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#he's very good at just. brushing aside his emotions in order to move on
mischievouschan4 · 6 months
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WIP Wednesday - Club!AU (QuiObiAni)
I may have missed Wednesday by 10 minutes local time, but IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS! Here's another "what I'd like to write Wednesday" post that isn't truly a WIP:
Obi-Wan so very rarely goes to clubs these days. He'd had his wild streak when he was in college, but now that he's closer to forty than thirty, most of his nights are filled with mugs of steaming herbal tea, a thick novel, and maybe a relaxing bath.
As the owner of a local bookstore, he's already obligated to spend most of his time reading, but he just loves exploring new worlds through the pages of the latest thrillers or feeling the full spectrum of human emotion in a romantic comedy. He never complains about reading more, it's one of his favorite things in the world. But his own life, as calm and predictable as it is, reads in stark contrast to the exciting places that his mind visits in his books.
...Which is why he feels so out of place sitting at a small round table in the second floor bar area of a packed nightclub. The dark space is occasionally lit by the strobe lights flashing up from the open dancefloor below, and the air is filled with a pulsating beat curated by the live DJ. Obi-Wan leans over the railing to take a peek at the writhing mass of bodies all jumping up and down in time with the music.
No, thank you. Hard pass, he thinks to himself.
He's only here because it's Quinlan's birthday today, and the man had dragged Obi-Wan and a bunch of their old college friends out for 'an exciting night out, c'mon Obi-Wan, don't be such a sourpuss'. Obi-Wan had signed resignedly, but didn't deny that he could probably do with a little more socializing beyond occasionally chatting with his clientele. His life isn't lonely, per say, just quiet. And while he usually appreciates the tranquility, sometimes he does wish he could have someone... to fill in the blank spaces of his monochrome existence with a bit of color.
So here he is, nursing a Scotch and contemplating the state of his life as he oh so carefully guards his friends' belongings that they'd left scattered on the table and chairs around him. They'd gone off to do who knows what, and Obi-Wan is halfway convinced that he should pull out his phone and start answering some emails. Suddenly, someone moves the purse off the chair next to Obi-Wan and slides smoothly onto the seat in its place.
"So... aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?" a sultry voice asks. Though, a bit of the effect is ruined by the need for him to shout.
Obi-Wan squints through the low light (maybe he should have brought his glasses) to make out the shadowed shape of a young man, really young, probably late teens young, with a handsome face and a headful of bouncy curls. He's also wearing the tightest outfit Obi-Wan has ever seen on a person.
Is Obi-Wan... being hit on right now? By a barely legal twink?
Obi-Wan clears his throat awkwardly. "I- I sell books," he says loudly, leaning closer to speak directly in the other man's ear in order to be heard over the din. The newcomer smells like expensive cologne. Musky. Alluring.
The kid leans back and raises his eyebrows as he blatantly appraises Obi-Wan up and down. "Well, it's a good thing I have my library card then, because I'm totally checking you out," he yells back, shooting finger guns in Obi-Wan's direction.
It takes Obi-Wan a second to even register what was said, too distracted by the juvenile display. "That's what you're leading with?" Obi-Wan questions as he shakes his head.
"You don't like?" the kid brushes off the snub. "How about this one? Baby, if you were words on a page, you'd be fine print." This time, the younger man drags out the words 'fine print' as he leans an elbow on the table and gazes up at Obi-Wan through his lashes.
Obi-Wan winces at the exaggeration.
"Still no?" The kid straightens and flicks his head to get the hair off of his forehead, unfazed. (Why was that so attractive?) "Okay, so I was reading the book of numbers, and I realized I don't have yours."
Obi-Wan sighs and holds up a hand, "How about we start with your name?" (He's actually mildly impressed with the kid's ability to think of so many book related pick-up lines on the spot, but something tells Obi-Wan that he doesn't need to inflate the kid's ego any more than it already is.)
