#charm at this point like I’m just Too Much and until I get therapy there’s nothing I can really do about that

[romanarose]

For The Longest Time: Chapter 3

William Miller x Fem!OC (Lorelei Giang)

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist

Join my taglist!

Summery: Lorelei meets the rest of Will's friends. They are as melodramatic as always.

Warnings: Bickering, wierd friendhsip dynamics, creepy guy, Santi being protective af, Santi and Laci are so lovey dovey it's disgusting (I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE), creepy guy fetishizing Laci's size, fighting, Santi being a bit of a dick and Lorelei not fitting in (yet, I promise she will.) hints at Will's mental health issues.

A/N: Despite burning the fuck outta my fingers, I have provided this and a dark fic on my dark account XD hope you enjoy! Next chapter will be much lighter, I swear.

****************

It was a long night. Will and Lorelei discussed the various options and what each might look like for both of them. Will wanted this kid. In an ideal world he’d like to be a couple with Lorelei and raise it together, but that was not in the cards. 

Still, William Miller had turned 40 this year. The idea of a family was something he longed for. He had been engaged nearly a decade ago, to a woman named Emily he still very much loved and always will, but she broke off the engagement after his PTSD escalated and Will had refused to get help. It wasn’t until Laci had come into his life that he started therapy and by then, he had missed his chance with Emily. Now, Frankie had his daughter and a happy life with Jana, and Santiago was getting married soon to his girlfriend and were hoping to conceive right after the wedding.

“I’ll take care of everything, I promise, medical bills and all. You won’t have to work until you’re ready-”

Lorelei held out a hand at that. “I appreciate that, but I’m gonna keep working.”

Will sighed. She was so independent, and no matter how much Will wanted to take care of her and their potential baby, he knew this was her choice, including if she was working or not. “Okay, just know I can take care of things, as much as you need to.”

She cocked an eyebrow at that. “You’re a charming guy, but you’re no Tony Robbins. Motivational speaking can’t possibly pay that good.”

How to explain it all? He’s never really had too. His family knew he had gone on a mission with Pope and Fish and he thinks they all just assumed it went well. Jana knew what happened; she had been dating Frankie at the time he left, Rosie just a few months old. When Santi first brought Laci into his home, they weren’t dating and she was too shy to ask why he never worked but had the money to provide resources that social services hadn’t. When he finally explained what happened, they had been dating for several months and felt comfortable telling the story. Lorelei… he cared about her, he cared for her a lot and had wanted to be with her… just not like this. He didn’t want to be one of those couples who got together just because they were pregnant, and he knew Lorelei was not the kind to go for that anyway. In short, he didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth was something he was ashamed of. 

“I um… came into some money, actually…” Yeah, close enough.

She seemed to buy it. “Is that why Benny can afford to be an alcoholic without a job?”

Will knew this wasn’t exactly the time nor the point, but he was defensive of his brother. “He fights MMA and he does well. You know we’re at the gym-”

“I’m sorry, I see that’s a sore spot.” 

Will’s ruffled feathers settle as he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “It’s okay. But, yeah. That’s why.”

In the end, they both wanted the baby and they both wanted to be involved, so it was decided she’d go through with the pregnancy and they would be coparent. Will felt a side of relief; he was going to be a dad. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations, but he was going to be a dad nonetheless.

“You can tell all your friends now, unless you wanna keep that a secret too.” Lorelei said with a little bite, making Will wince.

“Listen, Lorelei, about that.”

“Yeah, about that.”

Will tried to gather his thoughts; how to explain this aspect as well? How does he explain the reasoning he wasn’t quite sure of himself? He tried his best. “Listen, these guys are my family, not just Ben. They are like brothers to me and their girlfriends, well, I care about them a lot too. Never had a sister, but that's what Laci and Jana feel like. Ben drinks a lot and fights and Frankie- well, it’s not really my business to tell his story. Santi couldn’t stay in one town for longer than a few months until he met Laci, and her… well that’s her story too. I guess what I’m saying is we’re all very involved in each other's lives. We all have security info to each other’s houses, that’s how Santi was able to get in today. I was engaged, years ago and that break up felt very public. Santi and Laci never fight anymore but the time they did, we all knew about it. I guess I just… I wanted to just keep this… you…” He struggled to find the exact words, but Lorelei seemed to just know him.

“You wanted to keep this just for you.”

Will nodded in agreement.

“I get it. I’m very private, I wouldn’t want to have everything aired out constantly either.”

She understood him. 

“I would like you to meet them, well, in a better way than you met Santi.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but smiled. “I don’t know, William. I’m Vietnamese, I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to meet American military.”

Will couldn’t stop the apparent look of recognition on his face and she lights up ready to tease him. “Oh my god! You were wondering what I am!”

Raising his hands in defense, smiling along with her. “Hey! I’m not the most politically correct person out there but even I know better than to ask where someone is from.”

“I’m from Philadelphia. I am Vietnamese. But yes, I can meet your friends. Sure.” She didn’t seem thrilled, but it was neccecary. “We’ll have to meet each other’s families at some point.”

Will visibly cringed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Complicated family life? “You could say that.”

“My dad left when I was 8 and was never really in my life until I had money to “lend” him, so, yeah. I get it.”

“My dad was an alcoholic, so I can understand some of that.” Alcohol was boiling it down a lot, a light way of putting the abuse he and Benny went through, but she didn’t need to know about that. This was his burden to bear, not hers. He tries his best to bare it for Ben too, and he’s already failing at that.

*

It was a little more than a week later that Lorelei met everyone finally. Santi and Laci had gone to New York for a week and returned last night, so they all wanted to get together. Lorelei thought they all seemed codependent on each other and it was all so strange to her. She didn’t even have any sort of help from her family none the less friends. Fuck, her mom was going to kill her.

Benny was coming over first, with his girlfriend, Alice. Will did not like Alice, but wouldn’t go into why. Hell, he wouldn’t even admit he didn’t like her, but the way he talked about her or the lack of discussion in general compared to the ways he talked about Jana and Laci. When probed, Will simply said it wasn’t his story to tell; he said that a lot, and although it was frustrating when trying to put the pieces together, it was a comfort to know her secrets were safe with him.

“LORELEI!” Benny’s booming deep voice rang through the house when he saw her. Benny hadn’t been told about the baby yet; so far, only Santiago knew, and potentially Laci too, depending if he could keep a secret or not. Will had confessed to him that Lorelei was staying with him. Only as a friend, but the cheeky look on Benny’s face told her he didn’t believe it. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Hi Benjamin.” She smiled at him. She always did like the younger Miller boy, and it seemed recently he’d been staying out of trouble which is good.

“I’m excited to introduce you to everyone, starting with-” He turned to the side and introduced his girlfriend. “This is my lovely girlfriend, Alice McCarthy.”

Alice was pretty, a pale girl with a smattering of freckles and sandy brown hair that reached her mid-waist, even in loose curls. There was a streak of blue in one of the locks.

“Lorelei Giang, nice to meet you.”

“BEN!” Will shouted from the next room. “CAN YOU GIVE ME A HAND WITH THIS?”

Benny said he’d be right there, and hurried over to help. Alice watched him leave with pursed lips, then turned to Lorelei with a smile.

“So, have you met any of them before?” Alice referenced the tight knit group, and Lorelei couldn’t help but smirk to herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell Alice how she had met Santi -Will wouldn’t dare try to tell her that- but she didn’t feel the need. Besides, no one else needed to know she keeps a gun in her drawer next to her vibrator.

“I met Santi briefly, and as you know I’ve known Benjamin a little bit here and there, and I’ve ran into Laci twice with Will.”

Alice looked curious at that statement. “Not with Santi?”

“No, she was with Benny and Will once, and just Will the other time.”

“Hm.” Was her non committal answer. “Well, has Will warned you about her… speaking issues?” she always whispered the last two words. 

Alice was definitely interesting. “I’m aware she sometimes goes non verbal.” Laci had to communicate via notes app when she first met the women that night with Ben and Will

“Just thought I’d warn you; Benny didn’t think it was worthwhile mentioning when I met them.” She rolled her eyes, and Lorelei wasn’t sure if it was at Benny or Laci.

“Yeah, well, I think it’ll be a nice night.”

“Yeah it’ll be fine. They can be really uuhhhhhh click-y. But don’t worry! I got you.” Alice promised to stay with Lorelei so she didn’t feel out of place, and Lorelei was thankful for that, but suspicious of her motivations. It wasn’t personal, Lorelei was a suspicious person in general.

*

Will was buzzing with nervousness when they walked into the quit bar they liked to frequent. It was nice to have something lowkey like this place; Ben didn’t feed off the energy as he did at busier bars, and Laci wasn't overwhelmed by the crowds and noises. It was a good place to meet; neutral. As much as he didn’t like Alice, he did admit that her meeting everyone at Fankie’s house put her at a disadvantage. Will wasn’t sure how Benny was going to take this announcement. Laci would be excited for sure, it was hard to dampen her mood. Jana and Frankie would share a look and quietly judge him as if their daughter wasn’t unplanned. Santi already knew and he didn’t really care what Alice thought, but it was Ben he was concerned about.

“Hi guys!” Laci’s voice chirped from where she sat at a hightop table. Santi was standing by her side already and assisted in helping her down. Laci’s height was a source of frustration for her and it wasn’t like Santi was tall himself, but he took his job of caring for her very seriously. Santiago lifted Laci under her armpits and spun her around as he set her down, her blue dress fluttering around her legs. Laci clasped her hand into Santi’s, her engagement ring catching the light when they walked over. 

“Hey Lace.” Will gave her a side hug, planting a quick kiss on the crown on her blonde head, having to bend down quite a ways just to do so. “This is Lorelei, since you havnt been able to officially meet her yet.”

“Hi!” She smiled at Lorelei. “I am so sorry for Santi,” Laci shot him a glare that held no real malice that he returned with an eyeroll of the same. “He has a flair for the dramatic.”

“I thought she was breaking into Will’s house!”

“Sure baby.” She kissed his cheek and he dropped it with a smile.

Lorelei spoke up. “It’s nice to meet you guys.”

Ben and Alice walked in and Laci gave Benny a big hug. “Hi Ben! Hi Alice!”

First impression she got was that Santiago was whipped. First impression she got of Jana and Frankie was that Jana wore the pants. 

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you.” Jana greeted, introducing herself and Frankie, Frankie shaking her hand with a soft smile. Frankie kept a hand around her waist, his hand firmly planted on her hip. 

Everyone gathered around the table, first round of drinks ordered (Water for Laci and Frankie, she noted) as everyone questions Santiago and Laci about their trip. Laci was excitedly explaining how they made new friends. Well, Laci made a friend by the sounds of it, Bahar, an architecture student in New York, and their friendship forced Santi and Bahar’s boyfriend, Marc, into close proximity. Will was smiling as he watched her ramble on; she was certainly not having and trouble speaking. There was a part of her that thought Will and Laci had something still, just by the way he talked about her, but it was clear now how enamored Laci was with her fiance. Lorelei didn’t get it, she thought Laci could do better than Santi, but she was biased. Everyone seemed interested in their trip except Alice, and when Lorelei caught Alice’s eye, Alice rolled her eyes.

When the food had come and everyone began digging in, Will cleared his throat. 

“So, there’s actually a reason I wanted you to meet Lorelei tonight.”

“2 months later.” Santi just had to remind him. Ass. 

Benny chimed in next. “You’re dating!” 

A sigh from the older brother. “No, Benny.” Will turned to Lorelei, allowing her to say it if she wanted too… no, she did not. Will turned to his friends, looking at Frankie for reassurance, she noted. “Lorelei is pregnant.”

Despite the chatter of the bar around them, it felt like silence had enveloped their table, the life having been sucked out. Frankie and Jana immediately looked at each other and Will knew that in a single glance, the well connected pair had said all their thoughts to each other. Santi already knew, and he had lip pursed lips and that ever worried look on his face and Laci’s face showed shock. Alice was wide-eyed, trying to read the room until she turned to Benny to see hi reaction and Will’s eyes followed. There was confusion there, a little apprehension that maybe this was a joke. Will would never joke about this, but Benny’s other friends weren't the best company. More importantly, however, was the hint of hurt on his face.

This was all broke by a light squeal, Laci jumping off the chair (the the slight panic of Santi) and running over between his and Lorelei’s chairs and hugging them both. “Oh my gosh! Congratulations guys!”

Slowly, the others joined in on congratulating the pair, Benny getting off his seat to join Laci in the hug. Maybe he was hurt by the secrets, but he knew his brother wanted a family, so he was happy for him despite the circumstances.

Jana was ever-inquisitive, always addressing the elephant in the room. “So… are you guys dating… oooorrrrrr?” Frankie tried to hide a smile, not wanting to be mean spirited, but this was why he fell in love with Jana after all.

“No.” Lorelei answered clearly. “I’ve been living with Will and it just sort… happened, I guess.”

Benny’s scoff caused everyone to turn to him, the normally cheerful man having a cloud over his head. “Nothing ‘just happens’ with my brother, Lorelei. He is a calculated son of a bitch-”

“Ben.” Fish warned.

“No, no I’m gonna finish this, there's some bullshit going on right right now and he’s not being honest.”

Will couldn’t help roll his eyes. “Well I didn’t get her pregnant on purpose Benjamin.”

“I know that.”

“Then what exactly are you accusing me of!?”

Frankie raised both his hands to the bickering brothers. “Enough!” 

“But he-”

“No. This is a celebration, Ben. It may not be planned out, but neither was Rosie and she’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” he looks to Jana. “To us, and I think Will,” His gaze turned to Will. “Will be an excellent father because he is an excellent uncle and friend. And Lorelei” He turned to her now. “I haven't known you for longer than half an hour but I trust you’ll take care of my new niece or nephew. Now, everyone is here tonight, we all have beautiful women with us with different relations, so let’s celebrate, okay?”

“Whatever, I’m leaving.” Benny grumbled, Alice arguing but following after.

“Benny!”

“I got this, Laci.” Alice snapped, making Laci stop in her tracks looking dejected. 

Lorelei wanted no part in whatever was happening. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Laci perked up. “Oh! I’ll come with!” and happily joined at Lorelei’s side. She wasn’t sure about her yet, but it wasn’t personal. She wasn’t sure how she felt about anyone besides the Millers, and even then…

She looked back to see Santi watching them. “I’m not going to shank your girlfriend, Garcia.” Lorelei called as she turned the corner to the bathroom hall.

“Sorry” Laci giggled. “He’s just protective.”

Lorelei thought it bordered more on possessiveness. “He let you out of his sight much?” She wasn’t feeling well and wanted to puke in peace, but Laci was nice and she didn’t want to be rude to her.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry.” Her voice was soft and dreamy from the other stall. “I know we probably seem a bit weird, but I promise he takes care of me.”

 Lorelei flushed and began washing her hands. “That’s not really-” She sighed. “Just because he’s taking care of you doesn’t mean he’s not being controlling.”

“But he’s not! I take of him too. We care for each other, I love him so much” She assured. “I have my own job, now”

“Now?” Lorelei was starting to feel lightheaded. This stupid fucking pregnancy was nocking the fuck out of her two months in.

“Yeah I uh… I wasn’t working for a while. Not because of him! He was very encouraging of me working.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I need some fresh air.”

“Oh. Okay I’ll see you at the table then…” She sounded sad, but Lorelei was really not feeling good, so she quickly exited the bathroom and ran outside, hoping the air would help. It didn’t, and she ended up puking out her water and meal on the grass over the railing.

What am I doing? She wondered as she attempted to gain clarity while her head swirled. The nausea was genuine, a reaction to baby apparently not liking the food, but the way it sent her back, back to the vicious cycle she had been in college of binge and purge, something she had worked so hard on recovering from… It was all by herself too. She had friends, yeah, but no one she could really count on, no one that stayed long. Most of it was her fault, she knew. She didn’t put much effort into maintaining, the second someone even seemed distant, she was out. It was self preservation, but it had left her lonely. She had to admit she was envious of Will, having so many friends, despite the obvious tension.

 She liked Frankie, at least. Seemed level headed. Jana seemed fine, she supossed. Alice was a little on edge and Santi had made it to her bad side with the gun and his weird behaviors around Laci. Lorelei hadn’t forgotten her coming in the ER with blood around her nose. Benny’s outburst was childish just as he was. And Laci… was strange. She acted like a child, like a doll the Santi had on display. A pretty, petite, blonde trophy wife to parade around and she played into it.

Lorelei took a walk around the building to decompress before facing them, deciding to walk back in the front doors instead of the side entrance she left through. When she approached the table, Ben frowned.

“Where’s Laci?”

Santiago turned around faster than he thought possible before Lorelei replied. “Oh, is she not back yet? I left in there, I wasn’t feeling good-”

“You left her?!?!?!”

“Relax” But it was clear on everyone's faces that this wasn’t a relax moment. “What’s going on?” But they had already begun standing up to find her.

“Lace?” Santi called as he ran towards the bathrooms.

Will quickly apologized. “She can’t be left alone in public, her anxiety.” before following Santi. 

When they rounded the corner, Laci was cornered in the hall by some guy she didn’t know, visibly uncomfortable as he crowded in on her, arm braced ont he wall above her. “You ever done porn?” He looked her up and down. “You’d fit right into the xxxtra small category.”

Benny and Santi were on them in a second, Santi charging at him and throwing him down the hall with his full body force while Benny pulled her away.

“God damn!” The man shouted. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, damn! She didn’t say anything!”

“SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO!” Santi screamed at him, going over to Laci who promptly clung to him.

The man recognized the Miller then. “Will, you know this psycho?”

“Yeah, I know this psycho and I know his girlfriend, what the fuck do you think you’re dong, Jackson?”

Jackson raised his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t know she was with you guys.”

Benny then walked up to him, towering figure shadowing anything Jackson had on Laci. “It don’t matter who she’s with, she was clearly uncomfortable, you piece of you fucking shit”

In Ben’s defense, Jackson swung first, but Benny did not hesitate to fight back. Lorelei watch as a crying Laci’s mouth was sealed shut, hands fisted in his shirt and looking up at him pleadingly. Santi then disengaged from her, handing her over to where Jana’s arms waited and then headed into the fight where- fuck, when did Frankie and Will get involved? They seemed more focused on pulling Ben away than anything. Once it was over, Will picked the man up by his shirt, Santi opening the door to the side entrance, and Will quite literally threw him out. 

