, except that you ruin your own life. i knew all of this!! i could diagnose and analyze exactly how i was once again perpetuating the same anxiety-driven patterns that had governed so much of my life. i was conscious of the workings of my own unconscious. but i still couldn’t bring myself to send the fucking email. instead i was spending 16 hours a day alternately lying in bed and gingerly pacing in my apartment to regain mobility, feeling like shit about the fact that i wasn’t sending the email and also trying fruitlessly to unpack whatever was going on in chapter five.
the election came five days into this mess, and i did feel well enough to go work the polls. this was a great way to experience election 2020, by the way; i had to leave my apartment at like 3:30 in the morning and by the time the returns started coming in i was too delirious to have any emotions about them whatsoever. it was also, not to be a shill for electoral politics, genuinely kind of inspiring: all these people lining up to Do Democracy, the deployment of translators to assist across languages, the columbia undergrad from the neighborhood we were in i was paired with at the info desk who told me he wanted to go into politics and said very seriously, upon hearing i had a friend in the grad school there, “you should tell them to join the union.” plus, you know, the high of doing something, surrounded by other human beings, at a time when that sort of thing had been in short order for the work-from-home crowd for months, and i personally had recently been confined to my bed for several days.
leaving the site that night, entering my twentieth consecutive hour awake, i felt this weird mix of spiritually rejuvenated and psychologically worse. i had just lived through this physical proof of how doing things is both not that scary and kind of awesome, i had spent a day living in alignment with the kind of person i wanted to be, i felt a fresh rush of love for my city and its people — and i still couldn’t imagine sending the fucking email! it was like i was looking at the thing i wanted most through a pane of glass, and the glass was actually really easy to break, so the only thing stopping me was that i was too much of a baby to do it.
and the thought that i had then, i fucking swear, was: i would be such a fucking hypocrite if i wrote quentin coldwater into a happy ending i’m too cowardly to give myself.
which is, first of all: SOOOOOOOO corny, like omg. unbelievably cringe. embarrassing as hell. but it was also my truth at that moment in time. i had no faith in my own ability to change, but i had spent five months and counting thinking about almost nothing else except the story i was writing in which quentin also has no faith in his ability to change but is brave enough to do it anyway, and i really felt like — i could not live with myself putting these ideas out into the world and refusing to integrate them into my own life. i could not write this promise that something better was possible for quentin if i wasn’t even going to try to make it possible for me. i could, apparently, live forever with my constant self-sabotage, but i couldn’t live with myself making this story a lie (this story being, again, fanfiction for a TV show that was, at its best, so great, and also, at its worst, so, SO stupid).
and like… that worked. i emailed the documents the next day; i attended my first monthly zoom meeting that weekend, during which the election was officially called, which felt like a good omen. i summoned the idea that had presented itself to me that night — don’t be a hypocrite! do what you would want quentin to do! — again a while later when my email got lost in the shuffle and i had to send a check-in following up, and again every other time something came up where my fear had to war it out with my desire. (or, well, most other times — it's a work in progress, and yes, i do still find myself calling upon this logic to this day.)
my life now looks more like the happy ending i wrote quentin into than it did almost four years ago, when i started this story, or even three years ago, when i finished it. it looks more like that future than i ever imagined my life could look when i was writing it, and not just because, as i have mentioned before, a few weeks after my election night revelation, i did do as quentin did and befriend a community-minded extrovert who invited me to join a book club. even the fact that the final part of the epilogue has taken me so much longer than expected is a funny case of life imitating art, because while i have had work and illness and travel and general life stress, i have also had many days in the past few months where i was not very productive because i was simply too busy doing something fun — the kind of never-quite-solved balancing act quentin was set to deal with in the epilogue back when i first started kicking it around, well over two years ago at this point, but which was not really applicable to my own life until basically now. and it sounds even to my own ears so, so, so insane to say this, but it’s true: i can trace every aspect of that shift to the fact that i wrote this story, and that writing it fundamentally changed something inside me for the better. (shout-out to the people in the comments who noted that the story was, in a meta sense, my own version of quentin’s coffee maker; i knew you were right, but i don’t think i knew how right until this recent bout of reflection.)
i don't really know that there's a take-away here, because "quit your job and write four hundred thousand words about a weird TV show with a niche audience" is not exactly universally applicable advice. but if i were to try to find one, i think it would be something like: i felt really crazy and kind of embarrassed the entire time i was writing this story, not because i was writing fanfiction, or because it was incredibly horny and wildly self-indulgent, but because it mattered to me so, so deeply. it was one thing to have a fun goofy hobby, even a fun goofy hobby i took semi-seriously and poured a lot of time and effort into, but it was another to actually, like, care, and to care a lot, which i did. but if i hadn't accepted that this story mattered to me, i don't think it could have been as personally transformational as it wound up becoming. the heart wants what it wants, and you're only going to find out what that is if you're willing to listen to whatever rhythm it beats.
i solved chapter five on the way home from the poll site, by the way. i knew there needed to be some problem with quentin’s first semi-successful attempt to mend the coffee maker, but i couldn’t figure out how it tied in thematically with where he was in his life. on the bus it hit me: quentin and the coffee maker were both trying to remain unbreakable. an appealing idea if you’ve been broken, but one more conducive to stagnancy than to growth; you can stay there for a while, but eventually you need to let yourself want more.