"I'm Anakin," the kid, Anakin, answers. "What's yours?"
They sit there shouting at each other for a while with Obi-Wan becoming increasingly drawn in by the younger man's gorgeous eyes and attractive smirk. Anakin's smile should be illegal, Obi-Wan thinks to himself. He looks like sin incarnate. And the kid keeps touching Obi-Wan, finding every opportunity to lay a hand on Obi-Wan's bicep or trail his fingers across Obi-Wan's thighs. It's starting to drive Obi-Wan a little mad, his cock is definitely half hard in his pants.
All of a sudden, a busgirl comes up behind Obi-Wan, leaning over his shoulder to place a brightly colored shot onto the table. She pushes it towards Anakin as she yells, "From the man at the bar." Obi-Wan notices that she winks at Anakin before rushing off.
Anakin, clearly unconcerned about the safety of accepting drinks from strangers, lifts the glass and looks over Obi-Wan's shoulder to where the bar is, toasts someone - presumably the surprise benefactor who had bought him said liquor - and downs it in one gulp. The bob of Anakin's Adams apple as he swallows looks... incredibly tempting.
Obi-Wan feels annoyance stab through him, couldn't this 'man at the bar' see that Anakin was already taken? In fact, Anakin was the one who'd chosen Obi-Wan! But then, Obi-Wan reminds himself that it doesn't matter, it's not like he and Anakin are actually going to do anything. Right? Right?
"You're popular tonight," Obi-Wan points out neutrally.
Anakin just shrugs and puts his hand back on Obi-Wan's thigh with a smirk.
Obi-Wan quickly forgets why he's even miffed in the first place.
After a few moments, however, another man approaches their table and immediately invades Anakin's space. The man doesn't hesitate to thread his fingers into Anakin's curls and clench them into a fist, yanking Anakin's head back to bring their mouths together in a filthy kiss. They're clearly putting on a show for Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan feels his mouth fall open at the sight.
The other man, who is dressed to the nines in a full suit (tie and all), has his long hair pulled back in an elegant braid. He's also significantly older than Obi-Wan himself, and he moves with a well-practiced air that speaks of intimate familiarity with Anakin.
Obi-Wan watches, transfixed, as the man reaches up and wraps his fingers around Anakin's throat. Instead of fighting it, Anakin seems to arch his back further, putting himself on display while simultaneously pushing into the older man’s ministrations. The man doesn't squeeze, but Obi-Wan is getting all sorts of ideas as to what kinds of sexual activities these two get up to in private. Obi-Wan covertly adjusts himself in his pants as he watches Anakin enthusiastically respond to getting tongue fucked in public.
When the two finally break apart, the older man keeps a possessive arm around Anakin's waist as he extends a hand to Obi-Wan. In a bit of a daze, Obi-Wan registers that the other man's hand practically engulfs his own as they shake.
"I'm Qui-Gon," the man introduces himself. "I understand that you're the one my boy wants to fuck tonight." Qui-Gon also gives Obi-Wan an appreciative onceover. "Not bad," he compliments with a sensual smirk.
Obi-Wan instantly flushes red when he realizes that (somehow) both men are hitting on him? (How is this real life?) Maybe it’s due to the sheer implausibility of such a situation, or maybe it’s because he’s just that horny, but Obi-Wan lets himself get ushered into a back room of the club, a fancy office with a huge couch and, thankfully, soundproof walls.
"Are we allowed back here?" he asks tentatively. Finally able to speak at a normal volume.
"Yeah, we come here all the time," Anakin answers nonchalantly.
"But won't we get in trouble?"
Anakin smirks as he starts to shimmy out of his skin-tight outfit. Right there. In the middle of the room. "The owner of this place doesn't care," he says flippantly.