Santi rejoined Laci, the girl crying silently as he poured over her, caressing her hair before turning to Lorelei. “What the hell was that?”

It took a second for her to realize Santi was talking to her. “Excuse me? I had nothing to do with that-”

Will warned Santi to back off, but between Santi and Lorelei, there was only tunnel vision. “You left her!”

“Why are you so fucking possessive that she can’t be away from you for two-”

"Santi, stop-"

“SHE WAS SEX TRAFFICKED, JESUS!”

The words hit Lorelei like a ton of bricks, guilt rushing in on her. Frankie smacks his shoulder, muttering about how he’s not supposed to just be saying that, Jana covered her face and groaned. “Fuck-  I’m sorry, Laci, I didn’t know.”

Santi opened his mouth to berate her some more, but when he saw Laci’s hands moving, he shut up. Will noticed how he doesn’t talk over her anymore, how he know when she needs to speak or sigh.

Santi averts his eyes but translates for her. “She says it’s okay, you didn’t know.” Laci turned to Santi and signed again. He sighed. “She says she told you that you could leave her.” Santi grumbled out, still holding her close. “C’mon baby, let’s go home, yeah?” When she nodded, Santi said goodbye to everyone and Laci gave a little wave.

“I think we’ll head out too.” Jana announced.

Frankie and her said goodbye, Frankie being sure to smile and let a very guilt ridden Lorelei know that it was a pleasure to meet her and he looks forward to getting to know her. Will is forever thankful for Frankie as he rubs his temples, trying to stop the racing thoughts in his head.

Alice is at her side. “Hey it’s okay. No one warned you about it. It’s a weird group to get to know, hard to fit in.”

Will turned towards her. “Yeah, like you’re trying.”

“And you’re helping?” Benny stepped in. “You’ve been a dick to her ever since we started dating, just like you were to Laci!”

“That was different!”

Lorelei was halfway down the hall, keys in hand. “I’m leaving, are you guys coming or not?” Will quickly paid their tabs (and Jacksons. He wasn’t going to let a small business miss out of money because of them.) and went on their way

The ride back was short and quiet, Ben exiting the car silently and Alice only saying goodbye to Lorelei as they go into their own. Inside the house, Will began stress cleaning.

While he was distracted, she took his phone and found Laci’s number, sending a text apology for leaving her, and she was sorry she was in that position with that asshole. Laci texted back a very sweet message accepting it and apoligizing for Santiago, who Lorelei was growing increasingly less fond of. When the round of apologies was over, Laci sent a picture of their wedding invite.

“It’s a small wedding in our backyard, I know it’s only a few months away and we don’t really know each other, but I’d love for you to join. I promise, Santi isn’t always like this”

******************

@pimosworld @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @milkymoon2483 @poeedameronn@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @babymills16

#William miller #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #William miller x oc #William miller smut #william miller angst #William miller comfort #fem oc

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 14 - The Best of Nancy Kress, by Nancy Kress

Okay, continuing to work through my backlog on these! And learning the perils of letting it build for a month because my memories of most of the stories in this are already getting a bit vague and scattered.

So, getting the basic details out of the way – my first short story collection of the year, 600 pages of the works of Nancy Kress, curated and selected by the author herself as all her favourites that would fit in one volume. Someone on here (can’t remember who and tumblr search is being its usual unusuable self, unfortunately) recommended Beggars In Spain to me a while back, and this was the only volume my library system had that included it. So, 500-ish pages of other stories as a nice bonus until I got to the end and remembered that that’s the reason I’d gotten the book out in the first place.

The stories run from less than ten pages to a novella, and Kress includes a little half-page afterward following each. Usually either a reflection on the meaning of the story or an anecdote about its writing or reception, and then where and when it was originally published and any awards it won. And there were a lot of awards You can get a lot of short stories nominated for Hugos over 45 years of writing. The little snapshots of a, like, SF/F writer subculture and the relationships therein were all charming, anyway.

The stories themselves were of pretty wildly varying subject matter, though all science fiction of one kind or another. Everything from post-apocalyptic ruins to spaceships studying the galactic core to the drama and intrigue of gene-modding among high class ballerinas twenty minutes from now. The quality varied – it would pretty much have to, for like two dozen stories written across a span of decades – but overall it was really quite good.

Tone was rather more consistent. Some were happier than others, of course, but even the most fantastical and high concept worlds were pretty grimy and compromised and full of petty politics and pettier assholes. Capital H Heroes were pretty thin on the ground, even (especially) among the various protagonists. Kress seems to have a rare love for women who aren’t just, like, spiky, but genuinely flawed and unpleasant to be around (easier to pull off with short stories than novels, I suppose).

Short stories are great for just putting people in situations generally, really – not sure how long you could really draw out ‘feeling awkward and shitty because the guy you’re having an affair with was on a ‘business trip’ to visit you when aliens abducted and/or killed everyone in the city his wife and kids were in. He absolutely blames you for this,’ but it’s sure a hook!

Familial relationships that are, lets go with troubled, are a whole other recurring theme, too. Sororicidal sisters, deadbeat dads, obsessive ex-wives, parents putting their children through experimental gene-therapy to make sure they grow up with the ideal body to vicariously live out their dreams, the whole set. There’s even some dubiously consensual clone incest at one point!

Though honestly the lack of capital-h Heroes goes beyond just morality – thinking about it, most of the short stories are told from the perspective of observers, survivors, sufferers of exotic diseases, journalists poking at a mess from the outside. People whose world is being acted upon by forces far beyond their control, if not beyond their understanding entirely, and either bearing witness or struggling to adapt and get by. The stories where the protagonists had real agency – the scientists exploring the galaxy’s core, the time-travellers taking an alternate Anne Boleyn hostage to prevent the English Civil Wars – are usually the tragedies. There are a lot of those – or, if not tragedies, then at least stories that end badly for almost everyone involved. I’m halfway convinced that short stories are just a more appealing format for properly bleak fiction, really – less investment in characters’ wellbeing, or narrative expectations pushing towards growth or happy endings.

And now, before I focus on discussing Beggars In Spain specifically, some call outs for the short stories that really stuck in my head

The aforementioned gene-moding scandals in New York ballet, partially told through the perspective of the engineered-to-be-as-smart-as-a-5-year-old bespoke guard dog contracted to protect a start ballerina. Nicely understated cyberpunk setting and also felt extremely realistic as the sort of thing we’ll absolutely be having scandals about in fifty years tbh.

A woman discovering that the aliens are here amid the ruins of postwar Earth because they started getting our television broadcasts and decided that the only thing we had worth taking was dogs, but are stuck here until they figure out how to train them to be as good and heroic as they are in the movies.

A disenchanted and nostalgic man in the 80s finding a specific cupboard that goes back to one specific day in 1935 (I think. Pre-war but Roosevelt administration). He uses this exclusively to make his social security cheque go further and buy little presents for his friend with what in the 80s is pocket change. The actual plot involves despairing over how cynical and bleak-minded his granddaughter the artist is, and deciding to go back and a Good Man to introduce her to.

An extremely short one – just a one-scene vignette, really – about a waitress in a vaguely ‘50s diner when one of the aliens whose been in the news so much escapes their minders and wants to try an apple pie.

(There were also, I must admit, a decent number of stories that left me cold or that I just didn’t see the point of including, but, again, pretty much inevitable in any big collection, isn’t it?)

But okay, so! Beggars in Spain! It’s definitely an interesting novella, and given the fact that it’s 30 years old and was by all accounts incredibly successful I do kind of wonder how many common tropes about the whole super-intelligent designer babies conceit I’ve encountered elsewhere first are downstream of it?

Because I mean, ostensibly it’s about children modified in utero to not need to sleep, but practically that cashes out to them all being creative productive polyglot geniuses. Which is certainly the fantasy of never having to sleep with zero downsides, though honestly I’m pretty sure I’d spend at least half the extra time fucking around online. That said, the sense of alienation the protagonist has dealing with a world where almost everyone around her seems to just be wasting a third of their lives laying down is really well done.

It’s the sort of novella that you could probably write a dozen a dozen different essays about, and would probably benefit from being analyzed with less than a month’s distance and quotes on hand, but for all the futurism (and really not the best story in the collection for that, honestly), the thematic throughline that stood out to me is actually just libertarianism? Or not quite the right word, probably, though it is our heroine’s ideology (she is, after all, the favoured daughter of a self-made magnate, amid a social circle of the golden children of the striving upper-middle class). But the specific idea of enlightened selfishness, that the contract is the basis of all society, that no one owes anyone anything, and you are only worth what you can produce to offer up in exchange to others.

It’s where the title comes from, after all – the eponymous beggars with nothing to offer except their need who are entirely superfluous and inconvenient to the lives of the Sleepless ubermensch; what are they owed? The orthodox answer of the movement basically every major character at least ostensibly ascribes to is ‘nothing’.

Not that any of them actually act like individuals interacting solely through mutually beneficial contracts, which I’m fairly sure is in fact the point – the Sleepless invent nationalism before any of them turn thirty, going to great effort to support and look after each other on the basis of Sleepless-solidarity and an assumption that each of them is the future of humanity. And on the other hand, the protagonist’s father is a domineering, overbearing ass of a partner, draining both of his wives’ personality and will to live in turn until they get tired of being bitter social secretaries for him and quit. Equitable, contractual relationships are thin on the ground – and of course the entire climax is the protagonist relying on friends and an estranged sister to rescue an abused child who surely isn’t likely to pay any of them back for the effort anytime soon.

I thought the hypocrisy was neatly done, anyway. Especially since it’s never really confronted – none of the Sleepless ever show the slightest awareness that the lengths they’ll go to for the sake of each other purely on the basis of their shared enhancements seem to contradict the ideology they treat as holy writ.

Overall not exactly my favourite book of the year, but a fair bit better than a lot of what I’ve read so far. So I’ll call it a win. Just for the time capsule effect of reading stories written by the same author across four decades, if nothing else.

#book review #Nancy Kress #the Best of Nancy Kress #sff #short stories

[havenmoodz]

A group of campers that are all yanderes?! Sign me up!

Joking aside, I have one question for the summer campers:

How would each of them feel about the reader being a shut-in (prefers to stay in the dark playing video game or going on their phone etc).

Cause Why Not?

a/n: I LOVE YOU ANONNN/p

First up, Maven! He’d understand, but would drag you out for some activities once in a while. Like sports, crafts, talking about life, literally anything; he doesn’t want you to live that kind of lifestyle, even though he has nothing against it. If he thinks there’s something causing you to act like this (i.e. mental health issues, tiredness, etc) then he’ll find ways to help you out. That is what he’s good at, after all. If it’s just because you prefer it, he’ll respect your opinions and not push it too much. Although, he will lecture you on how unhealthy it is to be shut in a dark room all day. “I know you have to like at least some of these activities, don’t you?” 

Next is Dawn! Honestly, she’d probably do the same thing as Maven but just…more confrontational 💀 Would slide in your room, “Heya! You seriously aren’t planning to stay inside all day, right? C’mon, let’s go swimming!” and wouldn’t even give you a chance to say no. She doesn’t think of it as that deep, though, but if she realizes it is, she’ll just leave you to Maven and Evan. Will get the little ones to horde around you so you can’t get out of it. “gasp Is that a hermit crab shell?! Let’s go see! C’mon guys, it’s soooo cool, isn’t it?? I think I have a story about Mr. Hermit the crab! Anyone wanna hear?”

Evan would probably be the one most likely to give up after 10 minutes of trying to convince you 💀 The process of “Yo, let’s go chill near the lake…c’monnn…why not?” to “I didn’t have enough sleep for this. You do you 😒” Definitely would charm his way through though. “Hm? What was that? No? Well…I’ll be the judge of that ;)” (I’m sorry, I’ll pay for therapy). If he gets called along with Maven, though, these two will start bickering like a married couple of 9 years and never stop. “Hey- are you feeling alright? Maybe we could start off simple, like going for a walk! It must get lonely stuck inside this dark ro-“ 

“AWHHHH that’s no fun, is it now, mAvEn? C’mon darling, let’s go with ME. I have so many things planned :)” 

“Hey- you interrupted me! And stop trying to flirt with them, they’re mine. I get to take care of them, isn’t that right, darling?”

“Huh. Well, the last time I checked, I, EVAN, was the one who found them at the lake. So obviously, I should have them, right darling? Right.”

“You little…ugh…see, this is why you didn’t get counsellor of the month, you fucking suck.” 

“wha- EXCUSE YOU?? I SUCK? WELL YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CAN SUCK? YOU CAN FUCKING SUCK MY DI-“ (Okay, I think you get the point 💀) 

For Rina? Tbh, they would go ahead and chill with you. You can play video games together, talking about life together, make fun of celebrities toge- 

Hell, you can literally just sit there in silence, she doesn’t care! You can be shut-in buddies. Eventually though, Maven would have to drag the both of you out. Scolding Rina and leaving you alone. She’d sneak back in, though, and you two would go back to whatever you were doing. One of the other counsellors would end up having to sleep next to you to make sure Rina doesn’t sneak back in. Rina can no longer be nominated for counsellor of the month until she stops 😔

August would be hogged up in his own room, that they share with Dawn. Eventually, when he knows Rina isn’t there, he’d creep into your room with a pout, complaining about his boredom. “Mmmm, but whyyy? I wanna stay with you, your bed is definitely softer than mine :(“. Also one of the candidates that would have to get dragged out by Maven, but they won’t get as bad as a scolding as Rina ‘cause they’re sensitive 😭Would apologize gingerly, and then will immediately snuggle back against you, stating himself, that “I should be your new bunkie now”. 

#summer camp yans #ask 🫶 #tw yandere #yandere oc #yandere writing #soft yandere #Maven #Dawn #Evan #Rina #August

[sumrot]

I think the only thing worse than self loathing over your appearance is the immediate shame and guilt for even caring about it so much. Like oh not only am I ugly but I’m also vapid and superficial and spoiled because women are dying all over the world i don’t say this as a judgment because I know exactly how you feel. I have a big ass honker for a nose. And I didn’t really start thinking that until I started following Bella hadid on Instagram when she was 17, I must have been 16. She was just like popular hot la Instagram account popularity at the time and I shit you not I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I became OBSESSED. I scrolled through all of her photos and her friends and it didn’t take long before I realized she’d had a nose job.. so I became obsessed with nose jobs and the day I graduated high school and could go off at get one. I’m not in the yearbook for half of high school because I wouldn’t go to school on picture day because of how ugly I looked in photos. I fucking hated myself. When I was 18 I found a dr and was going to go through with it. My dad agreed to pay but asked me to go to one more consultation to be sure. I went to another and he told me any doctor who would operate on me was a bad dr. My profile isn’t bad but my nose is super wide with a long tip. Anyways he freaked me the fuck out. I was off my meds and stopped going to therapy and gained 25 pounds which made my AA boobs look even sadder and smaller. So overnight I decided getting a boob job would have to work. I’m 5”10 and like the rest of my body so I decided I would have to just settle for being a “butterface” it’s been 5 years and I fucking hate my ugly ass plastic tits. I have huge scars on my tits and they’re so obviously fake and uneven and my nipples which where so little and cute before are huge and scarred. I don’t tell anyone I’ve had them done because I’m so ashamed and embarrassed. And it’s seriously negatively affected my sex and dating life. I’ve convinced myself it doesn’t matter how cool or alternative I become, the second people find out I have fake tits everything else about me becomes moot point. Doesn’t matter I went to good college or am funny or charming. First thing that’ll come up about me is my fake boobs I know it. And I’m too embarrassed to get them taken out because then I’ll have to tell everyone including my best friends I’ve made in the past year that not only did I have them done but I’ve been keeping it a secret for 4 years????? Needless to say this whole time I’ve been torturing myself with how happy and how beautiful I would’ve been with a nose job. How I wouldn’t care if people knew I had had one. Screaming crying fits. The horror waking up the next day to these rock hard swollen fake plastic bags in my chest and the indescribable pain of having had my muscles torn up to put them in. I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I just felt compelled to share. You aren’t alone. I’m catastrophizing my plastic surgery baggage while people are being shot for not wearing a hijab. It is superficial and it sucks. But it still has caused me an insane amount of distress and anxiety and altered my interactions with the world &the people around me. I wish so badly I deleted my Instagram earlier, had better parents and people in my life to make sure I wasn’t behaving manically and irrationally&most of all that I didn’t give a fuck about my goddamn ugliness. Who fucking cares. Honestly being cool and different and having style and embracing your ugliness has so much much more value in the world than trying to mitigate beauty. Really. I admire women who aren’t pretty but they’re fucking rad. Chloe sivengySofia Coppola Juliette Lewis.I’ll also say that the intensity surrounding these things ebbs and flows depending on your mental state. You’re not in a good space right now so these things feel all encompassing and physically painful and traumatizing. But this isn’t a new reality you have to navigate. Its a fucked up headspace that won’t go away but will become incredibly smaller& less painful.

There's a couple things I want to say. first of all, I don't believe in playing the comparison game when it comes to people's problems. People are but a speck of dust on this Earth, but when you live here and exist in a body then you are perceiving everything from that point and it's not fair to compare your plight with someone else's. So it's completely valid that you feel this way or are experiencing life this way and I am sorry. I am sorry for all of us. Secondly, i want to believe that ugliness is really celebrated...I really do. Fact of the matter is though that all those women you listed are thin, which is the beauty standard. I've always been heavier compared to my peers so it provides no solace.