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Hello, I hope you have a great day <3
Jenna Ortega x female reader.
where R saves Jenna from a creepy fan/St4lk3r
They try to touch her and make her uncomfortable (kidnapping attempt if you want extreme shit) and R butts in and helps her
After that Jen has a panic attack but R finds and comforts her
by all means feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable
Situations
Situations 2, situations 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Jenna Ortega x reader
Tw: mentions of assault
Walking around California alone after sunset wasn’t always the best idea, a lot of people knew. There were people who just waited for you to not pay attention, there were men who cat called you, some who went further and there were high ones that will always try to touch you in some way. Of course there were also some normal ones that were going for a walk and some that were just high looking for the beach.
You didn’t plan on walking that far but that night the weed just hit a bit harder than normally and it was actually a really beautiful night. Riding your skateboard thru the city while gazing at the stars was beautiful and you were deep in your thoughts until you heard a shriek not far away.
You thought about ignoring it but the muffled scream that followed made you ride faster towards the sound. Even tough you were still kinda high you immediately saw what was going on, a petite brunette was cornered by some dude who towered over her. The girl caught your eye, the pleading look in her eyes made your blood boil.
“Hey, step away from the girl man” you called out as you walked further towards them. The guy wasn’t stupid, he really chose the darkest alley he could find. “This isn’t your business, so fuck off” he called out and closed in on the poor woman. “Look, I’ve had a great night until now and I really don’t feel like fighting. So why don’t you step away so I don’t have to step in even further?” You tried to be reasonable, you didn’t want to scare the girl even further.
“Why don’t you go and mind your own fucking business? The slut was clearly asking for it and the money I will make with pictures of her naked” you could hear his smirk and that was the moment you were done being reasonable. You walked closer until you could grab his shoulder to pull him around. The fist that collided with his face broke his nose before pushing him to the ground. After kicking him once more for good measure you turned to the brunette who was still pressed against the wall.
“Are you alright hun?” You asked carefully, keeping your distance so you wouldn’t scare her. Slowly extending your hand in case she wanted some comfort. It took a minute before she took your hand. Softly grabbing her hand you pulled her into the light where you first noticed two things; one: the girl seemed familiar, two: she was breathing heavily and had tears streaming down her face.
“It’s alright, I’m here and he won’t be able to get to you again alright?” You looked at her with concern in your eyes, your thumb rubbing over her hand. “I’m sorry but you seem familiar… what’s your name darling?” Her breathing started to pick up again which caused you to quickly wrap her in your arms. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. Take a breath with me ok? In…. And out” carefully guiding her to take deep breaths while rubbing her back.
When she calmed down a bit she pulled away and mumbled “Jenna Ortega” and watched the wheels in your head turn. “You’re the chick from the new series… Wednesday, right?” You finally asked, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t recognize her immediately. She nodded grinning up at you “you’re pretty high huh?” She giggled when you nodded scratching the back of your neck.
Her giggling quickly stopped when you heard a groan and saw the guy from before coming out of the alley trying to grab the girl again. You pushed her behind you before stretching yourself so you could tower over the guy. “I told you to leave her alone didn’t I?” You smirked before hitting him again but this time way harder. He fell to the ground again.
You quickly called the police before turning to the girl who seemed to be gone. Confused you looked around until you saw her sitting pressed up against the wall with her legs against her chest and her face buried between her knees. “Jenna?” You carefully whispered as you came closer. The girl didn’t even look up which caused you to worry even more, “Jenna!” You said a bit louder and crouched down in front of her.
The soft touch on her knee seemed to get her out of her trance, her hands were shaking and sweaty, her breath shallow and her face covered in tears and ruined mascara. “Oh darling, it’s alright. The police will be here soon and until then I’m protecting you” you reassured her holding out your hands again. Her shaking hands touched your steady ones which seemed to calm her a bit. “I’m gonna put one of your hands on my heart to calm you a bit. Is that okay?” You whispered out which caused her to nod.
With her hand on your heart, your other hand brushing thru her hair and the constant whisper of reassurances it took around 10 minutes to calm her down. “There we go, pretty girl” you said in a low voice while your hands came to her face so your thumbs could wipe away the tear stains on her face. She giggled slightly which caused you to smile.