"In fact," Qui-Gon says as he comes to stand behind Obi-Wan and wrap his big hands around Obi-Wan's waist. The taller man brushes his nose against the shell of Obi-Wan's ear, sending shivers down Obi-Wan's spine. "The owner of this place likes to watch." Qui-Gon's voice rumbles like gravel, low and husky, and Obi-Wan can’t possibly resist. He pushes his hips back into the taller man and whimpers as Qui-Gon's hands slip in and dip below the waistband of Obi-Wan’s pants.
Anakin is completely naked at this point, and he goes to sit on the couch, hard cock on full display for the two older men. "And in case you're wondering," Anakin explains as grabs some lube hidden in the cushions, "Qui-Gon is the owner."
The long-haired man hums in confirmation as he tilts Obi-Wans face up for a long-awaited kiss. Qui-Gon is clearly very experienced at this, and Obi-Wan can do little except wind his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and cling. His knees have gone weak, and his brain is fuzzy.
Obi-Wan has his first threesome that night, with Anakin fucking into Obi-Wan with fervor at the same time Qui-Gon fucks Anakin at a more leisurely pace. The kid finishes before either of the other two, overwhelmed by the double stimulation, and Qui-Gon ends up fucking Obi-Wan until they both cum. By that point, Anakin is hard again, and Qui-Gon guides Obi-Wan to suck Anakin off as Qui-Gon fingers the younger man's hole.
Needless to say, Obi-Wan is thoroughly embarrassed afterwards, but Anakin just bulldozes through any awkwardness with his loud personality, and Qui-Gon seems to know exactly what Obi-Wan needs. A towel. His phone. A reassurance not to worry about Obi-Wan's friend's personal effects because Qui-Gon has already thought to ask a security guard to watch over their table.
Something about Obi-Wan must really make an impression because Anakin and Qui-Gon find ways to worm their way into Obi-Wan's life. Qui-Gon likes to stop by Obi-Wan's shop during the lunch hour to whisk Obi-Wan off to a fancy date. Anakin, who is actually older than Obi-Wan initially guessed (but not by much), is finishing up school to be a pilot, so he spends afternoons doing homework in the bookstore.
Obi-Wan is reluctant to believe it at first, but gradually, as weeks bleed into months, and months into years, Obi-Wan realizes that they are invested.
They each have their preferred sleeping positions in bed at this point (Anakin always wants to be in the middle). Qui-Gon has even become a business partner as he generously lends out the club space during the day for Obi-Wan to use for larger events that don’t fit in the bookstore, signings and club meetings and drag queen readings for kids. And every time he's home between flights, Anakin barrels through their lives like a hurricane, sexually and in other ways. The gifts he brings back from other cities are becoming too numerous to count in their new shared home.
Obi-Wan realizes he doesn't need a ring or a formal marriage to know that he's found his people. And maybe the matching tattoos the three of them get represent that promise. A stylized bird rising into the air, its wings spread to form the shape of a circle. Together forever, Anakin had promised. And without Obi-Wan consciously realizing it, he slowly comes see how Anakin and Qui-Gon have taken a palette to Obi-Wan's cookie cutter life and painted it in brilliant swathes of color. Together forever, Obi-Wan thinks to himself.
In the end, he gets his fairy tale ending.
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Ho boy, where did my mind go this week? I originally just wanted to write the tag-team club pick up, but then my mind went to bookstores and fairy tales and color metaphors. WOOPS!
ALSO: Yes, it's Qui-Gon that buys Anakin the shot. It's their little play, if Anakin drinks it there, he wants Qui-Gon to come over. If he's bored, he'll take it and walk away to enjoy in Qui-Gon's lap hehe
Anyways, hope you enjoyed!
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amberskyyking · 1 month
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Dying Isn't Very Regulation: Chapter 11
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The Batch and Fives are both Echo's family... And he could never choose.
(Or, a self-indulgent 5 9 16?? chapter fic inspired by Snapback by @toomanyteefs with Fives and Ninety-Nine, because I have emotions about this, they deserves the world, and the narrative has officially run away with me!)