[crimsun-n-clover]

went to see barbie today with maggie, daisy, alex, and ruth.

maggie and i cried dude it was AMAZING

a lot of it was maggie either pointing at me or alex for the characters doing something stupid that even SLIGHTLY related to us

alex was almost late which had the other three losing their goddamn MINDS. pacing and saying his name trying to summon him n shit. maggie said “he’s probably pulled over with a double cheeseburger smoking a cigarette and listening to van halen” mag i know you don’t know i smoke but that sounds like the best day of my life. instead of shuttling you three around i could’ve been splitting a pack of camels at burger king with the guy i’m tied for as biggest van halen fan? yes please.

anyways it was such a good movie. very funny, amazing comedic timing, very relevant, whimsical, earnest, charming, all that. it feels like an old cult classic you find out about when you’re in middle school that changes your life. it’s like rocky horror but socially acceptable. represents an oppressed community as the majority of the characters and anyone who isn’t included in that group is treated as the outsiders for once, is so warm and silly and there’s things you can still laugh at every time you watch, and a little bit at the end that you didn’t expect to make you cry so hard.

it’s very quotable and so sweet and genuine. all the doll characters really do seem like they’re being controlled by idealistic children.

i just know that maggie and i are gonna refer to my trailer as stevie’s mojo dojo casa house.

we got a lot of photos of us in our feminine doll outfits and we looked really cool. i was basically in a relaxed version of my homecoming look. black v neck dress, bigass eyeliner, beehive hair and nicely done bangs.

we went to waffle house after but alex had to go home right after the movie. i’m not as close to ruth as maggie is so it was a little weird but i still get along with her just fine. again, i knew everyone on the shift and my friends thought it was crazy.

after waffle house i took daisy home and the rest of us went to fuck around in walmart. i got the last two metallica cds i was missing and tried not to cry. there’s a photo of me in the mini arcade at the front of the store holding them while on the tiny kids merry go round waiting for ruth to finish something.

mag had a breakdown when she got home over not being able to fully be herself around daisy and ruth, which i completely understand. she’s the designated funny friend who no one bothers to check in on or take seriously. she kept saying “well maybe i’m just wrong because ruth just goes to therapy and writes it in her journal she doesn’t hold grudges or make enemies like we do stevie” and that’s when i told her that she’s a main character of my diary blog so hey. me fuckin too. ruth is just a lame christian who doesn’t get fucked over as much as we do.

today was a good day. but still, i had to do so much to avoid my parents. wake up at a certain time, leave when i hear dad turn on the shower, and not come home until they went out to dinner. this is my fucking house man.

i think i had other things to say but my brain is FRIED right now. too much hairspray and eggos or something i guess.

[sundrop-tetsu]

A Dr. albert Krueger x reader romantic headcanons or drabble?

(If you wanna you can have some smüt too hehe)

-🎲

His Love For You

Dr. Albert Krueger x Non-binary!Reader

(a/n’s note: I tried my best since we hardly know much about our favorite therapist but I hope you enjoy it either way, love! I’m also sorry for how late I did this request T-T life gets in the way)

Before Dating:

Truthfully, your first meeting wasn’t the most normal-

You were having a sleepover with Taylor and everything was going well until you both went to bed. Instead of having a normal dream, you woke up in a sort of hospital??

Time to panic-

Honestly, you barely remembered how you even got to his office so quickly. A picture was taken, you signed documents, and then you were told you could enter

Albert wasn’t sitting there yet but when he did appear, he had a pleasant smile on his face

The fucker wouldn’t answer a single question you had about who he was or why the hell you were there -.-

So you did the only thing that you could, you got every question wrong on tests and looked when told not to just to annoy him 😌

Eventually, he understood you wouldn’t cooperate with him

While he wouldn’t explain everything, he told you he was friends with Taylor and wanted to get to know their other friends

“Why me? Taylor has many other friends.” You glared at him.

You just wanted a normal dream for once, even the writer feels bad for you.

“Taylor has talked about you a lot. You’ve very special to them,” He smiled, “And I found you quite interesting.”

“… excuse me?”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he sighed, “I do my research sometimes on patients before I invite them in for a therapy dream session. You’ve been to real therapy before. The things you’ve said or have happened to you, I’m quite intrigued on what exactly has caused you to become the person you are now.”

Your eyes widened.

“You fucking creep-”

“Y/n! Please refrain from using such language.”

“This is stupid. Let me go back. What if it’s morning and Taylor’s confused on why I’m not awake first.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s not morning yet.”

You sighed and finally relaxed from first arriving here.

“Alright Dr. Albert. I’ll cooperate.”

Alright fine, you’ll admit, the fucker eventually found his way onto your good side

Eventually, you started meeting in your dreams at nighttime on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

He did ask you to be friends one day, it was really cute-

When you became friends, he wanted to start meeting each other in person than in dreams so play dates were of course common

You were surprised at how charming he really was

He loved sea animals, he was polite, he was so kind, so handsome, so… perfect and everything you ever wanted

Quickly, you fell fast for him

Confessions:

You’re both so adorable, wtf-

Albert deciding if he likes you was one of the most confusing things in the world for him and he had such a hard time

You were kind, you were smart, you loved sea animals, you had a funny kind of humor, you were.. perfect. so perfect to him

At some point, he asked Taylor for help??

Taylor got annoyed with him quickly and Albert decided to take things into his own hands

It happened on a play date to the aquarium. Of all places to go, you two hadn’t decided to visit the aquarium until today. Maybe Albert wanted to save it for something special ;)

He was really nervous, our poor baby :(

You two were watching the dolphins swim in their tanks when you noticed he was staring for a while

You were so beautiful. So much more mesmerizing than dolphins. And that’s saying a lot for Albert

“You weirdo. The dolphins are right there. Look at how gorgeous they are.” You smiled, pointing to the tank.

“You’re right, darling. You are gorgeous.”

Honestly, that’s not the compliment you were expecting.

“Are you.. comparing me to dolphins?” You laughed teasingly.

His face immediately turned a nice red of embarrassment before he looked away. He sighed and turned towards you once more, determined to do something about how he felt towards you. Whatever those feelings were.

“Y/n,” he called to you. You turned to him and titled your head in an adorable way, making him smile at you, “I’d like to.. create a contract together.”

You raised an eyebrow. Huh..?

“Is that the right expression?” He put his hand to his chin and questioned himself.

He sighed before taking your hands in his.

“Darling. Truthfully, I am not sure what I feel for you. But, I’m aware that I feel differently towards you than I do with Taylor. I’d like to kiss you.. and make you breakfast in bed. I’d like to be able to claim you as someone who no one else should get near because you’re mine.”

“My love, will you do me the honor of becoming my partner?”

so back to when albert asked taylor for help-

they were getting so tired of albert whining and questioning so they suggested just asking y/n to be his partner

when I tell you albert looked like an adorable confused puppy-

so of course, you said yes

and thus began your relationship with a demon therapist

Dating:

sfw :)

albert is the sweetest boyfriend ever-

during his therapy sessions, he tends to miss you a lot so you go with him to his sessions

you sit on his desk and draw, the patient often looks at you confusingly-

aquarium dates are frequent, he enjoys seeing his favorite thing in the world with his favorite person in the world

he makes sure people are aware of what your last name is going to be- honestly, you should just change it already, he acts as if you’re his spouse already anyway

you were sitting on a bench at the aquarium. albert was running a little late and he sent you apology texts frequently

you sighed at how adorable he was

eventually, someone sat next to you

you turned to see a man not much older than you. he smiled at you and scooted closer, making you scoot away

he chuckled softly, “don’t worry doll, I don’t bite.”

“no, but my husband does.”

immediately, albert punches him and the guy falls to the ground

“ms. krueger, shall we?” he offers his hand to you, an adoring smile in place

“we shall, honey.” you smiled at him

okay I lied- you both act as if you’re married already-

honestly, anything you want, he’ll give it to you

you want him to kiss you? done.

you wanna cuddle in bed while it’s raining? done.

you want him to skip work to spend time with you? done.

you want him to try cooking with you? done.

you want him to fuck you? done.

oh wait-

nsfw ;)

he’s so gentle, so loving and considerate, does everything to make sure you feel good first

but honestly, it depends on what you want

some days, he could be a good lover for you, placing sweet kisses on your neck and whispering such beautiful compliments to you

and then other days, he could slam you onto his desk, rip off every piece of clothing you’re wearing, and fuck you so nicely until you can’t walk or speak

but overall, he worships your body

he could fill you up so wonderfully

and no matter if he’s being gentle or rough, he always tells you how he wants to fuck you full of his children

your first time together was beautiful honestly

“a-albert. let me get used to it.” you whispered shyly.

he was a nice length above average and sitting in his lap with him inside you for the first time felt.. unbelievable

his face was completely red as he looked at how beautiful you were. so pretty taking his cock so well. eventually, you slowly started moving up and down, letting the pleasure consume your thoughts

“look at you, darling~ so beautiful and you’re taking me so well.” he whispered in your ear, holding onto your hips.

you bit your lip, trying to hold onto your moans since you knew you might be too loud if you let them out

“why aren’t you letting your noises out?,” he looked into your eyes, using his gloved right hand to lift up your chin, “I’d like to know how much you like it, my love.”

getting a good grip on your hips, he began moving at his own pace. loving the feeling of your wet walls against him.

“a-ahh~ albert~”

he smiled happily at the way you praised his actions

leaning into your neck, he places a sweet kiss, “a little more, angel. i want to fill you up with our children.”

your breath got caught up in your throat, moving yourself closer to his body, wanting to feel more of him.

“I love you.” he whispered, giving you a final thrust as you let yourself relax around him.

“that’s a good kitten. just relax.”

“I love you too.” you manage to whisper too as you continue moving, wanting him to fill you up

Conclusion:

In all? Albert is such a wonderful partner

Y’all will definitely get married soon-

Taylor was definitely the one who married you two

But anyways, he loves you so much. And he couldn’t ask for anyone else

#dr albert krueger #therapy with dr albert krueger #headcanon #romantic headcanons #albert krueger #dinoverse #twdak #twdak fandom #twdak albert #twdak taylor lee #non binary reader #fluff #reader fluff #smut #x reader smut #people need to write about this hot therapist more #albert needs more attention

[likeitloveitblogit]

Just Hold Me

I had a dream that got stuck in my brain, so I decided to turn it into a Loki x fem!reader fanfic. Here it is. Please be gentle this is the first but of my writing I've shared.

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: After a rough battle fighting with the Avengers you skip the party to recover in your room at the Avengers tower. There you're visited by a drunk Thor and a comforting Loki.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: non consensual kissing, mention of assault, pain, mention of death, they all need therapy

What to expect: Me turning a dream into a Loki fluff therapy session.

From your room in the Avengers tower you could still hear the sounds of the party. Another victory for the team meant another raging party to celebrate. You loved a good party, but you had taken a few too many hits during the mission and had chosen to head back to your room.

A knock sounded at your door, "Y/N, are you there?" You heard the gruff voice of Thor.

The god of thunder and his brother Loki had become members of the team after defeating the Dark Elves in London. There had been a drunken night when Loki confessed to you he had considered faking his own death and stealing the throne of Asgard. But Loki had chosen to help fight, winning the battle and the approval of the Avengers. Not everyone had accepted them completely, but you understand that people were capable of change and had become friends with the pair.

"Y/N?!?" Thor called again, pounding a little harder on the door.

You rise from your bed and walk to the door, opening it you find a very clearly drunk Thor. It took a great deal of drinking to get the god drunk. You chuckle thinking about how much he must have consumed, but then notice that his eyes are full of tears.

"Thor, what's wrong?"

"Can I come in?"

Normally you didn't let anyone into your room. You were a fairly open person, happy to share, but your room was your safe place to get away and recharge. Standing there, leaning slightly against your door frame Thor looked completely broken, so you open the door and gesture for him to enter. Leaving the door open you follow Thor into the room.

You weren't sure how to handle having a guest in your room. But Thor walked over and sat on your bed, like he owned the place. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just, I was at that party and everything was good. You know we had that Asgardian wine brought in, so much better than anything here on Midgard. But then I saw a woman in the crowd that looked just like her. And I thought, I don't know, I thought maybe she had only faked it, maybe she'd just been lost and now she'd come to find me. I ran over to her, but the woman was just some stranger."

From your spot learning against the wall you asked, "Who do you mean? Jane?"

"Ha, I've lost her too. I seem to lose everyone I care about. But no. I thought I saw my mother"

That broke your heart. That same drunken night when Loki had confessed thinking of faking his own death, you two had also talked about Frigga's death. Unsure how to comfort the god then you had sat with Loki, holding his hand while he cried. Loki had been so close with Frigga, a part of Loki had changed when the guard had delivered the news of her death. Being in prison unable to even attend the funeral had stirred a desire to be a better person in Loki.

Even though you had seen Loki's grief, somehow Thor had seemed stronger, less affected, but Frigga was his mother, too. The loss of a parent is a terrible thing to deal with no matter how strong of a person you might appear to be. And clearly alcohol made the Asgardians emotional wrecks, because here now was the god of thunder sitting on your bed, body racking with sobs.

You sat down next to Thor, reaching to take his hand. Instead Thor pulled you into a crushing hug. Your first instinct was to pull away from the pain, you had really taken a beating in that fight. But Thor was your friend and he was hurting inside, so you relaxed. Rubbing circles on his back, you whispered "it's ok, you're ok" while you let him cry on your shoulder. The two of you sat like that for a long while before Thor released his hold on you.

You were about to ask Thor if he was feeling better, when he looked down at you and leaned in to kiss you. A million thoughts ran through your brain all at once. Fear struck you the strongest, and you scrambled away, backing up until your back was against the headboard. "What are you doing?"

"Um, kissing you," Thor said as he crawled toward you, hovering over you he leaned to try and kiss you.

"Well, stop it" you put your arms in front of your face trying to push him away. "Stop it, stop it, stop it"

Thor's strong arms easily push your own hands out of the way. But just as Thor leaned in towards you, he was ripped from on top of you.

Frightened, you look up to see Loki shoving Thor away, placing himself between you and Thor. "The lady told you to stop. What has gotten into you brother?"

"You don't know anything stupid brother, just leave us alone" Thor lunges for Loki, but Thor is still far too intoxicated to stand a chance in a fight. Loki easily pushes back and Thor nearly crashes into the wall.

Before Thor can lunge again Loki summons a pair of daggers and points then at Thor. "Brother you're drunk. You need to calm down. I don't want to hurt you, but if you try to hurt Y/N, I'll have no choice."

"Brother you wouldn't dare."

Loki points the daggers more directly at Thor "I don't know what is happening here but you know that I will do anything to defend a lady's honor."

"Oh, so you're just such a hero now? A perfect little prince charming? You're not defending anything. You're just jealous because Y/N invited me into her room and not you."

You stand up, careful to stay behind Loki. "Thor, nothing was going to happen between us. You came to me, crying and I offered you a hand to hold because I knew you missed your mother. You hugged me and I let you because you are my friend. But that's it. You are my friend and I don't want any more than that. You should thank Loki for keeping you from doing something you'd have regretted."

"You think I'd regret kissing you?"

"No, I think you'd regret kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed. You'd regret taking advantage of someone you cared about."

"I, I thought you'd want to kiss me"

"You buffoon, not everyone wants to have their face crushed in by your giant head."

"Hush Loki," you walk toward Thor, Loki tries to pull you back behind him but you touch his arm gently, and step forward. "Thor you know I do care about you, but I don't feel that way about you. Look, I know you have had a lot to drink tonight. And you have a lot of emotions running through you. I mean you thought you saw your mother, that has to be really hard to deal with. But you made a mistake."

"I thought, I just. Uh, I'm sorry"

"I know. Right now I think it is best if you go back to your room, get some sleep, and we can talk more in the morning, once you're sober."

"But,"

"You heard her brother. She is giving you a very generous offer. If you don't accept and leave now, I will make you. And I won't be nice about it."

With a final look at you, Thor leaves your room.

Once Loki is sure that Thor is gone, he sets his daggers down and turns to you. You register that he chose to set them down rather than magic then away, but chart it away as a question for later.

Approaching you, hands raised like you are an animal he is afraid to spook Loki asks, "Y/N, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine." Which is a lie, you're anything but ok. Unsteady on your feet, you nearly collapse.

Loki reaches to catch you and leads you to sit on the bed, "oh Y/N, what did he do to you? I'll kill him if he has hurt you."

"Thank you, but I'm actually just a little worse off than I thought from that fight today. All this has just made me extra aware of how tired I am."

"I'll go get Banner or Strange, or one of the others."

"No," you reach and grab onto his arm.

He looks down at the way your hands tremble as they hold onto his arm. "But, Y/N, you are unwell."

"I'm not sick. I'm not injured, well not more than normal after a fight. I'm just tired. Honest."

"Well then I'll leave you to rest"

But you only hold more tightly, "please don't"

"Don't what?" His breath catches as he looks down into your eyes.

"Please don't leave me. I don't, I don't want to be alone right now."

"Ok, I'll stay." Loki sits next to you, shifting his arm to take your hand. You rest your head on his shoulder and look at the interlocking of your fingers with his.

"Thank you."

"Thor is a buffoon, but I don't think he meant to harm you. He's not used to anyone not wanting him. Not that what he did was ok. I'm not trying to say it was ok."

"Loki, I know. I understand that he was hurting. And I guess I'm a beacon of comfort and he mistook that for romantic attraction. Honestly I think he would have stopped once he realized what he was doing. But I'm still so glad you were there."

Despite Loki's comforting hold, and the circles he was tracing with his long thumb, your hands still shook. "Y/N is there something more bothering you?"

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. "When I saw your brother crawling towards me, I got so scared. I didn't see Thor, my friend. I saw that crazy guy from the factory today."

You could feel the moment the switch clicked and rage burned in Loki, "Wait did something happen? I don't remember a guy. Did this guy…, did he …, do something to you? I will end him."

"Oh Loki, my sweet murderous Loki. You actually already did."

"What?"

"You probably don't even remember, it was the heat of the battle. I'd gone in to clear the next room when I got knocked down and bumped my head. When I woke up, one of the baddies was dragging me by my ankle into the office, muttering about a sweet reward. How much fun he was going to have with me. He was reaching for me when you stormed in. I don't think you even saw me behind the desk, but you grabbed the guy before he could touch me. I didn't see what you did to him, but I heard it and it sounded very bloody."

"Oh gods, Y/N, I had no idea you were there in the back office. That guy looked deranged, even if we hadn't all been given orders to kill on sight I would have killed that man. If I'd known you were there I'd have made sure you were ok."

"I hid under the desk until you'd left and then I ran straight back to the jet. I felt so bad for not helping more with the fight, but…"

"Y/N, no one would ever blame you for running. That's not something anyone should have to face. Oh gods, and then my stupid brother had to come in and loom over you."

"He didn't know."

"No but that doesn't mean it wasn't terrifying, just the same."

You can't find the right words, and simply give a small nod. After a second of silence the question pops back into your brain. "Why did you leave your daggers on my nightstand? Why didn't you magic then away like you normally do?"

"Oh, uh, I was going to offer to let you borrow them. Just in case Thor tried to come back and visit."

"That's really sweet, but I've never been good with knives. I don't know if I'd even know what to do with them."

"Hmm well is there anything I can do to make you feel safer?"