Jenna was exhausted. Exhausted and confused, how could a girl that she just met make her feel so safe and valid? It was scary but at the same time it felt right, just right.
She couldn’t help but lean her head onto your shoulder when you decided to move from in front of her to sit next to her. “Thank you” she mumbled out while looking straight ahead. “No need for that”
A couple of minutes later the police came. The whole time you didn’t leave Jenna alone, her hand was clawing at yours every time you tried to give her space. “So what exactly happened miss Ortega?” One of the cops asked her as he pulled out a paper. “I was trying to get some steps in and as I walked along the street I was pushed into the alley, the man… he cornered me. Then he…he tr…his hands….” She started to cry again so you decided to step in. “I think you can guess what happened next” you told him squeezing the girls hand.
After everything was done the police took the guy away and you were, again, left alone with the actress. She looked around nervously and when you tried to Step a bit away her hand immediately shot out to grab your wrist. “Wait… can you walk me home?” Her voice got progressively lower but you could still understand her. “I wasn’t going to let you walk alone, just getting my skateboard, darling” you could see a light blush forming on her cheeks before you kicked up the board.
“Lead the way hun” you fell into step next to her. The whole way you guys talked, it felt nice. It’s been a while since Jenna met someone who didn’t treat her any differently because of her popularity. But you saved her even before you knew who she was. It felt nice, great even.
“I live here” she said when you stopped in front of a house. “Alright Jenna, it was nice to meet you. Really sucky way to meet you but still” you told her rubbing the back of your neck again. A habit when you were nervous. You wanted to ask if you could get her number but you were scared that she would feel like she had to because you saved her.
“Can I have your phone for a sec?” She asked as you were still overthinking the whole situation. Still in trance you gave her your phone only snapping back to reality when she pushed in back to you. “Text me ok?” She leaned in to kiss your cheek before walking to the door. “Thanks again for saving me” she said and disappeared into the house.
You stood there still shocked about what just happened. Opening your phone you saw a new contact ‘Jenna <3’ you were grinning stupidly as you put your phone away and rode back home.
The moment your back hit the bed you pulled out your phone again.
Jenna<3
You: hey it’s y/n
#reader insert#brooooswriting#jenna#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x reader#wednesday addams x reader
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Am I the only one who just lost any and all love for newer Star Wars material due to Jedi hate ? Like- the only merch or show or even FANDOM topic I get involved in is clone wars stuff and MAYBE TBB.
Like- why would I want the watch shows who attempt to rewritte canon and portray the very heroes of Star Wars as the bad guys ?
Why would I want to watch shows that assassinate characters left and right (looking at you, Ahsoka and Sabine) ?
Why would I want to buy merch of characters who I not only NOT care about, but who also are used as meta mouthpieces for stupid Jedi hate ?
I think there's TONS of good newer Star Wars material, to be honest.
I loved the Kenobi show and it is arguably one of the most pro Jedi pieces of media to have existed since the Prequels films. Aside from one itty bitty somewhat awkward word choice in one line of one episode, there is absolutely NOTHING in that show that can be used to indict the Jedi or blame them for anything and it is arguably one of the only shows to really spend time MOURNING the Jedi and recognizing the horror of what was done to them. Rebels comes closest after this, but its structure makes it a little less visceral than the Kenobi show was to me.
I really adore Visions and I recognize that this is sort-of Star Wars adjacent more than anything else, but SO LITTLE truly understands what makes Star Wars compelling as a story and really hits on those primary themes the way that Visions does. There's SO MUCH Jedi content in Visions and I remember people complaining about how much Jedi content was in Visions and other people responding that if you were given free reign to just play in the Star Wars sandbox with near zero restrictions on what you could make with it, you would probably ALSO immediately go for the psychic space wizards with laser swords. Who WOULDN'T? Visions also just genuinely has some of the most engaging and heart-wrenching stories to come out of Star Wars in a LONG while and it does it in these beautifully animated 15 minute packages. It's such a gem and I am so glad to be alive at the same time as Visions.
Rogue One is older now, but both Rogue One and Andor, despite having zero actual Jedi in them, really hinge on the themes from the Prequel trilogy about the tragedy in the Star Wars universe, stepping up when no one else will, choosing to be selfless and compassionate for the greater good, etc. Faith and hope are MASSIVE themes within these two works and even though there aren't any space wizards, good or evil, in either story, they feel like some of the most pro Jedi things Star Wars has come out with in a while based on thematic messages ALONE.