Echo laid awake long after the rest of his vode had fallen asleep. Occasional whoops and hollers sounded from elsewhere in the tunnel system where some of their brothers were keeping the celebration going, even at this hour, but winning a war had somehow become the least strange thing to happen today. 
He had Fives back. 
His twin was plastered across his chest, snoring softly through the bandages on his broken nose. Echo hesitated a second, then brushed a bit of his hair aside that was covering the “5” on his temple. He knew it was Fives, it really was, but the fear this was all a dream or a nightmare kept gripping his chest out of nowhere and… Somehow, seeing it there helped.
Only recently had he allowed himself to hope for anything different than what he learned about his brothers fate, all the way back on Skako Minor. Echo knew Fives was gone long before Rex found the right time to tell him. His first few moments out of the stasis chamber had been hazy and surreal, but with each electric snap he regained a little more control, a little more lucidity. Enough to recognize this wasn’t the Citadel. That Rex was there. That he had come back for him.
At first that was all he could process. The faint lines of code still chattered in the back of his mind and his body felt… He wasn’t really sure what his body felt like, but it wasn’t good, it didn’t feel like him. He tried to focus on what he knew, on the memories he could never fully recall when his mind wasn’t his own, as each disconnect sent an electric snap through his head. There had been an explosion, someone screaming his name- Snap. Waking up on a table, wracked with pain and numb below the waist, panic on a young surgeon’s face- Snap. Battle formations and top secret tactical plans racing behind his eyelids - SNAP.
He wasn’t sure what happened next, but suddenly the noise was gone, and he was left blinking up at Rex with a massive headache. 
They were mid-mission, and they had to move. There was no time to process it fully in the escape that followed, no real introductions, just him and Rex and Skywalker and four special-ops troops that he would get to know later, fighting through the Techno Union stronghold in a way that made him feel alive again. His own newfound knowledge of the base got them out, but in the end it nearly wasn’t enough. When Tech took over with a plan to call flying reptiles to their rescue, it was so insane, so ridiculous, that Echo had instinctively looked over to see Fives’s reaction and… He knew. There was only one reason why his brother wouldn’t have been there for this.
Rex told him later, but by then, he didn’t really want to know the details, and Rex hadn’t been keen to relive it either. Only after Order 66 did more of the story come out. Fives had saved them all, and he’d never even known it. Echo couldn’t have been prouder of his twin. 
He just never imagined he’d get the chance to tell him so.
Full Chapter (And Story!): Both? Both. Both Is Good.
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Writing from Illumi's POV is as fun as it is challenging
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Pairing: Illumi x Reader (x Hisoka if you squint)
SFW
Word Count: 1031
Warnings: Budding yandere behaviour, Stalking, Some blood (very brief at the end), Needles (Illumi's, also brief)
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There was something captivating about the way you moved.
Expressive, but with purpose. Each motion created an elegance that was unknown to you as you danced in your kitchen.
Every moment was taken in by a single audience member who watched with enthrallment through your apartment window.
It was something Illumi was incredibly good at. Watching. While it wasn’t something that normally earned praise in his profession, there was a silent acknowledgement throughout the masses of the knack Illumi held for it.
And that was when he was being paid to do it.
When it came to personal interest, there was no amount of currency dictating the amount of effort that would be put into the task. Here, he was without limit or restraint.
In only a few days he knew everything there was to know from a distance. The things such as the routine you went through whenever you came home from an outing, or the order in which you did things before going to bed, were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
You were an incredibly predictable creature. In his field that would get you killed.
So it was a good thing he would be there to train that out of you in the future.
“So this is what you’ve been ditching me for these past few nights. ~♤”
A microscopic twitch went through Illumi’s hands as the Magician appeared in his peripheral vision.
“I haven’t required any assistance for my missions as of this time, you will be contacted if the need ever arises.”
“Aren’t you such a tease? ~♡” Hisoka sat on the ledge of the building, resting his elbow on a propped up knee and setting his chin in his hand. Illumi watched him carefully before returning his gaze to your apartment window - his fingers brushing the bulbous ends of his needles in light debate.