There was a moment when you thought about saying, no. Telling Loki you'd be safe with his daggers, and sending him back to his room. But you couldn't do it. You could not send Loki away. Not when he felt like the only safe thing in the world. A breath of air after you'd been drowning all night. So you asked what you really wanted, not caring that it made you feel vulnerable.

"Can you hold me?"

"Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes I'm sure. I mean if you don't want to, I won't make you."

Loki gingerly wraps his arms around you, until you squeeze him half to death and he returns with a proper hug. Still holding you he says "I just didn't know if you'd want to be touched after… today and then my brother"

"You are not a brutish villain and you are not your brother. Do not take this as anything but a compliment, but right now the fact that you're not a big oversized muscle man is really comforting. And well neither men got the chance to do anything because of you."

"Y/N, I am so sorry you had to go through all of this. But I'm really happy that you find me comforting. I have done some terrible things that I deeply regret. And I've been afraid for so long that I'd never be able to find someone who felt safe around me."

"Everyone in this tower has done things that they can't take back. Things they regret. Including myself." You breathe in the scent of Loki, winter frost mixed with leather and metal, wondering when that scent had become so comforting to you. "But for right now, your arms feel like home and I don't want to ever leave."

"I will be here to hold you as long as you need."

"I'm going to take you up on that offer, because I might have a concussion, so you're going to have to watch me to make sure I don't die while I sleep."

"Humans are far too fragile."

"That we are. But that's an issue to deal with another day. Right now I just need you to hold me." You whisper as you lie yourself down, pulling Loki down with you. Carefully he wraps his arms around you pulling your little spoon body against his own big spoon body. Listening intently to your breathing as you drift asleep, Loki decides that he never wants to stop holding you.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki Laufeyson x reader #loki Laufeyson x you #MCU Loki #tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston loki #Loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfic #first time be gentle #loki fluff #feeling fluff #who needs therapy #me #a dream into a story #soft boi

[merakiui]

Okay okay okay I’ve been thinking about this for a few days now here’s my list of genshin boys most likely to least likely to become a yandere and why:

-xiao. Millennia of suffering and he meets somebody who makes the pain dissipate? Hell never let go.

-diluc. People have died in his arms, he can’t risk losing another loved one... it’s not like he doesn’t have the wealth and resources to keep his beloved by his side.

-Childe. I think he’d be the most dehumanizing yandere - he treats you almost like a child (haha) as be manipulates his way into your heart. And god knows that he gets what he wants.

-albedo is obviously in the top half of this list. We’ve talked about his yandere tendacies before so I won’t relist them but jeez get this boy some therapy.

-razor. Now this sounds surprising but after years of protecting his Lupical, do you really think he’d let somebody he loves and sees as helpless wander alone? I feel hes less captor and manipulative and more of a stalker if he becomes a yandere

-venti. Freedom is his entire world, but can he let his beloved have freedom if it endangers them? One of the most manipulative ones on this list, except he has no clue that he’s doing it.

-kaeya. Maybe you’d gotten to close to one of his secrets. Maybe you’d figured out something he wanted to die. It doesn’t matter much now, all you know is that you were tried and declared guilty by the knights of favonius and were sent into a dungeon protected by the Calvery captain himself.

-zhongli. Has the yandere desires, but refuses to give in. He’s loved and lost so many times over the years and he figures he doesn’t want to take that away from his beloved.

-chongyun. I’ve gone back and forth between him and xingqiu for this one, but I feel like these last 3 are all pretty much tied for not being a yandere. However, if he met someone who could somehow null his congenital positivity than he might move up on this list...

-Xingqiu. He has a strong sense of justice and honor, the idea of manipulating, stalking or god forbid kidnapping his S/O is appalling to him.

-Bennett. Literally just tryna vibe. Devotes as much time as he can to make sure any relationship he has is healthy.

So basically:

Everybody on this list: *frothing at the mouth, thinking of ways to keep their S/Os with them*

Bennett, Chongyun, Xingqiu and to some extent Zhongli: what the fuck

Your list... Simply amazing. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m beginning to wonder where other characters would sit on the list. Mainly Scaramouche though aha oops Anyways, please never stop sharing your thoughts!! They are so GOOD!

Xiao’s backstory and past is just perfect material to fuel his yandere desires. He’s suffered for so long and has never really experienced positive emotions, let alone love itself. The poor adeptus is always brooding on his own and here comes his darling, bright and happy and just...perfect. They’re like a glimmering star in his murky darkness and he wants to treasure them. There’s no way he’s going to let go of the feeling he gets when he’s with them, nor is he going to let them leave his side.

It makes sense that Diluc would also be at the top of that list. He’s got the making of a yandere, especially considering all of the people he’s lost in his life. Now that he’s found someone so important to him, he can’t risk losing them. It would destroy him if he found out that his darling got hurt or was even killed because he wasn’t taking enough precautions to keep them safe. He’d definitely blame himself if something like that happened.

Childe, pspspspsp!!! The power this man holds... Omg he makes for such a terrifying yandere. On the outside, he seems warm and disarming—just your normal, happy-go-lucky kind of guy. He’s not dangerous at all! No way. But under all of that falsified charm is someone who knows how to pull strings. He’s a Fatui Harbinger, so of course he has the means of getting you wrapped around his finger. It’s not all that hard when he’s got money, power, and strength. Plus, when he wants something he’s not going to stop until he acquires it; Childe lives for the thrill of chasing after you and it’ll be even more fun once he catches you. Someone should send me more thoughts about yan!Childe!!! orz orz

Albedo also qualifies as a neat yandere! Something about yanderes who are into science is just...fascinating to me. It’s also cool because Albedo’s rumored to be a homunculus, so that adds to the intrigue! Albedo has the resources to get what he wants as well. It won’t be all that difficult, and if it proves to be challenging he can just think of other solutions to pacify his darling. He is a researcher, after all, and a good researcher seeks to find the best solution to a problem.

Razor would be a feral yandere. He’s more action than words. He doesn’t put much thought into what he does because it feels more like an instinct to him. He’s just protecting his Lupical. There’s nothing wrong with that! So why are you acting so difficult? D: 

Like you said, Venti’s not aware of his manipulation and he just does it because it works. His belief that everyone deserves freedom is probably what really holds him back. He doesn’t want you to feel caged, but that feeling is practically inevitable since he’s always hounding you. Venti is a very suffocating yandere and he doesn’t even realize it.

KAEYA! KAEYA! I love the idea of Kaeya having some sort of blackmail on you—something so bad that you absolutely can’t let the world see. And so he uses that to keep you quiet. If you did stumble upon one of his secrets, he can’t possibly have you running that pretty mouth of yours. But if you do end up spilling his secret, it’s only fair that he shares yours, right? An eye for an eye, as some would say. Kaeya’s very smooth and calculative when it comes to handling blackmail. Whenever it feels like you’re trying to one-up him and possibly escape, he’ll flirtatiously remind you of the power he holds over you. Blackmail is rather compelling, is it not?

Zhongli does have the motive to be a yandere, as you pointed out, but he’s a strange case. On one hand, it makes sense that he’d want to protect his beloved at all costs, but on the other he’d probably be aware of these unhealthy tendencies. Although he probably uses the idea of a contract to keep your relationship going, even if it’s clear you don’t want anything to do with him. But if you do, that just makes it easier on him! 

NO BECAUSE I THOUGHT THE SAME FOR CHONGYUN!!! Not the yan!Chongyun piece rotting in my drafts for a month or two now ehehee I had some thoughts about Chongyun but never bothered posting it for some reason. Anyways, I do think Chongyun has potential to be a yandere! As you mentioned, his congenital positivity can become an issue and he doesn’t want that to seriously affect his daily life. So he’s probably very pleased to find someone who can nullify that positivity. It’d be similar to Xiao’s case; Xiao likes someone who can be the light in his dark world. Chongyun falls for the person who can null his congenital positivity and is someone who he gets along with. 

The only way I can see Xingqiu being a yandere is if he wants a noble, storybook romance. Okay, that sounds strange, but consider it! He’s a huge bookworm who probably doesn’t exactly experience romance aside from what he reads in his novels. Although he doesn’t dabble in the romance genre all that often, he does like the idea of being a hero and sweeping someone off of their feet. So when he meets you—another fellow bookworm or maybe the two of you are thrown into an arranged marriage—he just feels an undeniable connection. This must be some form of fate or a sixth sense. Maybe he can be the main character of his own story! You’ll just have to cooperate and you can be the valiant knight’s love interest!

Bennett’s vibes are so nice. How could he be a yandere? He’s just too sweet and pure. He’s really just here to chill and gather an adventuring team full of great friends! But if anyone has any thoughts...please share them! 

That’s it. I’m writing about Scaramouche even though he’s not on the list. Please, why do I simp so much for him? Anyways, we don’t know nearly enough about Scaramouche to determine his backstory or past. But he just oozes yandere! Most of the Harbingers are probably the same, to some extent. He’s like Childe with all of the power and resources, but whereas Childe relishes in the chase Scaramouche refuses to put up with it. It’s just way too inconvenient for him. He’d rather catch you when you least expect it and then keep you for himself.

Gosh, he’s a very determined and possessive yandere with a strict agenda; this man probably cheats in order to get you. He’ll send his underlings to do the work in his place. They’ll stalk you and report back to him and it isn’t long before he learns of your friends, certain family members you’re close to, and even where you live. It’s terrifying, but this is Scaramouche we’re talking about. For someone so short, he sure knows how to intimidate and beat fear into those below him. Good luck to the poor soul who catches his eye. 

I must thank you for making that list! It was lots of fun to consider their mindsets and behaviors as yandere. :D

#chit chat #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere xiao #yandere diluc #yandere childe #yandere albedo #yandere razor #yandere venti #yandere kaeya #yandere zhongli #yandere chongyun #yandere xingqiu #genshin impact bennett #yandere scaramouche #yandere x reader #this was so fun to write about #xenia-cenia #your brain is galaxy level

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

What Do You See, Mirror? Chapter 1

John Constantine x reader

Word Count: 867

Summary: That mirror above the fireplace dredges up memories John would rather forget, no matter how good they might have been at the time.

Note: AAAAAAAAAAAAAnd here’s another 10k (10 chapters, roughly 1k each), this one about my man John Constantine because I started watching the show again and got bit by the plot bunny. Tell me your thoughts if you like it! I love reading some rambling comments from you guys xp

“Time’s out of joining in that mirror,” Constantine’s words echoed through Liv’s ears as she found herself gazing into it for the second time that day. Again, she was alone. John and Chas were out getting . . . something for dealing with her little problem, so she’d taken to roaming around the old millhouse by herself.

Just like last time, she started in alarm when the mirror didn’t reflect her (or even her father), and instead chose to show her something different that happened at some point in the past.

It was a familiar form on display, this time. Well, at least half of the couple shown in the silver surface was familiar anyway, because it was none other than John Constantine himself. Only this version of John was smiling without the sarcastic, biting edge to it that it usually had. He seemed, for lack of better word, happy. It seemed like he was talking to someone that was only partially in frame.

The other person was a woman, that much she could tell. Liv couldn’t see much more than that because her back was to the mirror. A flash of a bottle in the woman’s hands meant that she was pouring her and John drinks. Not someone like Liv who just needed his help, then.

John in the past laughed--it was clear just from the visual that it’d been a loud, boisterous one--and his hands came to grasp the woman’s leather jacket to pull her closer to him. Now, Liv would never claim to be good at lip-reading by any stretch of her imagination, but she felt confident enough in her skills that she was certain John told the woman something that included the words, “Love you.”

“What’s that blasted thing showing you n--” the current John, the real one that just walked into the room with her, was asking before cutting himself off the second he could see the mirror with his own eyes.

“Who is that?”

He snorted. “You shouldn’t pay too much attention to the past, luv.”

“You look happy,” she pointed out, trying a different tactic to get information.

His frown made his already thin lips thinner. “We have more important things to deal with. We have to trap Furcifer before he gets even more out of hand.”

“What h--”

“What happened?” He gave an almost manic sounding laugh. “No. I’m not talking about that. We’re leaving. Now.”

~

John was impressively not in the mood to deal with the gang that was so obviously following him, and it certainly didn’t help that his hands automatically started doing something inspired by you to scare them off. It did nothing but bring up memories of you, and that was never a good thing for him. The whole ‘dunking his hands in oil and lighting them on fire’ thing was a gag he’d developed with her as his muse, after all. A little magic to keep his hands from burning, and most mortals would go running at the sight of a madman lighting his own hands on fire.

It worked like a charm this time just like all the others.

Once alone again, his mind started turning over and over the events that led him here, most of all his time in Ravenscar.

~

The shrink just hadn’t been able, or willing for that matter, to let the concept of John’s ex-wife go once he accidentally let her name slip past his lips. That man nagged John about her every session after for the entire two months he’d been in Ravenscar afterwards, right up until he checked himself out and strolled out the door. Her and Astra had been that man’s favorite bones to pick when discussing John’s various traumas. Their existences haunted his ‘therapy’ like they haunted his nightmares. He just couldn’t escape.

One thing led to another in both instances involving those two, after all. The divorce, however consensual it might have been, left him lonely, and a lonely John Constantine was never a good thing. He wasn’t good at handling it. Just ask anyone he ever called ‘friend’. Hell, you could probably get a similar answer from those he called ‘enemy’. 

When he was lonely, he got dangerous. He got nasty and had a tendency to drink. When he was drunk, John either got sad, horny, or over-confident. Unfortunately for Astra, he knew he’d been the latter during the disaster with Nergal. Then he was left with a whole new reason to drink, plus the lovely addition of his soul being thoroughly being damned to Hell when he eventually (or not so eventually) kicked the metaphorical bucket.

~

He shook his head to clear away the memories. Dwelling would do him no good now (or ever, if he was being perfectly honest). Still, he didn’t like the fact that the mirror had shown that specific evening (their anniversary, not long before everything went sideways) to Liz. It could be nothing. It could bloody well be a coincidence--maybe the mirror felt like reminiscing because the date was coming up or something, John didn’t know, he made a point to avoid calendars at this point--or it could be a sign.

And John wasn’t sure he believed coincidences anymore.

#john constantine x reader #john constantine imagine #hellblazer imagine #hellblazer x reader #reader insert #DC imagines

[highdramas]

this is me trying | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, tfatws spoilers, angstyyyy vibes baby

word count: 1557

summary: bucky is trying. you are proud of him.

note: here’s a shorter part of twalb! you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like!

enjoy! <3

“he gave it away.”

you sit on the arm of bucky’s couch as the two of you watch what unfolds in front of you. bucky sits on the floor-- sometimes, you meet him right where he is. other times, you sit back, close enough to be in reach. this is one of those times.

“he gave it away,” bucky’s words echo in the apartment. you’ve been bringing some of your things over, so the words don’t reverberate off the walls the way that they once did. the space feels less hollow than it once did. you’ve even gone to thrift stores hand in hand and bucky has pointed out dated art and offered a low, “this is nice.” it didn’t matter if it was the ugliest thing you’d ever seen. it came home with you and went on the walls immediately.

a careful and watchful eye is kept on bucky, though you can’t help but allow your attention to flick to the tv screen every now and then. “he gave it away and this asshole gets to take the captain america name? are you fucking serious?”

bucky opens his mouth to say something, but then the words come from the tv speakers. he feels like a brother.

you can watch as bucky processes. he gives a little huff of a laugh and he shakes his head, as if to shake off the words. almost hesitantly, you reach out, placing your hand on the shoulder where flesh meets vibranium and you rub there softly. you remember the first time you did it. at first, you worried that you had overstepped a boundary— you had stumbled over your words and stopped but he shook his head and asked if you would do it again. and his head tipped back and he had said “that feels nice.” you had always made a point to do it when he was stressed.

there’s no movement for a few minutes. just you, rubbing that spot on his shoulder. eventually, you slide over onto the couch and you wrap your arms around his neck. and then, you feel his hand come up to touch your forearm. “am i overreacting?” he asks you quietly. he almost sounds embarrassed.

“no! bucky, no.” you slide down so you sit on the floor beside him, your hand touching his leg. “you’re entitled to your anger. and your hurt.”

he moves his knuckle across his top lip. “i need to talk to sam.”

he brushes off your touch and stands, moving towards the bedroom.

that’s another thing about bucky barnes.

he is the kindest, most loving partner you have ever had. he is attentive, he is giving, he is charming.

he can also be cold.

you don’t blame him. you think that if you had gone through half the things he had, you would be a solid block of ice. the fact that he has warmed to you at all is a miracle, in your eyes. of course, he would argue, and say that there is no one else in the world who would have the patience as he thawed.

but it’s time like these, when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of his past, what he has lost and who has left him… these are the times that he tends to close up. he’s given you his explanation in the past.

“you’re my future. i don’t want to bring us down with… everything else.”

and, of course, you would argue that that is bullshit and that you want everything else. you want his moods and you want his hurt, you want to be there through it all, no matter what that means. that is what you signed up for.

as you trail him, you think that again.

shaky hands are filling a duffel bag. you lean in the doorway and watch him, watch the weight in his shoulders and the cloud of pain that you know surrounds him, can consume him. “bucky.”

he doesn’t look up, but his hands still.

“let me help you.”

you brush up beside him like a cat and you gently begin to fold the clothes that he had begun to stuff into the bag. he rubs at his eyebrow and watches you and you gather a toiletry bag and all of the essentials he would need for a week. at some point, he surrendered and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands laced in front of him, eyes studying them. when you zip the bag up, he finally peers up at you. his expression reminds you of a dog left out in the cold.

“thanks, doll,” he murmurs, eyes trailing to the bag.

you smile and you again put your hand on that spot on his shoulder. he sighs and his head tips, leaning against your hand. the hand moves to the side of his face, your other following suit, until you are cradling him in your palms. you swipe your thumb along his lower lip, and he kisses it.

“you’re allowed to be angry,” you whisper. “you’re allowed to be sad. you’re allowed these feelings.”

“i’m tired of being angry,” he admits, and you can hear how tired he is. “i’m tired of being sad. you know, i have these moments, where it feels like-- it feels like things are getting better.” he gestures in between the two of you. “this. therapy. the amends. you know, there are good days. there are days where i… i feel like i have the chance for a normal life. and then…” he shakes his head. “and then there are bad days.”

you swallow and you nod your head. your hand runs through his hair. you wait and see if he’ll speak more, but the words never come. “one bad day doesn’t erase ten good ones, buck.” you sit beside him on the bed, and he tugs you nearer, draping your legs over his. “i’m really proud of you.”

something about the words are so simple, but you watch as they flick a switch in him. he takes your thigh and he squeezes it. “i’m trying.”