The Mandalorian's first two seasons actually have this absolutely BEAUTIFUL story about the selfless sacrifice of one man as he gives up everything in order to help this child find his way back to the culture he'd been ripped from. Everything AFTER that regarding Grogu and Din's storyline is a piece of shit (it's not explicitly anti-Jedi or anything, but it undoes a lot of the things that made their story so compelling and beautiful), but the first two seasons are genuinely GOOD and very pro Jedi in a lot of ways despite the lack of many actual Jedi characters.
The Book of Boba Fett is a terrible show for a LOT of reasons, but shockingly none of them have anything to do with its treatment of the Jedi. If it ever ends up with a season two, I desperately hope they leave Mace Windu's name the fuck out of it, but at this point it is a pretty Jedi neutral show if you're willing to deal with the rest of its bullshit.
Rebels is also somewhat older now, and it has a few lines here and there that are a tad more Jedi critical, but it is by and large VERY Jedi positive and does also follow a lot of the themes of selflessness and sacrifice that go along with being a Jedi. It also has themes of mercy and patience and facing your fears in Sabine's storyline that got entirely thrown away in her later storyline. Just thought that was worth pointing out. For reasons.
TBB is also fairly Jedi neutral, but its treatment of the clones is basically the clone version of being anti Jedi, so I'm not sure it's actually any better. It just traded hating on the Jedi to hating on the clones, and I find that just as distasteful.
I can't really speak to things like comics and novels much since I don't tend to consume them really. I've read a few of the adult novels in the High Republic Phase I and the first one was genuinely very good, but there were some relatively heavy-handed Jedi critical themes within the third book of Phase I (The Fallen Star) that put me off of it a little. I haven't continued into Phase II or III at all, so I have no idea if those themes got continued in later books. I've heard generally good things about the Padawan book, I think.
The Cal Kestis video games, Fallen Order and Survivor, also have their small Jedi critical moments, but much like Rebels, it has these massive overarching themes and messages about compassion and selflessness and sacrifice and facing your fears and mercy. They are immensely Jedi positive in a lot of ways and I really enjoyed both of them.
So out of everything I have seen (and know about) the only stuff that's truly heinously and insultingly anti-Jedi is the Ahsoka show, the Acolyte, and Tales of the Jedi. Three shows and like 30% of one book. Out of a list of like ten different shows and one film and some books and video games. It's not even really HALF of the content we've been getting recently.
A lot of people talk about the Disney era like it's ruined Star Wars, or like nothing it releases has ever been good. But it just straight up isn't true. It's a little insulting to all of the genuinely wonderful work that is being done by all of these other creators to just brush aside everything that's been coming out recently as awful and bad because some of the MOST recent things have been pretty explicitly hateful towards the Jedi. It's not fun that we had the Ahsoka show immediately followed by the Bad Batch followed by the Acolyte. I hate that, too, it feels like we're on this neverending shitshow of stories explicitly aimed at hating a group of characters for no obvious good reason. But I don't think that the last 6 months or so of bullshit should overshadow some of the really beautiful stories we HAVE gotten within the last several years.
If you feel like things are getting difficult, maybe do a "good Star Wars" marathon of sorts. Watch the Prequels, followed by the Kenobi show, then Andor, then Rebels, then Rogue One, then the Original trilogy. This one long beautiful story of people stepping up to fight against selfishness and greed and darkness no matter what.
Or go rewatch Visions or read some of your favorite fanfics and remember all the things about Star Wars that are just universally cool and compelling across the world. Hell, you can try writing something of your own! Anything! A lot of my AU concepts stemmed from spite and really helped me feel a little bit better about Star Wars when it sometimes felt like I was just surrounded by the parts of it I liked the least. Go buy yourself a cool t-shirt or some fun jewelry. Find some pretty stickers and put it on a water bottle or an enamel pin to put on a canvas tote bag or a corkboard.
Curating your fandom experience goes beyond just the internet. There's a reason I am boycotting the Acolyte and it isn't because I think Disney or its creators are going to care at all. I'm doing it for ME, because I had such a shitty time watching the Ahsoka show and it made me so miserable each week that I seriously think I will be better off just leaving it the hell alone and just absorbing whatever ends up crossing my dash from a distance. I only participate in Star Wars fandom servers that I feel safe in and only really get into discussions with personal friends who I know well. If participating in Star Wars fandom is making you sad, maybe take a step back or find a way to create your own corner of fandom that feels better. Ignore the damn Ahsoka show, pretend it never existed. Ignore the Acolyte. Ignore Tales of the Jedi. Ignore Filoni-related bullshit. Focus on the parts you DO like, or give yourself the space to remember why you liked it in the first place.
#star wars#jedi#pro jedi#obi-wan kenobi#sw owk#kenobi show#kenobi series#andor#star wars andor#rogue one#star wars rebels#rebels#anti tbb#tbb wank#anti ahsoka show#anti acolyte#visions#star wars visions
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