“Who is your little target tonight? ~♢”
“Nobody that concerns you.”
The pulse of bloodlust Hisoka let out was as predictable as it was malevolently curious.
“Now you’re really teasing me, dear Illu. ~♢”
It was delayed due to distance, but your small stumble in the aftermath of Hisoka’s lack of restraint caused Illumi to frown. It remained even as you shook it off and resumed your movements - setting a timer on your oven before washing whatever dishes you had just finished using, lips moving in sync with the lyrics of your music.
The fact your neatness only ever presented itself during the cooking process would be something he would have to work on later. In the meantime, he looked back to the meddling Magician.
“Take it how you wish, what I do outside of your presence does not concern you.”
“Ooo, touchy. ~♢” Hisoka’s syrupy lilt was full of mirth, but his eyes held no such emotion. “All lovely games aside, I have been dying to see just what… or really who has been keeping you so busy.~♧”
Illumi’s eyes drooped in boredom. The conversation had already become tiresome, and knowing Hisoka, the night was young.
“I trust your curiosity is satisfied.”
“Oh, quite the opposite!” Hisoka threatened to genuinely smile at his own words, “I want to know each and every little detail about my dear friend’s new… play thing.~♢”
“Then you are destined for disappointment.” Illumi sighed, “And we are not friends-.”
“How did you come across such a lovely creature anyways? ~♡” Hisoka’s interruption was coupled by him making a circle with his thumb and pointer finger and looking through it towards you. A pout quickly formed on his lips. “Pretty, but frightfully boring…”
The temptation of his pins called to him like no other, but he knew Hisoka’s games well enough by now not to rise to such low bait.
“I have no reason to reveal any of that information to you.”
He looked back to you in time to see you dry your hands and throw the dish towel over your shoulder. You looked back at the timer on your oven before pulling out your phone and beginning to type.
If it was a text message being sent he would know soon enough.
When his own phone didn’t vibrate, he concluded it was merely to search for a certain song, as you began to dance again once more after you put your phone away - but in a much different manner than before.
This is where being self-aware was as much a curse as it was intoxicating.
Realistically he knew there was no ulterior motive to your movements. That the sway of your hips to the beat of your music was meant for yourself and, at the very most, the lazy viewership of your housepet, but you had to have known exactly what you were doing when you ran your hands along the length of your form so seductively.
It felt too purposeful to be an accident.
“The fact you have yet to deal out any information at all is why this is so interesting. ~♢”
Illumi sent Hisoka a sharp glare to which he only received a coy smile in response.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself.~♢” Hisoka mused as he stood, brushing idle dust from his pants. “I’d love to hear their side of things. ~♧”
“You will do no such thing.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard of a task,” Hisoka raised his arms above his head in a lazy stretch, a few pops of vertebra accompanying the action, “now that I know where they live-”
The sound of Illumi’s pin cutting through the air and hitting the concrete behind Hisoka terminated the taunting line immediately, and the world stilled for the briefest of moments. A thin trail of blood sprung from the newly formed gash across Hisoka’s cheekbone and flowed quickly down to his chin.
Illumi’s arm remained hovered in the air from the throw, his impassive mask gone as he narrowed his eyes at his associate.
“This is the only warning you will receive. You are not to go near them, is that clear?”
Hisoka raised a hand to the cut, gingerly dabbing at the wound and pulling away red stained fingers with a wicked grin.
Excitement danced in his eyes as he licked the blood from his fingers.
“Transparently. ~♧”
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© absolute-flaming-trash 2022. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.
Taglist: @prettycutebunny, @sai-my-beloved, @we-are-so-close, @shorkbrian, @biby-24k, @forcefulkitten, @siphite
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do you honestly think Rhaenyra didn't care about her children?