“i know you are,” you place your hand over his.

“it’s fucking hard.”

“i know it is.”

bucky smiles a little bit and he releases a breath. you wonder how long that air, those feelings, have been trapped in his chest. you hope it’s a relief. “i should get going.”

you both stand and you help him gather the last few things he needs. the both of you linger in the doorway and he’s looking at you, and there’s a smile on his face, but it’s different than normal. it’s softer. it’s gentler. there’s something behind his eyes that says come with me. i don’t want to be parted.

“stay safe,” you say. there are some walls up around you, and he knows it, too. you fear something happening to him. super soldier or not-- bucky not coming home is the nightmare that plagues you most often. “call me when you can.”

“i’ll call you as soon as i’m there,” bucky says, and you know he will. he is a man of his word. a gentleman. “maybe sooner. i’ll miss you too much.”

you roll your eyes and bucky gets that shit eating grin on his face that you love so much. “can’t blame you.” you grow silent and you’re simply looking at him, and he is looking at you. “stay safe. i’m serious.”

“i know you are.”

“no, bucky. i’m not fucking around--”

“i know you aren’t.”

you give him a pointed look, and he nods. “i’ll be safe, doll.”

he reaches out and takes your hand, tugging you in. hands take your waist and he’s holding you like water in his hands and he can’t pull you in tight enough. you feel his nose brush your neck and you feel his grip on your back and you want to say something, but the words die out in your throat.

bucky peppers kisses along your neck, up to your jaw, your cheek. he pulls back enough to look at you and the corner of his mouth turns up before he is kissing you.

kissing bucky barnes is addictive. it is needy, and it is passionate. it is all hands and want, all desperation, as if this could be the last time that you kiss. your lungs burn but the pain is welcome and when you break, his lips are back to your jaw, featherlight and just as loving.

he pecks you once more. twice. you laugh and so does he and it’s your favorite sound in the world. “go.” you finally say and you make a feigned attempt to push him away, your giggles still in your throat. his lips find yours just one more time before he really does let you go, bringing the duffel onto his shoulder.

he stares at you. you stare back. you play this game a lot.

“i’ll see you soon.”

you nod and open the door for him and you linger in the doorway, watching as he makes his way down the hall. your head rests against the frame and he looks back at you over his shoulder, and he smiles.

how do you tell bucky barnes that you have fallen in love with him?

you’ll have to figure it out.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #the world's a little blurry #my writing

[cuttoothed]

Day 7 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "You are my reason". Still living in post-200 AU land.

*

There comes a day when Jon doesn’t wake up afraid.

His alarm goes off before the sun rises; he wakes tired, but feeling a little thrill of anticipation, because he and Martin have plans today. Nothing earth shattering, but they’re both off work, and the weather is due to be nice, so they’re going hiking up in the hills. Jon’s been looking forward to this all week; he's even okay with being up at dawn on his day off.

The hike is challenging, but the views are worth it, as the morning clouds part into sunshine and leave them gazing out across the craggy, verdant landscape. At the crest of the trail, they sit on a boulder to eat sandwiches and drink tea from a flask; Martin spots some cows on the hillside below and points them out with delight. By the time they get back to the car, they’re exhausted, and they agree that nobody’s going to be cooking tonight, so it’s takeaway from the Indian place near their flat.

That evening they eat too much curry, and drink red wine, and end up curled sleepy and sated on the sofa together, watching nonsense on telly.

“This was a good day,” Jon says; Martin only hums in agreement, so it’s probably time to get him to bed.

It’s only as he’s brushing his teeth that Jon realizes that he hasn’t thought about the end of the world all day. He usually wakes up from dreams of the ruined world; at the very least, it’s always in the back of his mind, guilt and fear and grief tapping at the windows of his consciousness through the day. He’s never had a day where he didn’t think at all about what happened—about what he did.

The realization jolts sharply through him, like a missed step in the dark; it makes something drop like a stone into his stomach, though he doesn't understand why.

He tells his therapist about it at their next session, couched in the careful untruths he’s crafted to convey the vast weight of it all without mentioning the literal apocalypse. Stuart listens, nodding, as he describes what happened, and then when Jon is finished he says:

“You know this is a good thing, right?”

“S-sorry?”

“Trauma plants its roots deep, Jon. It’s pervasive, like chronic pain. The days you have without pain in your leg or your hand, those are good, right? Even though they don’t mean that you’re permanently healed?”

“Yes,” Jon admits, flexing his fingers.

“This is the same. Your trauma isn’t gone, but the fact that you were able to enjoy a whole day without thinking about what happened—that’s really, really good.”

“But I can’t just forget—” Jon starts, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to say; I can’t forget what happened, I can’t forget that it was my fault, I can’t stop looking over my shoulder for what’s coming next.

“Of course not,” Stuart agrees. “But part of healing is letting what happened move into the past. Not forgetting it, but recognizing that it isn’t part of your present. That you can move on.”

Except it is the present, in the thousands of worlds he unleashed the Fears into. It isn’t something that can just be forgotten, that he can move on from. They’ve seen and felt no trace of the Fears in this world yet, but even that doesn’t mean they won’t come; it may just be a matter of time. Jon feels his chest tighten with that knowledge, that fear.

“The people I hurt,” he says carefully. “It’s not in the past for them—they’re still hurt by my actions today.”

“That might be true,” Stuart says. “But from what you’ve told me, you can’t change that. And your guilt doesn’t help them. All it does is punish you.”

“Maybe I deserve to be punished,” Jon snaps angrily, but Stuart only smiles, his face kind.

“Nobody deserves to be punished forever, Jon. Eventually, you have to forgive yourself.”

They’re nice words, but Stuart can’t possibly understand what he’s asking Jon to do. He’s been responsible for immeasurable pain and fear, the unchecked torture of billions of people; he will be responsible for so much more, across thousands of worlds. His whole life has been nothing but a means to a horrifying end. How can he just absolve himself of guilt, enjoy this charmed life he’s somehow gained while damning countless others?

(How can he believe that the consequences will not find him, someday.)

Martin must notice his mood when he gets back from therapy, because it’s not five minutes before a mug of tea and a packet of Jon’s favorite biscuits are placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“All right?” Martin asks, sitting down on the sofa with his own tea. He never asks Jon questions about his therapy —just as Jon respects the privacy of Martin’s sessions—but if he thinks Jon is upset, he’ll ask an open question like this, so Jon knows the offer is there to talk about it.

Jon considers. He hasn’t told Martin about what happened—or rather didn’t happen—the day they went hiking, not wanting to spoil it for him. But Martin’s the only person in this entire world who can possibly understand how Jon is feeling, and he’s the person Jon trusts most. Jon doesn’t want to hide things from him, not anymore. They’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

So he tells Martin what happened, and how it made him feel, and what Stuart said, and how that made him feel. At the end of it, Martin gives him a fond, teasing smile.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re feeling bad for not feeling bad,” he says. “That is...so incredibly you, honestly.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Jon protests.

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to dismiss how you feel. I promise. It’s just…” Martin pauses, his brow furrowing as he considers what to say. “Sometimes, when I feel sad for no reason—when parts of me go sort of...numb, I start looking around, expecting to see the fog curling in under the windows. But it isn’t, because the Lonely isn’t here, and I have to deal with the fact that there’s no—no fear monster making me feel that way. It’s just me.”

“Martin…” says Jon, his heart aching. Martin doesn’t often talk about the bad days, after they’ve passed; he prefers to save it for his therapist, since “that’s what I pay them for”. He reaches for Martin’s hand, and Martin laces their fingers together.

“I think you’re the same,” Martin says. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been waiting for something bad to happen. For all of it to—to catch up with you. But it hasn’t. There’s no Fears coming after you, and there’s no...universal justice, or whatever, to punish you. It’s just you, Jon.”

Jon feels a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. Has he been waiting all this time for something bad to happen, for the other shoe to drop? Has he thought of this as only temporary—a longer respite than that three weeks in the cottage, but just as impermanent? He shakes his head.

“That doesn’t take away from what I did,” he says. Martin nods.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “And nothing takes from the fact that I didn’t kill Jonah Magnus when I had the chance, either. We can’t change the past. We just have to find reasons to live with it. To carry on living. Now, as we are.”

“You know what my reason is,” Jon tells him, his voice thick with emotion; he told Martin a long time ago. Martin ducks his head, smiling, and his fingers squeeze around Jon’s.

“I know,” he says. “But it’s okay to have other reasons too. A nice hike in the hills, or going to the pub with some friends, or petting the many cats you seem to have befriended in our neighborhood. It’s okay to just...be happy, Jon. I promise.”

“I-I’m not sure I can,” Jon tells him; he’s not sure he deserves the chance to be.

“I know,” Martin says. “I know it’s difficult. But you do deserve it. And I’ll be here to keep telling you that until you believe it. I’ll be here to help you keep getting better, like you help me. As long as it takes.”

Jon feels a sob rising in his chest, and dives in to stifle it against Martin’s shoulder, burying his face in the solid expanse. He can feel the tears wetting his cheeks, soaking into Martin’s jumper, but he knows Martin won’t mind. Martin’s arms go around him.

“I hope you’re okay with the long haul, then,” he mumbles against Martin’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, probably nothing, but he has it, and he doesn’t want to let it go. Martin chuckles warmly, petting his hair.

“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be your reason, if you’ll be mine.”

“That’s the deal, then?” Jon says; he’s not sure if he’s laughing or sobbing, but he knows he loves this man with all his heart.

“That’s the deal,” Martin agrees. And Jon might not deserve a deal like that, but he’d be a fool not to take it.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartinweek2021 #my fic #jonmartin

[phoenixyfriend]

Thoughts on “Auntie Soka and Little Leia” now that I’ve actually got it posted:

Call it a director’s cut! The process of actually writing the thing, and also jokes made along the way. Link to the actual fic.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for image descriptions, even the text screenshots. Might come back that later. Most of this was DMs with @atagotiak​.

This was an entire thing before I even started writing:

Before I decided on ages and stuff Ahsoka, to Jango, who has had zero contact with Kaminoans: Okay I know I'm a Jedi kid so you hate me but this toddler is your clone from the future. Jango, tired: What the FUCK are you talking about. Rex, barely able to talk: Don't you dare leave me with him, Commander! Ahsoka: I'm not going to leave you I just--I'm so tired I'm so fucking tired I haven't slept in five days and someone tried to kidnap Leia two days ago I am so fucking tired I need help

Ben: [twenty years of depression followed by a 'now I'm safe' breakdown over the course of weeks] Sokari: [whatever the FUCK this mess is]

When Ahsoka mentions there only being three other Jedi at the time of her death,  I was thinking Kanan, Yoda, and Obi-Wan (Leia told her about the latter two living past her). She's not counting anyone that received training after the Temple fell, and she didn’t know about Cal.

When Leia says  “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

Depa: I'm no therapist but I diagnose you with "incredibly fucked up." Ahsoka: yeah, that’s fair

"Why did you pick Depa for--" She's pretty and I'm gay. Also because of the Kanan thing But mostly I'm gay "It's not a visual medi--" GAY

Empty of context beyond general post-fic AU: "Hey Sokari, we need to engage in psychological warfare against this individual and--" "I'm going to break into his office and leave a threatening note on his desk and leave no other sign that I was there. He'll see that his security is nothing and the only reason he isn't dead is because I'm too nice to kill him." "...okay, not what we were planning, but that works. Why is that your first choice?" "I really like breaking and entering, it's soothing." Ben just standing there with a bland smile like This Is Normal.

"We need someone to infiltrate a highly guarded facility in hostile territory." "So we're sending the Torrent kids?" [sigh] "We're sending the Torrent kids."

Rex and Sokari insist on both going by "Torrent" even though Rex could be a Fett. Jango really wants him to be a Fett. Rex has too many grudges to agree to being a Fett for... a while.

I really hope it's blatantly obvious that Ahsoka's not a reliable narrator for some things Ahsoka: Fett could care less if I died Jango: jfc even if you are older than me I can see you're fucked up. Drink your hot chocolate. Hells. She's got good reason to expect him to hate her as a Jedi! BUT. THAT IS NOT REFLECTIVE OF REALITY

We don’t get a lot of actual characterization for Jango, but the way I played him out here is he has never really parsed that Jedi are people before all this. It's a lot harder to treat them as a monolith when the traumatized former child soldier is having regular breakdowns in your shitty little kitchen

Fett: I respect you Ahsoka: No, don't do that

Ahsoka’s vigilantism is something that, in my mind, she's associating heavily with Zygerria and then the clones.

I figured that she never bothered to learn Quinlan’s teacher’s name but in the process of looking up some basic facts (whether he had a surname), I found that Wookiepedia was forced to give us a VERY wide range of possible death in Legends.

Please take a moment to imagine Quinlan's FACE when Ahsoka initially dismisses him. Quinlan has put a lot of effort into being rogueishly charming! It's very useful for his line of work! He knows to expect either irritation or a return flirtation when he acts like this with people his own age! Ahsoka is not flustered OR rolling her eyes and insulting him, she's just ignoring him and it's a bit of a blow to the ego

This just makes me really happy:

This was the initial comment I made, as a joke What if Maul is just. There. On one of the planets they make a pitstop at. What if Maul exists as the walking problem he is, but fifteen, and Ahsoka immediately tries to kick his ass and drag him back to Coruscant. I do not have room for this plot but What If

Despite not having room for this plot, I proceeded to write this plot.

Maul is kidnapped and it’s the best thing that ever happened to him HE'S FIFTEEN HE'S DUMB AS SHIT AND HAS A BAD ATTITUDE AND YEAH HE'S A DARKSIDER BUT HE'S FIFTEEN

Ahsoka: I sense... Maul [takes off sprinting] Rex: [immediately takes Jango's blaster and runs after her] Jango: Wait who Tholme: Who Quinlan: Who Jango: [looks at Leia] Leia: I don't know who that is either! Ahsoka, already wrestling a teenager to the ground: Oh no, you're a child, REX STUN HIM AND GRAB THE CUFFS, I'M SURE FETT OR THOLME HAS SOME

Fighting him isn't even legal, they have NO evidence of criminal wrongdoing, so first she needs to yell until he admits to something she can fight him about

Ahsoka: When I see Maul, it's on SIGHT Maul: WHO ARE YOU

Ahsoka: The Force didn't give me hands just to NOT throw them when I run into That Crafty Son Of A Bitch

Ben, when they arrive, after the tearful reunion: You... you brought Maul. Ahsoka: Well, yeah, he's fifteen and kinda dumb. I figured we could drag him here and force him into therapy, see what happens. Ben: I can't quite tell through the gag, but I think he's threatening to feed you your own spleen. Ahsoka: Lol, yeah.

Ben is absolutely on team "get Maul therapy" and will fight the Council on rehabilitating the baby Sith But also it's like. Here's your daughter! And your niece! And your daughter's QPP! Also your best friend, but baby, and his teacher, and the biological origin of a number of people you cared for deeply! AND ALSO THE GUY WHO SPENT LITERAL DECADES CRAVING YOUR DEATH, FOR SOME REASON

I just really want Ahsoka lovingly bullying Maul She gives him noogies and the horns don't protect him because girl has reinforced gloves

Maul's only allowed a low-power training saber and his fights with Sokari involve Much Taunting by her and Eventual Screaming by him, and everyone pops by to see: 1. Sokari doing the most absurd flips, for fun. 2. The bullshit that is ataru-shien reverse-grip jar'kai in the hands of someone who makes it work 3. What a Sith lightsaber form looks like 4. Just the general nonsense that is the way these two fight

Tia said “Wrt ridiculous flips. I'm remembering that time she beheaded four Kryst'ad at once.” and I just Rex brings up the quadruple beheading at one point to get someone to stop asking questions and the awkward, horrified silence almost makes him regret it. And then Sokari just snorts and makes a joke about how Rex once speared a slaver point-blank and everyone's just like hello??? "are you two okay" "no"

Maul absolutely starts crushing on Sokari after a 'sword under chin' moment and she's just very "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you're fifteen, bye" GO MAKE PUPPY EYES AT OBI-WAN OR SOMETHING

The crushes are the worst part of everything, really, she's an attractive young woman that can kick a lot of ass, and a lot of people are into that! Unfortunately, most of those people are a decade younger than she is, mentally, because all the people her actual age look at her and see a child on account of the 17yo body.

It’s almost a good thing she’s in no place mentally for a relationship.

I just want Ahsoka to wear beskar.... I think that would be Nice........

This AU is also what caused this post.

I'm deeply enamored by the idea that Ahsoka can win fights against "older" padawans pretty much unilaterally, even when they team up 2v1 And then she offers to fight 5v1 "But only if I have permission to fight dirty." Ben approves it, a horror show full of "I fought many wars and will scream in your face or kick you in the balls if that's what it takes" follows She wins. There are no permanent injuries, but her reputation certainly gets weirder. Nobody under the rank of Knight agrees to let her fight dirty again. She just lets that stand because, well, she's not actually a padawan, she's thirty-three.

I’m not going to write this but my brain was EVIL and suggested it:

IT WOULD BE REALLY SAD IDK maybe 9yo Anakin has nightmares about what's happening to baby Ahsoka because bullshit about time-traveling force bonds IDK ANYWAY he cries to Sokari about the nightmares and she's like "oh shit" and it's time to go rescue herself from motherfucker unlimited

It's either that or she's like, expecting to welcome mini-me aaaany day now, for like, several months, before she realizes Something Went Wrong. Anakin’s dreams could even start right as she’s starting to realize something’s off.

Obi-Wan has never had a padawan that doesn't at some point bite Even Luke will, when pushed

OH also once the twins get Baby's First Lightsaber (training sabers, not real kyber), Sokari begs to borrow them for a dumb joke and tells Rex to get on her shoulders for a "Grievous Greeting" and they do The Thing

Jango and Ahsoka wrt Quinlan is just “Do I need to beat him up for you” “You realize I’ve beaten up sith lords before?”

JANGO'S TRYING He's just. "Can we be friends? Can I--can I be the guy that just noticeably gets in the way of a creep on the subway so you can be more comfortable without someone making a scene? I'm fucking trying here, give me a hint."

We didn’t actually figure out Jango’s age until this point. The only reason Fett's age matters is for Quinlan making a Wild Oats quip after Jango says he didn't know about Rex until a few weeks ago, and Fett going "How old do you think I am? And how old do you think the kid is?" and Quinlan getting Very Awkward as he does the math. Rex overhears and lets Quinlan sweat for a bit before saying "I'm a genetically-modified clone someone grew in a tube, he didn't know or have reason to know until he saw me with Sokari." Which is like. Eight additional layers of WTF, obviously, but at least Jango gets to avoid awkward wild oats jokes

Like, you’d expect the rebuttal to be ‘he’s my brother just with a biiig age gap’ or ‘he’s my nephew’

I find it very unfortunate for Quinlan that I've decided his defining characteristic in this context is going to be repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth

He’s trying so hard but "That sounds like a cool thing, maybe I'll ask ab--and it's another fucking trauma."

I'm doing Ahsoka&Jango t w i c e (there’s another fic where I’m doing it)

It’s just a fun dynamic! So much resentful respect.

Like she's twenty seconds away from calling him a bitch at any given time and he's just there like "I don't like you but I do see you move like you're about to tell an entire building to get on their knees with their hands in the air and I can respect that" Also she's probably much less judgmental about using blasters than Obi-Wan is The Maul subplot actually started with me daydreaming about Ahsoka grabbing a blaster for Reasons

I like the idea of Jango just deciding the most Useful thing he can do is help teach the Smol how to fight. He's AWKWARD around Rex and Soka because he doesn't know if there's anything he CAN teach them.

I didn’t actually plan for Tholme to figure out the age thing, he just SAID it and I had to sit there like Wait.

Ahsoka, Rex & Leia: ahhh, children Tholme: you say that like you aren’t children

I liked getting to write Rex's little "I have worked with all of them, and they're all Terrible" He loves them But They once got stranded on a planet that didn’t exist and Ahsoka died and Anakin killed a god.

There was research and discussion as to whether Ahsoka could win against Tholme but seeing as she held her own against Vader, and fought Grievous at that physical age without dying, etc.... yeah, the only thing holding her back was her body not being what she was used to, and she’s had a few weeks go adjust.

“I miss being able to just jump off skyscrapers” is such a jedi thing

Jango: I'll take the gun back if he tries to leave, they can't get far before--WHAT THE FUCK He knows Jedi are scary but he’s still not really used to just how over the top ridiculous they are He knows how to deal with Jedi in battle, not Whatever The Fuck These People Are Doing

Rex isn't even a Jedi, he's just so used to working with them. “Oh yes time for free-falling without a parachute again, same shit as always.”

Tia: I’m imagining Jango freaking out and Quinlan and Tholme being like. Concerned but mostly exasperated Clearly if they’re jumping off buildings it must be serious? But jfc they could’ve maybe communicated a bit more?

Leia: I want to finish my juice Tholme: Quin, stay with her while we go figure out what those two are doing. Quinlan: Wait what

Jango: Oh now he’s jumping off a building too??? Tholme: Sokari, you are not registered! You can't legally jump out windows yet! Jango: What the hell is going on? Is this normal?

We don’t necessarily know how often Ahsoka and Maul ran into each other after Mandalore. There was the later thing on Malachor, but other than that I'm just going with the idea that they ran into each other every year or two and just went for the eyes like feral cats

Ahsoka: I need to kick ass and you're coming with me. Rex: Yeah, okay. [several minutes later] Rex: Whose ass are we kicking?

Ahsoka and Rex

Neloms aren’t a SW fruit to the best of my knowledge, I just wanted to mess around with lemons/melons

Jango: you didn’t think any of this through, did you? Rex: you were there, you know we didn’t "When the Jedi says to jump out a window, I jump out a window."

Tholme’s real composed about stalking the ancient nigh-mythical enemy of his people, very “Life is already so goddamn weird”

This fic has been so heavy on the trauma but then I introduce Maul and suddenly it's the worst kind of comedy Nobody is competent, everyone's a little dumb, the bad guy is just grocery shopping

My propensity for banter has turned this into a six-person buddy cop comedy about Maul buying grapes They spend a significant amount to time ineffectually stalking Maul before Quin suggests the sensible option Quinlan just "You remember this is my literal job and specialty right"

Ahsoka sees Maul and all her brain cells go out the window except "Fight good" Usually she doesn’t need to worry about doing things legally. Maybe she needs to worry about someone seeing her do illegal things but she spent the past 15 yrs in a place where her existing was illegal

I feel like he’s also maybe kinda wanting to reassert that yes he is competent. Bc like. Ahsoka’s been kinda condescending this whole time and also can beat everyone up so. It's not his fault that he's actually the youngest person there, but.

Jango is finding this whole being friendly to Jedi thing a lot more overwhelming than he thought it would be. And overwhelming in different ways.

Maul usually signifies things getting worse and more horrifyingly tragic but he's just a dumb teen that they needed to arrest for his own good.

Quinlan: Look, I'm useful! Ahsoka: I've been through hell, wanna hear? Quinlan: NO. I DON'T. WHY.

Quinlan: I understand the concept of joking about your traumas, I do it sometimes myself! But sith hells that’s a lot of trauma.

Quinlan just wanted her to treat him as a Competent Individual, and here she is whipping out stories about Dying and Gods and the Force insists it's the truth and he just???? And apparently emo darksider over there is a Sith. And just, sure. Why not

A lot of people’s interactions with the time travelling disaster lineage is just

Tholme and Fett arguing and  Ahsoka's just waiting for a moment to pop in with "Hey, when's the last time either of you worked with the other's culture before this mess? Yeah, that's what I thought."

Much like Leia and Ahsoka hurting each other earlier, and Tholme figuring out the de-aging, we ALSO have Fett’s confrontation with Ahsoka being something the characters just did, rather than something I planned.

FTR the only time I managed to trigger myself while writing this fic was the “your behavior isn’t actually acceptable and we’ve all been trying really hard to give you room to recover but you have to at least make an effort to not be a bitch”

Writing about people having PTSD and symptoms of such: Yay! Writing about people having PTSD and engaging in toxic behavior to cope: Shit Ahsoka had... basically my exact reaction. It's "remind yourself that you're in the wrong, that they have a point, and then be overly formal in the apology because fuck if you accidentally make them feel sorry for you when they're the injured party"

Quinlan: Can we be friends? I mean, you're an asshole, but you're really cool. Let's be friends. (He MIGHT be nursing a crush) (Neat mysterious girl who can beat him up.)

Also he realises she's probably nicer when not having a slow-motion breakdown He's like "Huh, you'll probably be less of an asshole once you've gotten therapy."

...also, she pretty and got Nice Biceps

I love writing a good mental breakdown

I was so close to including a "he tried to kill me" just early enough for Jango to wildly misinterpret as her thinking Quinlan tried to kill her. He'd have been very confused, considering Quinlan's the one that called them down in a panic and currently has Ahsoka having her massive breakdown in his lap But

Tia:  I could see Jango interpreting it as idk, Quin resembling someone or for a moment acting like someone who tried to kill her and she had a flashback or something like that

There's absolutely room for a couple reasonable interpretations there And "trapped in a flashback about someone who tried to kill her" is absolutely what's happening! Just. You know. For a different reason. Jango probably wouldn’t assume Quin would hurt her, for one thing he seems to like her, for another even if he did he’s smart enough to pick a way that wouldn’t be so likely to get him caught

I had to step back and actually say “Also I'm just. Wow. I'm really just shoveling QPP Rex&Ahsoka at full speed”

Me, a few weeks ago, joking: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist Me, now, entirely seriously: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist

Me, belatedly: Oh, Ahsoka being joyfully mean to people was a form of mania she was unconsciously using to build a barrier between herself and her impending meltdown

She went from "just died" to "in charge of Rex and Leia" in like. Two minutes.

Confession: I've been delighting in the mental image of this whole Mess leading Jango to try to retake Mandalore, and Ahsoka loans him a saber for a 1v1 to get the darksaber.

“Can’t I just fight him barehanded? That’s how I did it on Galidraan.” "But the drama, Fett!"

Probably Rex has learned how to use a saber as well, because you never know when you have to borrow a weapon

I later changed my mind to Jango asking her to help, rather than her just sneak-teaching him, but it was funny.

Background nonsense to all this is Ahsoka and Rex, despite Rex being as force-sensitive as a lump of coal, having developed a process where she can extend her sensitivity to him mind-to-mind for weird symbiotic battle trance that scares everyone around them. It’s very similar to Battle meditation.

CONTEXT FOR LEIA BEING WORRIED ABOUT THOLME HIDING THINGS: Tholme is hiding the fact that the Council reached out and told him that the people he picked up might be connected to Ben and Luke, who showed up after the Depa thing but a solid week and change before Jango's ship makes it to the Temple. They asked that he not share that information to avoid getting anyone's hopes up in case the two situations aren't related. Ben and Luke haven't shared enough information for anyone to really be sure if the other three are connected Because the info Tholme has isn't quite the info Jango has, etc. And they can't just say Ben is a future Obi-Wan over comms

I just have a lot of feelings about people trying to do something right and just. Nobody's at fault! Not really! It's just complicated!

Tia: I like how when Ahsoka isn’t doing maladaptive trauma response stuff she’s very mature. And of course she’s had to be but it’s a good like, contrast. Where when she slows down to think about things she’s very sensible

Jango just spends most of this story lowkey wanting Ahsoka to Be His Friend but there's too much baggage that he's only metaphysically responsible for

Local aroace(?) has a squish

Ahsoka: He just wants to get on my good side because of Rex. Jango: I'm pretty sure you could kill an entire army without trying but you wouldn't because you have actual morals and stuff... and when I met you it was because you were killing yourself trying to keep (what appeared to be) children safe... you seem cool please be my friend.......

Ahsoka’s #1 weakness: mountains of trauma Ahsoka’s #2 weakness: she just doesn’t get why so many people think she’s cool and want her to be their (girl)friend

Jango, a 27yo massacre survivor who's killed Jedi masters with his bare hands: [gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly]

Ahsoka was raised in a religious meritocracy but developed all her opinions during a galactic war and then became a vigilante spy, Rex comes from a military cult, Leia is from an inherited monarchy that participates in democracy, Quinlan was originally from what appears to be a dynastic dictatorship, and IDK about Tholme other than that he is also from the religious meritocracy. And in legends Quinlan came to the religious meritocracy after his aunt sacrificed his parents to a vampire cult and then forced him to experience the psychometric echoes of that. There's just. A lot going on.

Leia at least has knowledge about structure and admin in theory that isn't based in either the military or populations under 10k

Jango: I want to be your friend. Ahsoka: Sounds fake.

I am unfairly fond of "Rex destroys a conversation by bringing up his own horrifying childhood and calling it a cult"

"Why does Sokari call you 'Rex'ika'?" "Because she's older than me." "...can I--?" "No."

Nickname privileges are extended ONLY to Ahsoka and older clones. There are no more older clones, so it's just Ahsoka.

Me joking about Star Wars AUs: Would you like a crackship? Me writing actual Star Wars fic: My favorite character type is apparently “too traumatized to have a relationship” so this is at least 90% gen.

I had to pull a scene opening at one point because Ahsoka's skill with not getting shot is actually much less useful than Tholme's clearance levels.

Now I really want a team-up of Ahsoka, Rex, and Jango where they do have to get in a dogfight of the "she flies, we shoot" variety and Fett just has to scream because the speeder thing to catch Maul was one thing, but this....

Ahsoka, before TCW: I know all the traffic rules but I'm not that great at flying! Ahsoka, after TCW: I'm great at flying but if you let me behind the wheel we are absolutely getting arrested.

She went from "knows the rules but doesn't have the skills" to "has the skills but primarily in the form of not getting shot" which! Is delightful! "Bet I can get us through that alley--" "DO NOT"

Jango and Ahsoka are both just very "Is this friendship? Is this camaraderie? My heart's been fried on platonic love by so many murders that I'm not sure anymore." "I've lost a lot of friends. I kind of forgot how to make those."

I have no idea if "hasn't been closer than Alderaan except that one trip to Chandrila" is canon-compliant but ehhhhhhhh It feels plausible enough?

Belatedly realized that I could just explain my optimal Rex&Ahsoka dynamic as just... drift compatible. It's vague enough on the specifics while still digging into the meat of what they mean to each other and how they work together. The terminology is already in existence. I can just use it.

Romantic? Platonic? Familial? Doesn't matter! They're drift compatible.

They are important to each other and that is what matters

I really like the Leia&Quinlan thing. He's just like "This small child needs a friend that isn't super depressed," and decided he's going to be her friend. I keep trying to toss in "Quinlan volunteers to 'baby'sit." She's not much older and she has a Baby Brain, it works out

There's a running bet as to whether Leia will leave the Order the second she turns thirteen, or if she'll let Sokari "train" her for a few years first. And... that’s how I came up with Leia Antilles, Senator of Serenno.

They'll be bullshitting Ben as her new master to "finish out the padawanship" since they can't tell everyone she's really in her thirties and he's conveniently there and already knows everything and was half her master anyway. Like Ben was planning on taking on Luke, but Luke is "six" and even he can't swing that as old enough to be a Padawan, and it's not like Sokari will take more than a handful of years to justify knighthood, sooooooooo

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #Obi Wan Kenobi #time travel #de aging #Phoenix Babbles #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #I need to excise the bits that are actually funny on their own

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Mon 7 June ‘21

Liam’s podcast with Steve Bartlett is out and while I still don’t care about that guy I’ll give him this-- he does great at getting out of the way and letting Liam talk. And boy does Liam talk! Liam says A LOT and let’s all just pause to send him some big hugs before we get into right? And then look to the future- Liam’s routine is to say ‘things have been terrible but it’s fine, it’s fine NOW’, always, even when that is absolutely obviously not true, and today is no different but for once I actually believe some of his hopeful bits too which is so great! I hope things really are shifting for him and I can’t wait to hear this new song of his. But there’s a lot that’s hard to hear too, oh Liam. He said that he and Maya have broken up (so yes, presumably why he just moved again such a short time after they moved into their haunted house), talked about his struggles with his alcoholism (and said he’s been sober for a month right now, go babe!), shared the usual distressing stories about his time in the band and what that was like for him (and how it still impacts him), and he talked about his new song and how it feels different for him than his past solo music. Truly though there is SO MUCH more than I can get into here or then you can get from the UA highlights- I HIGHLY recommend actually watching at least parts of the video, also because the attempt to summarize so much erases all the charm and humor, of which there is much. If you don’t think you want to watch Liam’s interviews, it has to be because you aren’t watching Liam’s interviews, they’re delightful! Plus really if you care about 1D and want information about what it was like for any of them, listen to Liam, he’s the one who’s out there talking about it.

About Maya he said, that yes, he is now single, and “I’ve just been not been very good at relationships,” and “I’m a proper perfectionist… at the start of the relationship you put out this complete false character like I might as well go in in costume, I’m like putting out something that is not there... kind of like encompassing someone else’s life with your crap rather than just doing your thing and laying out your store from day one. That’s my biggest problem is that I feel like I don’t lay out my store... and then I’m annoyed when they don’t like what I like,” and “I think my problem is I struggle to be on my own sometimes... I dive in and out of relationships too quickly. I’ve not spent enough time on my own to relearn about myself.”

He laughs about his tendency to ask his manager things during interviews; “My fans think that Steve is doing something to me, they’re like liberty for Liam because he always looks to Steve, but that’s because I like him. It’s not because he’s harming me as a person. There’s like a hashtag Liberty for Liam because they think I’m some like prison child,” and he also said “my manager’s my best friend,” (and he’s said in the past he is a big support for him) and mentioned stuff they’d talked about recently around his therapeutic awakenings.

He talked about therapy being something you have to want to do and be ready to do rather than being pushed into, like getting sober, and says that this time around with his own therapy work he’s really felt that and thrown himself into it and he talked a lot about his relationship to therapy in connection with band days. “I mean one of our old managers went to therapy from being a manager of One Direction. So if you can imagine how that feels like the rest of us definitely need some.”

“We were young,” he said, “What I found was I didn’t know I was the boss until like a few months ago, I still don’t even feel like I am now, like I’m such a child. And everyone I work with now is older than me and wiser than me and I’m like what the hell am I doing here with these people. When we were 17 I thought the security guard was like in charge of me so I was like Can we leave the room? No? Oh ok then,” and “when we were in the band, the best way to secure us was just lock us in our rooms. And of course what’s in the room? Minibar. So at a certain point, I thought Well I’m gonna have a party for one and that just seemed to carry on throughout many years of my life... You know I spoke to somebody about this in child development as a teen, the one thing you need is freedom to make choices. That we could do anything we wanted it seemed from the outside but we were always locked in a room at night and then it would be car, hotel room, stage, sing, locked. So it’s like they pulled the dust cloth off, let us out for a minute, but then it’s back underneath again,” and “the day the band ended I was like thank the lord for that. And I know a lot of people are going to be mad with me for saying that, but I needed it to stop. It would kill me.” Anyway, he said, because it wouldn’t be Liam without an upbeat coda, “I don’t want any of this to get lost in translation. I’m not 100% moaning about my life... it’s had its ups and its downs, but I would rather talk about it and it’s therapeutic for me.”

And what about that exciting new song? Liam said, “We have a really cool song in the pipeline... one of the first ones I’ve actually written myself- with some other people, I didn’t write it by myself, but it’s the first one I’ve really liked. And I think I got so used used carting around other peoples songs and not embedding myself creatively in what I do because I was so scared to find out who I was,” and “I don’t really know how I would tour again. I really want to” [on discord today he said he would be touring next year] “I always said throughout my solo career I’d let my song book speak to me. And I don’t think my song book spoke to me to get off my ass. I only became a solo artist because I had Strip That Down. I wasn’t gonna do it, I was gonna leave it alone. I was like, I survived it once thank you very much- but I’m back in now. Because the song, I knew it was right. It felt right with that song, I hadn’t had that. This year, the song we have I feel really really great about. So I’d rather let the music do the talking than me come out and force it. We don’t need any more useless music in the world, it needs to mean something,” and he mentioned the new song on the discord a lot too, most notably picking out a long comment that thanked him for making the fan feel supported and safe and for “putting your heart in everything you do” and for his support of the LGBTQ community to respond to with, “I think you will really like the new song.”