No. I think she loved her children. I do. Its just that the show did a piss poor job of showing her thinking about their feelings when it came to Harwin and Laenor.
The boys seemed to deeply care about Harwin, but when one of them (Jace or Luce, they were really not distinguishable) asked if they were a bastard she just said it only mattered that they were her kids and a Targaryen. This boy’s entire identity was just shifted but she brushed it off and the show went no further than that until he was saying they should be at his funeral instead of Laena’s. Rhaenyra again brushed it aside because they were in public and there was no mention of really talking about it later.
And then their public father is murdered (we have no indication that they are told he is still alive) rumor is that he was murdered on their mother’s orders and seemingly in the same day she is remarried to a man they don’t know.
We were allowed to see a full episode of Rhaenyra dealing with the death of her mother and what that meant for her emotionally and even from a political standpoint. But we are never given the opportunity to see her have any care in how her sons and their emotions about their two father figures dying very violently because it isn’t convenient for the writers to paint any of Rhaenyra’s decisions as bad (marrying Daemon was a bad move and the show frames it as being the same day Laenor was “murdered” and the first time she and Daemon have sex is ON the same day of Laena’s funeral).
Just think about what Alicent said in the first episode, those kids probably just wanted SOMEONE to say they were sorry about their pain that they went through with Harwin and nothing was said. Heck, I do not think what happened to Aemond was justified at all, but him telling them that they would die screaming like Harwin pricked at the storming emotions they had from his death and that led to the knife being properly drawn and used.
That anger and frustration should have been allowed to come out in private with Rhaenyra because she is their mother and understands what it is like to lose a parent very suddenly. But we don’t get that at all. We don’t even have the promise of a discussion later.
The show did a really bad job of characterizing Rhaenyra’s children and their relationship with their mother. I haven’t seen the last episode because of the ENORMOUS amount of hate that l got from my live blogging.
But just look at how much we got of Alicent being a mother, good and bad.
She engages with Helaena despite not really understanding her fascination with bugs. She isn’t zoning out but having a conversation with Helaena and asking questions to further the conversation along. She hugs her daughter when she realizes the sort of person Aegon is. She instantly tried to shield Helaena when Vaemond was murdered in front of them. She tried to comfort her daughter about Viserys. She sent her most trusted knight to protect Helaena when Rhaenys popped out of the ground with a dragon.
When Aemond is brought by the Dragonpit, she instantly starts disciplining him, but only stops when she realizes an issue has happened and she comforts him when she realizes he has been bullied and she hugs him and assures he will have a dragon one day even though she said at the beginning of the reprimand that she didn’t understand the obsession with dragons. She tried to get the verbal bullying felt with by approaching Viserys but he just brushed her off. When he loses his eye she demands that something be said and she fights for him in a way that is almost reminiscent of how Viserys defended Rhaenyra against Daemon after the brothel incident). She doesn’t feel comfortable with him going to search for Aegon, but it’s so very clear that Aemond utterly adores his mother and still remembers her calling for Lucerys’ eye.
With Aegon, she reprimands him a lot and hits him, sure. When he was young, before the brothel incident, Alicent was raising Aegon to not covet his sister’s throne. She is also very aware that he is not taking any of her worries seriously when he’s older. She reprimands him for bullying Aemond and says that they Ned to be on a united front because of what will happen with Rhaenyra. When he is found by the twins he says he wants to be taken to his mother and he and Aemond stop fighting when their mother is mentioned. She gives him his father’s dagger, which you can see means a lot to him. And she steps in front of a freaking dragon for him.
Morality-wise, the Greens have been given less grace than the Blacks, whose wrong-doings get brushed away by the writers and visual framing of the story. However, it is the Greens that have prospered in terms of being written as a family.
Just look at Baela and Rhaena. They are not treated as Rhaenyra’s nieces/step-daughters, instead, they are treated as the girls her sons are going to marry. The Blacks are not given familial interactions that show strong bonds. The Greens are.