A few other random bits, he said that he thinks there should be a system to make therapy available to musicians in the industry, “I think I’m definitely gonna get a dog because I need routine,” and “I recently started jujitsu,” yeah you and everyone else huh, so do him and Louis and Oli go to the same gym or ???, and he acknowledged that as an addict he may have just transferred that to working out “but there’s a lot worse things to be addicted to then looking after yourself” hmm but he does seem to say that he’s doing better around body image stuff; he talks about having put on weight during lockdown and seeing himself in the BAFTAS performance- “I saw myself... and I was like ‘oh my god I’ve completely let myself go in this’. And it was fine...I feel so much more secure in myself now.” Oh and that he’s written a comedic movie script “based around AA” and his experiences there, such as how “I had a really weird AA experience the first time that I went. My first experience was with Russell Brand.” LMAO yes! Cannot wait, bring on auteur Liam please! Anyway as if ALL THAT wasn’t enough he’s also dove into the lead up to his NFT release; he said “I'm almost ready to share my NFTs with you guys... Who wants to see them?” and posted a tiny preview that tells us its (their?) title for the first time- Lonely Bug.

Niall and Anne Marie perform on Jimmy Fallon tonight, and the hype is already a go! I guess it’s prerecorded, as we’re already seeing pictures from it; they’re singing to each other with the cute car from the video in the background. Niall signed on to a letter to Boris Johnson asking for changes to music streaming revenue rules and signed by 232 artists (including all the artists Johnson recently named as his favorites, haha). Zayn signed on to a Billboard petition to the US senate calling for gun safety laws. The bar Zayn got into the fight in front of posted “Zayn's a regular at Amsterdam Billiards and he is a true gentleman. On Thursday night he was confronted by an inebriated passer-by outside on the street and was called a homophobic slur. We support Zayn & condemn homophobia in the strongest terms!” And also PS omg again because it just isn’t going away: Harry’s beauty company is called Pleased As, his name is Harry Edward Styles so yes when listed last name first, as legal documents do, it spells SHE but it is not a “feminist abbreviation” (WHAT? even??) nor the name of the business.

#liam payne #long post #so long #the longest #ugh #yeah I think he’s mentioned the movie before but it’s amazing every time #Liam also talked about the concept of toxic productivity and feeling like you have to be doing things always to be valid #OMG YES PLEASE I want all of them to be talking about that #I notice no one’s circulating that bit where he calls out the fans’ idea that he’s a victim of his manager #I... won’t say it I guess but like… do consider listening to what they actually tell us about themselves occasionally though #rather than just fans online #the industry is fucked but also they're not children #anymore #and have all at this point managed to find people they trust as their closest associates #anyway did I or did I not just say that Liam and Maya had broken up I DID so why was she on insta saying they were still together hmmm? Lies #but the real point is that I was right lol #if you messaged me to ask about the SHE thing it’s not that I’m targeting you it’s that you were one of MANY #it’s really true debunk info just doesn’t get the traction that nonsense posts do #pleased as #should have made that a tag already oops #7 jun 21 #I hope you guys are grateful I have so much time on my hands this took forever #tw alcohol #tw substance abuse #tw alcoholism #maya henry #laya

[roanniom]

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.  

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

#paper-n-ashes #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #Charlie Barber/reader #Charlie Barber/you #Charlie Barber fanfiction #Charlie Barber smut #marriage story fanfiction #Marriage Story smut #writing #smut #Roanniom #tw: unprotected sex #tw: choking

[some-kindofgnome]

for auld lang syne

“And then I woke up in the hospital alone, and I saw the doctor alone and took a taxi home alone. I went to physical therapy alone and saw my counsellor alone. Whatever you thought, Katsuki, whatever you believed made me spend six months staring at my phone and thinking I’d ruined everything.”

It’s time for your agency’s extravagant New Years’ Eve party. But after a little sabbatical, there are some things you’re not ready to come back to. 

characters: katsuki bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.2k

warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, pro hero!bakugou and pro hero!reader, mentions of injury, near-death experiences and gunshots, smoking, drinking, angst with a (filthy) happy ending, me being a whore for glamorous new years’ parties

notes: This fic has been dragging me across the coals since Christmas- I could not get it out of my head, despite how much work I knew it would be to get it out on time. Still, it feels supremely worth it. I have a metric ton of love to give to @hoe-doroki​ for beta-ing this mammoth on such short notice (I dumped it in her lap at 4am) because she really helped me whip it into shape. As always. 💖 

Happy New Year, everyone. 

(MASTERLIST) 

“Won’t be long now.”

Anxiety bleeds into the already-nervous voice of your driver, muffled by the plexiglass divider that separates you. You’ve been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the past four red lights, barely inching toward the intersection with every green.

You’re well past fashionably late at this point. You’re sure that the commissioned driver’s fearing for his job at this point, knowing exactly how long ago you were supposed to have arrived at your own party.

But you couldn’t care less. The longer it takes you to get there, the better. The vodka you’d downed neat, standing over the bar cart in your polished apartment, sours in the pit of your stomach. And the fact that your outfit barely allows a spare breath isn’t exactly cooling your nerves, either.

You’re draped over the door, resting one elbow on its edge to cushion your jaw as you lay your forehead against the chilly glass. Outside, the crowded traffic casts a golden warmth over the bluish urban night, betraying the slow swirl of fluffy snowflakes that drift lazily into the street.

Tonight has all the makings for an ideal, albeit bitterly cold, New Year’s Eve. But if it were up to you, you’d be watching all the wonder unfold from the comfort of your own bed.

You’ve been away long enough, though, says your agent. It’s time, says your manager. You stay away from the spotlight for too long and we’re going to forget about you, says the Internet.

The glittering gold fabric your stylist presented you with would’ve swelled your heart on any other occasion. He knows your taste to the button. And after breaking into exhausted sobs at your first fitting together, you’d been able to tell him that the outfit was perfect.

At long last, the glossy windows of your agency loom outside. You push the backseat door open before your driver can even kill the engine, stepping out as gracefully as you can muster and pulling the folds of your designer coat demurely closed around your glamorous party clothes. You’re greeted by swaths of flashbulbs and determined shouts of your hero name, and suddenly the practiced gracious smile that you’ve always saved for the cameras is stretching your lips one more time.

You used to love something about this. But you’ve almost never had to face it alone.

Inside, the party’s taken off without you. Your coat’s taken before you can even see who’s hands are slipping it deftly off your shoulders, but by the time you’re ushered into the elevator and sent all the way to the top floor, you’re already sweating with the anticipation of all that’s waiting for you.

The doors open to a rush of guests, each noticing you simultaneously and pushing in to greet you.

Arriving late does absolutely nothing to dissolve the grandness of your entrance. Your attention is immediately pulled in a handful of different directions as celebrities and dignitaries and politicians shake your hands and congratulate you. People you’ve never met are telling you how good it is to see you on your feet again and, despite the overwhelming distractions, you can’t stop searching the crowd.

You don’t want to let yourself search for somebody in particular, but you spot him long before your shame catches up with you.

It’s not a glimpse of his mussed hair you catch, bobbing through the crowd. Nor is it a slip of the edge of his suit, the most devastating shade of midnight blue you could have possibly imagined.

Your eyes, like magnets, are drawn right to his crimson gaze. Lightning shoots through your chest, and you look away so fast you nearly pull a muscle in your neck. You cast your gaze immediately to the red-faced MP in front of you and let yourself stare. Still, from the corner of your eye, you can see the way he lingers, still facing you.

You haven’t seen Katsuki in months. Luckily, your ability to multitask has not faded, and you make easy small talk with the mayor and his wife while you sense him, in all his midnight splendor, disappearing into the crowd again.

A close call. Too close, in fact, not to warrant a drink. You excuse yourself kindly from the mayor’s attention, cutting through the glamorous partygoers until you reach the bar at the center of the room. It’s crowded, but you grab the bartender’s attention quick enough and order the first of many glasses of Dom Perignon.

The agency knows how to spend, for a special occasion.

It’s while you’re trapped at the bar, waiting for that imperative first drink, that he corners you. You spot him an instant too late, sidling between two dancing couples and crossing the short distance between you. There’s no way to skirt subtly away from him now. Instead, you lean more fervently across the bar and immerse yourself in an intense examination of the liquor, shelved decoratively behind the working bartenders.

He hesitates—possibly for the first time ever—but you’re determined not to watch as he searches for the right way to bridge the silence. You spot the way he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and when he finally speaks it’s low and sharp and bitter.

“That’s a nice dress.”

He has to lean too close to make his voice heard, speaking low and gruff to you in a way he never used to. You’re too anxious to care whether he sees the way you close your eyes to dull the fervent ache that flares in your chest.

He’s not allowed to say things like that to you. Not now.

“Listen.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, pushing ahead.

In the throes of closeness, it’s easy to pick up the tremor in his voice. That kind of shake used to scare you. It’s the way he’s always spoken to you when he’s keeping his temper at bay in public.

He’s opening his mouth to say something else, something deeper and far more expository perhaps, but your champagne arrives with no moment to spare. You pluck it eagerly from the bartender’s fingers with an exceedingly gracious smile and turn quickly in the direction you swear Katsuki’s not blocking.

“Watch it.” He grabs your wrist to keep you from sloshing half your fresh champagne down your front. His touch sears hotter than you’d dreaded, and you can’t stop yourself from flinching at the rough brush of his calloused fingers over your tender inner wrist.

Fuck.

“Don’t run off,” he insists, squeezing your wrist just a little tighter. Your entire body is drawn tight like a bow, but you’re not actively searching for an escape route at this point. Sensing this, he slowly unwraps his fingers, dropping your hand and letting you down half your drink in a couple of parched gulps.

“You look…” you start to say, letting your eyes wander his immaculate form one more time. Whoever cut that suit for him knew his shape well. It fits perfectly. Contrasts his golden hair like the night behind a harvest moon.

Absence has not culled your feelings for him. Especially not when he comes back to you like this.

You take another long, slow sip, ignoring the way Katsuki’s brows shoot toward his hairline when you nearly empty the glass. His gaze darts to the narrow flute in your hand, the prints of peachy lipstick that mar it.

With your heart beating a touch slower, you try again.

“You look good.”  

Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“I can’t—” he starts, shaking his head as his eyes swim the crowd. “I’m not doing this.”

“What?” Your stomach drops. When he looks at you again it’s dead straight, burgundy and blazing in that way that used to make you molten.

Now it makes you want to cut and run.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ play nice, like this,” he pushes. He takes a step toward you, letting your name—your real name—fall from his lips as tender and soft as a prayer. “Explain to me why my agent had to tell me you were gonna be here tonight.”

“Katsuki,” you plead quietly, backing away from him a touch. “I don’t want to—I can’t. Here. Please.”

For a million other people he might press on. He might get angry and demand an answer, threaten anything it takes to solve the puzzles in his brain. For you, his strong jaw ticks and he shoves clenched fists back into his ironed pockets.

“Let’s just,” you begin, “make it through to midnight, okay?”

“Fine,” he bites, but he doesn’t like folding to you. He gets you back by clearing his throat and extending you a palm, drawing the attention of the people around you. They turn, charmed by the agency’s finest reappearing as the duo they’ve always adored.

There’s a glint of something in his eyes as he gives his chin a little jut toward the dance floor.

“Dance with me, then.”

You’ve been to hundreds of opulent agency spectacles together. Charity benefits, galas, holiday parties and the like have always been studded by your presence. But no matter how many times you’ve entered the party together, you never managed to get him onto the dance floor. Despite your whining and pleading and fussing, he’s never ever let you drag him out there.

So this feels like a particularly low blow. But the orchestra’s struck up a dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight and there are too many people watching for you to turn him down.

Instead, you down the rest of your champagne, set it on the bar behind you, and slip your hand defiantly into his.

“Fine.”

His fingers close gently around your palm and he gives it a lingering squeeze that turns your blood to venom.

You’re already racing through a complex plan to survive this attention as he walks you onto the dance floor. Some of the other couples pause in their swaying to send a smattering of applause over the crowd. You can feel the winning smile tugging at your mouth, forcing you to swallow the panicked ache in your chest.  

Katsuki pauses at the center of the dance floor and pulls you slowly closer. The low dip of your gown places his warm hand on bare skin when he settles it in the small of your back, and you’re sure he doesn’t miss the sharp little suck of breath that you’re not prepared to hide.

He does not try to speak, so you’re silent as you settle a shaky hand on the shoulder of his perfect suit. He’s as perfect a dancer as you’ve always known he’d be, and he leads you into a smooth little sway that’s easy enough to navigate in your precarious gold heels but sweeps you into the music like a scene from years gone by.

“Hey,” he grunts a few bars in, ducking a little closer as his fingers press into the bare skin of your spine. He pulls you against him, forcing your tense body against his. The gentle dip of his hairstyle brushes your temple as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. “You’re holding your breath.”

You deflate against him, letting your eyes fall shut. When you take your next careful inhale, your head is filled by the heady, smoky scent of him. Your heart pounds so forcefully it’s practically blinding you. But above all else you hate yourself for still feeling all of this, after so many months of promising to force it away.

Katsuki knows you well enough not to try and trap you in conversation in public. But he doesn’t pull back any further, continuing to hold you flush against him, letting your soft cheek brush his with every couple of steps.

Despite your best efforts, you’re drowning in him: the strength of his touch, the fluidity in his movements. His thumb strokes the base of your spine with an easy rhythm that you’re trying hard not to notice. It’s becoming too much. He’s holding you closer than a colleague should, tucking his nose too attentively against the side of your head for a courtesy dance. You’re overthinking too many of the signs. You’re letting yourself believe what should have been thoroughly dashed to pieces so many months ago.

It’s when tears well behind your glittery eyelids that you put a stop to it.

“Katsuki, I—” You can’t finish, pushing yourself sharply away from his chest. Whatever expression of dreamlike peace that had touched his eyes fades quickly as he sees the telltale wet sparkle in yours, and he reaches for you an instant too late.

He calls your name softly, fingertips brushing the edge of your upper arm. But your tears are spilling over and you’re backing away and you cannot be here anymore, not when people are starting to see.

“I can’t do this,” you plead. “I can’t pre—I’m sorry.”

With a final shake of your head, you turn and hurry clumsily from the dance floor, pulling up the beaded skirt of your heavy gown and sweeping, as quickly as possible, to the glass doors shut tightly against the imposing snow on the terrace.

It’s bitterly cold, nearly fifty storeys up, and the wind whips mercilessly past your bare arms with biting chill. You can’t stay out here long, but it still feels better than the alternative.

With shaking fingers, you dip into the tiny bag you’ve been wearing over one shoulder. You’ve stashed exactly one emergency cigarette in its silky depths. You haven’t smoked in weeks, but something told you that tonight would beg one.

You have to back away from the railing to even light it in the wind, but you’re barely two puffs in before the door behind you opens carefully.

It’s the last person in the world you hoped for. And the only one you can imagine finding you out here. He’s got a glass of something neat in each hand—amber in one, clear in the other. He spies the cigarette in your fingers and his soft, concerned expression melts into a scowl.

“You’re still smoking?”

You take a defiant drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. The wind catches it, carrying it in a sharp curve back over your head. Katsuki licks his lower lip, but you can tell by the way his nose twitches that he’s trying not to chuckle.

You nod toward the whiskey in his right hand. “How many of those have you had tonight?”

“Not enough,” he quips. He nods toward the cigarette. “Put it out.”

“You don’t get to order me around anymore.”

“I said put it out.”

Your livid soul wants to defy him. You’re craving the conflict that inevitably comes when you both dig in your heels. But you’ve got no energy left to fight, so you flick the smoke dejectedly onto the wet pavement and crush it under one delicate pump.

“Better?” The attitude cuts cruelly through your voice. Katsuki just pushes the other glass into your hand and you know that it’s gin before you even have to smell it. You roll your eyes.

“The healthier alternative,” you snarl, but he’s finished with your games.

“Come inside,” he prompts. “You’re gonna lose your nose out here.”

“I’m not sure that’s your problem any longer.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Katsuki, I wanna hear you say it.”

He’s throwing back an irritated slug of his drink, but he bristles, gesturing wildly with the cup.

“Like we’re not gonna be partners anymore.”

His voice is punctuated by a horrible, involuntary sob that breaks from your lips. He’s always been able to read you so well, picking up on things that you’re not even ready to acknowledge. But he’s right. That is how you’ve been speaking, because you can’t even imagine standing next to him in a photo right now, let alone letting him take your life into his hands.  

Katsuki moves forward, shocked by your tears, but you hold your empty palm out straight and, like he would only for you, he relents.

“Because I don’t think we can be anymore.”

“Shut up. Look at you. You’re fine. You look…” his eyes cast briefly over your form, “fine.”

You clap a hand protectively to your abdomen, remembering the painful tug and knowing that he’s missing the point.

“That’s not why,” you snap through your tears. “That’s not even…close to why. Katsuki, don’t be dense.” Your voice is breaking because you’re about to say it, the thing you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel as you were zipped into your gown earlier tonight. And if you’re going to say it, there’s no point in doing it with gusto.

Might as well go out like the whimpering fool you are.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whine, “because somehow, despite my best efforts, Katsuki, I fell fucking in love with you, so hard, and you knew I did, and so you…you don’t. You don’t, and I’ve ruined everything, and that’s fine, but I—”

He pulls your name from the very depths of his chest. If you were expecting fire and brimstone, you’re met with an even more harrowing sight—soft, somber, remorseful Katsuki, looking at you like he’d stop the world on its axis if it would make things better.

The memories are too easy to reconjure, and the sunshine of that sticky summer afternoon that changed everything lights up behind his gaze.

There was a crime syndicate you’d been uprooting for months. An underground hideout tucked well away from the prying eyes of hero society. A stray spray of bullets—bullets, of all things, finding the gaps in your shattered armour and nearly taking you from him.

You’d been sure. Both of you. There were too many shots. There was too much blood. The hideout was too well-hidden for anybody to find you in time. Your vision was bleeding out around the edges, and you saw Katsuki cry real tears for the first time.

In a slurred heap of breathless prose, you’d unloaded everything. The most important secret you’d ever kept from him came spilling from your blood-tinged lips.

You were glad to go, if it meant you never had to lose him. Glad to be the one to selfishly leave him behind. You were going to be okay if you never had to face a world without him in it. Because—and you’d choked this on a fresh wave of blood and ungraceful spittle—you’d loved him as long as you’d ever known him.

Six days later, you woke up alone in the ICU. And that was the last you’d seen or heard or known of the man who’d once promised to have your back, always.