I’m sure Rhaenyra loves her sons, do not get me wrong. However, the show simply does not let Rhaenyra be a mother to them.
The first episode we have of Rhaenyra as a mother (even though she previously stated she was uninterested in children), she just had a baby so she’s naturally a little hands off with her children. The next episode she’s too busy fucking Daemon to really take care of the emotional needs of her children who just lost Harwin. The next episode we again don’t really see her interact with her children at all. And I haven’t seen the finale so I won’t comment on that.
The writing for Rhaenyra has simply not been good.
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negative-speedforce · 9 months
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pencil, paintbrush, marker, crayon, pastels, and palette for Siv and Jay and anyone else :)
Pencil: does this character have any "sketchy" habits? Have they ever broken the law? Do they regret it?
Jay? No. Siv? *laughs maniacally* hAS siV eVeR BrOKeN thE lAw? Dude that's literally all she does (other than plot revenge and be a useless lesbian, that is).
Ember has broken the law, mostly because he's trans, from a conservative state, and over the age of 30.
Paintbrush: How often does your character "brush over" conflict instead of facing it head on? Is there something specific they don't like to face, or do they avoid conflict as a whole?
Jay tends to avoid conflict as much as possible, but the Lawful Good part of him isn't going to just sit down when there's actual injustice happening. Siv, however, has never once avoided conflict in her life. That's the thing about literally being part Negative Speed Force- the rage builds up pretty quickly.
Cassandra won't blow up in someone's face (unless they say something bigoted about her or her teammates) though she will pull them aside later and discuss why that wasn't right for them to do or say and explain consequences for their actions if it's someone she has authority over.
Marker: what's one thing your character would never tattoo on their body, even if they were paid a million dollars for it?
Jay would never tattoo a naked private region on himself. He respects both women and men too much for that. Plus, he thinks it's pretty crass. Siv would literally rather die than have any marking associated with their father on them, so there's that.
Esme would never tattoo one of her boyfriends' names on herself, considering that she is aware that she goes through men rather quickly. She wouldn't want an ex's name permanently written on her body.
Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?
Siv was literally just born when she was the equivalent of a four-year-old. She was very quiet, since while they were created with the equivalent knowledge of a four-year-old (how to speak, feed themselves, use the restroom, etc), they had no life experience to base it on. Jay was a very sad four-year-old because he didn't understand why everyone was constantly insisting that he was a girl, when he was very clearly a boy, though he became much more social when his parents let him cut his hair and wear boys' clothes.
Gina was a social butterfly at four, and she got along well with all the other children her age. However, after moving from Puerto Rico when she was 12, Gina struggled to make friends because she was not very fluent in English.
Pastels: Give me three colors that best represent your OC. Now give me three colors that your OC likes best. Is there an overlap?
Jay: Pastels, like soft yellow, green and blue. Siv: Harsh shades of Red, Green, and Gold. Hailey: Silver, White, and Black
Colors they like:
Jay: Blue, green, and white Siv: Maroon, Black, and Gold Hailey: Blue, purple, and grey
Jay's color pallete overlaps a lot more, since while Siv chooses to dress in dark colors to better blend in and hide their identity, they're a raging hurricane of emotion on the inside. Hailey is the other way around, forcing a facade of emotion when she actually sees the world through her head rather than her heart.
Palette: list four of your character's primary skills, then share at least two ways these skills might blend or overlap.
Siv: Problem solving, manipulation, quick wit, observation
I feel like manipulation and observation have some overlap, since you have to really get a feel for someone in order to properly manipulate them. Problem solving also has an overlap with observation, since you have to understand how something works in order to fix it.
Jay: Emotional regulation, marksmanship, charisma, empathy
Empathy, emotional regulation, and charisma have a definite overlap, since a person is more likely to like you if you're coolheaded and understanding.
Cassandra: Leadership, adaptability, self-control, morality
All of these traits make a strong leader. that's it. That's the post.