Katsuki silently finishes his drink. His cheeks and nose have flushed deeply from the ruthless chill, and he turns to give the city one last glance before moving toward the door.

“Come inside,” he gruffs. Deep shivers have broken out along the column of your spine, but you wrap your frigid arms around yourself in protest.

“I’m not going back in there.” Not like this.

“Idiot,” he snaps softly. “Look at you. You’re gonna die for real if you stay out here.” He tightens his jaw and slams the empty glass down on the windowsill. Then he looks at you with all the lights of the night blazing in his crimson stare.

“Let me take you somewhere quiet. No one’s gonna see.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath and he reaches carefully for your arm. “I promise.”

Even with a breaking heart, you’re a fucking sucker for him. Your voice is teary and pathetic but pinched by cold.

“Fine.”

He slips an arm around your shoulders—making your chest lurch—and you duck back inside. Immediately he takes you to the wall, putting himself between you and the rest of the party. With the breadth of his chest he shields you from prying eyes that grow drunker by the minute.

You skirt the edge of the party, making it to the stairwell door on the opposite wall. Somebody by the bar looks up just in time to see Bakugou tugging fiercely down on the handle, but you slip onto the fluorescent-lit landing and the silver door falls shut behind you without consequence.

You’re turning around to grab for the door that isn’t closing fast enough as he slips through it, colliding gently with his chest. Bakugou grabs your wrists to stop you, and for an instant you’re nose-to-nose, smelling him and the whiskey on his breath and the faint odour of paint that never quite faded from the concrete walls.

If not for the tears leaving streaks in your makeup, you might let yourself believe he’s lingering in front of you on purpose.

You pull from his grip and turn back toward the stairs before either of you have the chance to imagine more.

Your office is at the end of the hall on the next floor down. It’s a corner office studded with windows, far too lovely for someone who spends as much time in the field as you do. But you’d worked hard to make it a personable space, with plants and artwork and a couple of very comfortable guest chairs in emerald velvet.

Katsuki rolls his eyes every time he has to wave off the odour of your favourite scented candle, but you’ve caught him admiring what you’ve done with his office, too.

Now, the space is too tidy for either of your tastes, a little dusty from so many months of neglect. You’ve been out of commission for six months, and nursing a heartbreak far too immense to allow any casual visits to the agency.

He closes the door behind the both of you. Locks it, just in case. You’re already pacing across the rug and perching on the edge of the desk, gratefully taking some of the weight off your aching feet.

He keeps his back to you for a long moment, fingers lingering on the brass doorknob. His shoulders bob with a deep, harrowing sigh.

“You were dying.”

He turns around, and in the quiet dark of your office his eyes are lit up with a deeper fear than you’ve ever seen in him. He comes toward you and sits in one of your squishy little chairs, steepling his fingers and settling his elbows on his knees.

“You don’t–” he shakes his head and lowers it, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “You don’t understand. You weren’t making any sense.”

“I was,” you bite back, gripping at the edge of your desk. “I meant everything I said to you, Katsuki; I remember every word.”

He flinches. He looks so sorry it’s starting to genuinely scare you.

“And then I woke up in the hospital alone, and I saw the doctor alone and took a taxi home alone. I went to physical therapy alone and saw my counsellor alone. Whatever you thought, Katsuki, whatever you believed made me spend six months staring at my phone and thinking I’d ruined everything—”

“That’s not it,” he demands, straightening. “You didn’t. I did.” He slapped a hand against his chest, the dull thud reverberating through your own heart.

“You said those things and I didn’t believe you. They couldn’t have been true. Not when I’d spent so much fucking time wishing they could be. I couldn’t tell myself you felt that way about me. I couldn’t hope. Not when I’d come so fucking close to losing you so easily, I—”

His voice breaks and he looks away, and you might be crazy but his chin gives a telltale little shake like he’s holding back tears.

“So you thought it would be easier to what? Fucking ghost me like a bad Tinder date?”

That hurts more than it should. You’ve seen Bakugou at his very worst, bleeding and soot-streaked and showing you feelings he never means to. For a very brief period in your lives, you believed yourself to be special.

“Don’t play the innocent,” he snarls. “You never talked to me, either. I had to find out from my fucking manager that you were outta the hospital.”

“So you never thought to drop by? Bring some fucking… flowers?” You can feel the venom filling your mouth and you’re not altogether certain you’re strong enough to swallow it this time.

“And tell you what? That I was in love with you and, maybe I heard you wrong, but you said something while you were dying in my fuckin’ arms and I was hoping for some goddamned clarification?”

“Yes!” You sob, the word ripping itself from your chest and landing wet and heavy on the floor between you. “That! Anything would have been better than radio fucking silence. Katsuki, I was sure you hated me.”

“Well I fucking love you, okay?” He rises from his chair, taking one step forward. It lands him almost right between your thighs and you hate how close he is, but you have no power to pull away. He cups your jaw in strong, gentle fingers, forcing your eyes to his.

“I fucked up,” he presses. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours and this time his proximity is on purpose. You drink it down in eager gulps.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. Despite your tears and the ache in your heart, you give a wet little laugh and nuzzle your nose against his.

“I missed you, too.”

He takes your hands and pulls them both to his chest. And for a long moment you just sit there, curled over one another in the dark and growing accustomed to the idea of being okay again.

“Did you just…” you start after a long moment of silence. His eyelashes flutter against your cheek as he tucks his cheek against yours, but the grin that pulls your mouth is enough for him to stand back and look at you.

“Did you just admit to making a mistake?”

You’re laughing at your own joke before Katsuki can even roll his eyes. But he’s scowling good-naturedly and tugging himself against you by the hips.

“C’mere, you brat.”

He’s leaning in to close the distance between you when muffled chanting from upstairs makes you pause. You tilt an ear toward the window and light up, easily recognizing the five, four, three, two, one as the magnitude builds.

Bright flashes of gold and red light up the sky outside your window in a brilliant display. And all at once the lingering ache drains from your chest and you shoot Katsuki a fond little smile.

“I guess it’s midnight.”

“We missed the fireworks,” he notes, nodding toward the window as he edges back toward you.

“Not really,” you confess, and the first real big smile breaks through the pain when he steps up between your knees again, nice and tight and deliberate.

He cups your jaw in one hand again, settling the other palm on your knee, where it peeks through the golden slip of your dress.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper, eyes falling shut. You hear the way he smiles, that bare little chuckle that used to make your heart light up like stars.

He leans in and kisses you without another word. It’s soft but firm and so loving, so much better than any brush of the hand or lingering glance. Better, even, than the way he danced you into a stupor upstairs. This is yours and nobody else’s.

And you’re not letting him go anytime soon.

You let the kiss deepen as naturally as you can, dropping your jaw and letting the bare press of his tongue roll against your teeth. You reach up and grab his jacket by its lapels, hitching him even closer as the fireworks die out behind you.

He’s not backing down, either. Katsuki draws his hands from your body to unbutton his jacket, shrugging it away easily without breaking the kiss. He’s pressing his mouth to yours in long, lingering spells, tasting you eagerly while his hands have to stay busy. But as soon as he can he’s touching you again, teasing his fingers under the slit of your dress and brushing them over your bare thighs.

“Katsuki…” you whine into his mouth, turning your head to gasp and fill your empty lungs. He finds the next bare patch of skin, kissing down the side of your jaw. He finds your earring where it lays against your tender neck, sucking the crystal into his mouth and giving it a gentle tug.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he grins into your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’ve had enough already.”

“Not a chance,” you growl. There are millions of questions flooding your subconscious. But years of tension and desire spiral more fiercely between you. It’s energy that demands release. And you don’t want to wait another second.

“God,” he groans hard, collapsing gently into you. As he presses forward against you, the twitching swell of his erection pushes into your bare thigh. You slide your palms down the meat of his chest and find his mouth again, kissing him with searing intent.

“Look at you,” he rasps into your mouth, gripping hard at the weighty skirt of your beaded gown. “You’re a goddamned vision in this, you know that?”

You pull back to look at him, raw sexual energy briefly dispersed by his tender confession. For a long moment you sit there, panting at each other, remembering how much this is about to mean.

Fuck it. If he’s in, so are you.

“Help me get it off.”

You slide to your feet, pushing him back a couple of steps to accommodate you. As soon as you turn around he’s sliding a palm up your side, thumbing at the fabric to find its zipper.

“God damn,” he growls, leaning in to kiss a path down the column of your spine. He drops to one knee as he works the zipper down the back of the dress—sitting low, thanks to its open back—letting his mouth trail all the way to the waistband of your underwear. All the while, you brace a palm on the edge of your desk, trying your best not to implode.

This is more attention than you ever could have prayed for.

He peels the thin straps down your arms and shoves the whole mess to your feet. You’re bending down to unbuckle the straps on your heels, but he stops you with a hand on the back of your thigh.

“Leave ‘em on.”

His voice sends a sharp pang of arousal through your entire body. When he stands, trailing his fingers all the way up the back of your naked thigh and over the swell of your ass, the arousal disperses into a dull ache that settles in the pit of your stomach and throbs incessantly.

He digs his fingers into the flesh of your hip and turns you to face him. Your nipples are already peaking in the chill of your office, and he sucks a deep breath through his teeth as he slides his palms up your tummy.

There’s puckered scar tissue and new ridges on your abdomen, but there’s no pain when he traces brushes over them.

He pauses, looking down with dull shock tugging his brow. You’re holding your breath again, watching him circle the roughest part of your new scars with one tender thumb.

“It’s okay,” you plead, cupping his cheeks and forcing his eyes back to yours. There’s pain littering his gaze that you’re determined to dissolve, and you lean in to kiss him until he’s groaning into your mouth and drawing his hands toward your chest.

“God,” you breathe, goosebumps betraying you as they race beneath his fingers. Katsuki watches your face as he dips his head, pushing your breasts together and laying kisses between them.

“Please,” you whimper, reaching forward and settling a hand over the front of his pants. You palm the shape of his cock through the pressed wool and he flinches, biting gently into your tender flesh.

“Katsuki,” you pant, squeezing and rubbing the hard swell in a gentle, heady rhythm as you set your ass on the edge of your desk again. “I need you.”

“Jesus,” he curses, dropping his hands and reaching desperately for his tie. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me before I even get my cock out, sweetness.”

It’s the dirtiest thing he’s ever said to you. And it shows. You’re a shivering, lustblown mess already, but the petname that falls from his lips is enough to make you whimper.

He shrugs out of his shirt and pushes you further onto the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you and pushing your thighs apart with strong fingers.

“Always kinda wanted to do this in here,” he confesses with that cocky smirk that’s always made a hummingbird out of your heart.

But Katsuki doesn’t give you too much time to swoon over his pretty words, kissing a path up the inside of one plush thigh and nipping at your sensitive flesh. He helps you brace your heels against the rug and lift your hips, peeling your underwear off and rucking it down your knees. There’s something very naughty about the way it feels to settle your bare ass on your polished desk.

But there’s something even naughtier about the way it feels to have Katsuki on his knees in front of you.

He pushes your thighs apart again, harsher this time, and settles your knees over his shoulders. You’d like to ride the wave of self-consciousness that threatens to crest when his breath ghosts over the folds of your heated sex.

He pushes higher for a moment, taking your sides in his hands and drawing lovely little kisses down the rough length of your scar. You push self-consciously at his head, making him pull pack and settle a hand over the flesh instead. He tilts his chin up, shooting you a look so filled with guilt and sorrow it nearly shatters the moment.

He wasn’t there for the pain. And as he kisses back down to your hips and thighs, you let yourself hope that this will be enough to make up for it on both sides.

But then he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt and the groan that echoes from his chest makes it hard to do anything but cum on the spot.

“Fuck,” you sigh wantonly, letting your head fall back as you brace your palms on the wood behind you. Your fingertips dig into the surface and he settles into an easy rhythm, slipping his arms under your thighs and tugging you tight to his face.

He’s not shy with his voice, either, grunting and sighing into your pussy with every stroke of his tongue. The noises double your pleasure almost immediately, coupled with the obscene slurps that vibrate all the way up your spine.

It doesn’t take long at all for him to find that tender little spot, the perfect direction from which to swirl his tongue against your clit. It’s obvious in the way your legs go tight around the sides of his head, the way you shiver and cry and clap a hand to the back of his head.

He grunts hard into your body when your fingers rake through his hair, harder still when your tense thighs press the narrow points of your heels into the flesh of his back.

“Katsu,” you whimper, already fucked out and tender like you’ve never been for him, “I’m gonna cum. Fucking shit, I-I’m gonna…”

He takes your warning like a hit, leaning more fiercely into you, keeping his rhythm with intense precision. Later, you’ll try not to think about why he’s so good at this. But right now, all you can think about is the way your pleasure rears up and crashes over you, sending loud gasps and breathy mewls of ecstasy from your chest as you squeeze his head and pull his hair and roll your hips shakily into his persistent mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” he snarls, sitting back on his haunches and swiping a palm over his flushed lips. He looks up at you, rubbing your thigh with one free hand as you come down panting from your ecstatic high. Between his legs, his cock juts obscenely down one thigh of his suit pants, and he palms himself shamelessly as he gets to his feet, taking in every inch of your pleasure-soaked self.

“You’re gonna make me cream my fuckin’ pants someday,” he chides, fumbling with his belt and impatiently shucking his pants. His undershorts follow closely, and you’re barely on your feet again before he takes you by the shoulders and turns your back to him.

“C’mere.” He slides a hand under one of your thighs, hitching it gently onto the edge of your desk and coming up tightly behind you. The brush of his knuckle against your ass proves that he’s stroking himself, and the tip of his stiff cock leaves a little print of wet precum on the back of your leg.

“Please,” you moan, still hazy and shaken from your first orgasm. Still endlessly needy, though, when Katsuki’s involved. “God, baby, just fuck me already.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you can’t say shit like that,” he groans, twitching behind you. “It’s like you don’t know how fuckin’ sexy you are.”

He braces a hand on your bare hip and then you feel it, the tip of his drooling cock pressing up between your slippery folds. It’s enough to make you whine and arch your back, wiggling your hips impatiently against his.

It’s enough to make Katsuki lose it.

“Shit,” he growls, gripping the fat of your hip and pushing forward, sliding home with one smooth thrust. He bottoms out inside you right away, buried perfectly in your belly and making you feel every inch.

“Baby—” you start to breathe, but he doesn’t waste time. Katsuki reaches around and lays his palm flat on your sternum, pulling you back against him. He keeps his other hand braced on your hip for leverage, dropping his mouth to the crook of your shoulder while he starts to thrust.

All you can do is keep your knee planted on the edge of your desk and try not to scream as he fucks you in steady, long thrusts, lapping and sucking all along the side of your neck while his hand roams over your chest and thumbs your nipple. Whatever hairstyle you’d left the house with has come long undone by now and you’re sure that if your makeup wasn’t smudged before, it’s certainly not going to survive the drool and sweat and heat that he’s forcing through you with every push of his hips.

The slap of his body against yours fills the space, punctuated only by your harsh pants and quiet whines of pleasure. Katsuki’s fingers dig harshly into your hip, gripping you tighter each time he anchors himself back into your fluttering cunt. Your walls are clamping ruthlessly around him, but he doesn’t miss a beat, slipping that free palm away from your nipples and down your belly to strum rhythmically at the swell of your stiff clit.

“I love you,” he grunts breathlessly behind you, and the raw truth behind it brings a rush of warmth to your chest you can’t ignore. You turn your head sharply towards him, pushing your forehead to his and feeling every beat as his breathing becomes laboured.

His body’s growing tight behind yours, his thrusts losing some of their impeccable rhythm as his brow knits against yours. He’s concentrating hard—holding back, you realize—and you reach down to cover his hand that braces your hip, giving it a relenting squeeze.

“Baby,” you plead. “Let go for me, baby, I can feel it.”

“God,” he mutters. “No—fuck, gonna make you—with me, sweetness.” Your body is clenching in preparation for your own climax already, and the fact that he can even pick up on it shouldn’t surprise you.

“I’m there,” you promise. “I’m there, Katsuki, fuck, just cum for me. Please.”

His arms tighten around you, seizing you hard against his heaving chest. You lean forward and seal your mouth against his, kissing him as he loses control and cums with a shout that echoes at the back of your throat.

He grabs your ass in one hand and fucks madly into you, spurting warm handfuls of cum into your belly and biting down hard on your lower lip. The erratic twitch of his fingers on your still-aching clit and the warm release inside you is enough to bring you to another tight, simpering little peak—not as powerful as the first one, but just as significant.

He stays behind you for a long moment, pinning you to the desk while he goes soft inside you. Finally he peppers kisses down the back of one shoulder and steps away from you, already smoothing his hair and taking in the image of you, in nothing but your heels, dripping with his cum.

The first of many, you let yourself hope, as you turn to carefully face him.

“I guess we missed the countdown,” you quip, reaching for your discarded panties. Navigating the strappy thing seems a great deal more complicated now that it’s not Katsuki tearing them off you.

He smirks at you in a way that does not make it easier to concentrate on the task at hand. Especially since he’s watching you struggle, easily buttoning himself into his now-creased shirt.

“I didn’t miss a thing.”  

He’s already half-clothed by the time you get your underwear on again, stooping to collect your delicate dress from the floor and thumbing the sequins that pepper its surface. His smirk has dissolved into another pensive look as he examines the cloth.

“If I’d known,” he tells you, pressing the scratchy fabric into your hands, “I never would’ve—”

You lean up and push your mouth to his, soft and loving and just enough to silence him.

“I know.”

Once Katsuki’s got the rest of his clothes on, he helps you carefully into your dress and gets behind you one more time to help you zip it. He can’t stop kissing you even for a minute, peppering his lips over your back, neck, arms. He turns you around and takes your hands, kissing the backs of each palm with devotion that, if you stop and think about it, you’ve seen in his eyes a thousand times before.

“You’ll make it up to me,” you promise good naturedly, letting him slide his arms around your waist. He looks at you again, diligent and honest.

“I will.”

“Good.”

You slide your hands up his sleeves of heart-stealing midnight blue, smiling so big it ought to hurt. You tilt your head toward the door, giving your chin a little jerk as you squeeze his biceps through the pressed wool.

“For a start,” you say, daring to lean a little closer while he’s still feeling tender, “how about another dance?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #my hero academia #bakugou #bnha #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo #it's new years eeeeeeve and i am not #spending it with him #sigh #;.;