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pastel-player · 2 years
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Omg hfjone talkkk
Opinions on batch one?
Okay first, mmmm thank you thank you thank you,,
Alright so imma go in the order they spawn on The Plane? I guess lol. Thoughts under the cut cause this got long
There isn't much to say about Charlie, since he's a literal infant, but for what it's worth I think he's cute. Least fussy baby in the world I tell you, which I think was a good decision. Something about his complete ignorance of the horrors he's being exposed to is probably much more haunting then if he was as prone to crying as a usual baby. I think there's a lot of interesting potential with Charlie down the line! ONE will probably effect him going forward, in some subconscious way. I really enjoy it when people explore that!
And then TAYLOR, MY GIRL TAYLOR. We were robbed, I tell you, robbed. She has so little screen time but I absolutely adore her. She absolutely strikes me as nuerodivergent in a lot of her mannerisms (she literally needs to ask an adult if he was being sarcastic) and that really endears me to her. There's also consistent stuff with her feeling outspoken or brushed aside, which is super interesting to me. I desperately wish we could have gotten more time with her, but I'll be over here theorizing. If any ONE character is my comfort character, it's her.
Next is Amelia, who, real talk, might be my favorite character in the show. She's so caring and yet so prone to emotion and I like how that isn't portrayed as a bad thing. How open she is with her emotions leads to a lot of the show's most devastating moments. There's something to draw from her in pretty much every scene, from the desperation, to her self-sacrificial behavior, to her loosening grasp on her sense of self. That said, I desperately wish we had more of her in season two. The fact that we know so little about her home life hurts- we don't even see her pre-Plane moment. Season 2 should've given her some more time, but I still love her with all my soul. Plus I have headcanons on her homelife if anyone's curious.
Bryce is an interesting case, just because of how miserable his life was before the show. I adore how season 2 shows him wanting to move on from everything that happened, before Liam slowly convinces him that the other's need help moving on too. A lot like the others, I really wish we had gotten more details with him. We have enough crumbs to theorize on his past with Stella, but I feel like it would add a lot to his character to know the details of his past. Still though, I think he's neat! I don't have as much intense love for him as I do some of the other characters, but I think he's absolutely fascinating at his best.
Charlotte! This is definitely becoming a trend here, say it with me folks, I would love it if she had more time. I don't think it's as bad with her, since we learn quite a bit about her dynamics and past, but I do wish we could've seen a bit of that off-screen character development. For what it's worth though, I think Charlotte is really, really, neat. I like how even though she is very clearly in the wrong with a lot of stuff, she isn't completely villainized either. I honestly get annoyed when people portray her and Parker's friendship as toxic, cause it really doesn't read that way to me. I think a lot about how she acts at the beginning of that scene, smiling and friendly. She has complexities- she has issues, but she's far from irredeemable. She gives me a lot of headcanon fodder and you ain't gonna see me complaining about that.
Last. Liam. Oh boy, oh gosh, my poor boy Liam. I love him. I mean, it's kinda hard not to. This guy rivals OJ as the most "just some guy" object show character, and yet he manages to be fascinating. His story is absolutely tragic and it just makes me want to hug him. Something about seeing someone so normal get torn down time and time again is just haunting, and there's something so impactful about his obsessive search for closure in season 2. Despite what a lot of people think, I doubt Liam would ever become the next Airy. Liam is easily one of the people to suffer most from ONE, I doubt he'd ever do that again. If you ask me, I don't think he'd rest until everyone gets home. Also I feel like his genuine worst fear would be becoming like Airy. Backpack from the cohost AU would be this man's absolute worst nightmare.
Okay I have no clue how cohesive any of that was, but yeah! Batch one thoughts! Feel free to ask me my thoughts on other characters or to ask me about my headcanons for anyone in the cast :D
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adammilligan · 3 years
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see now i wonder how much michael would’ve cried when adam died and how much adam would’ve cried when he woke up alone. we KNOW archangels can cry because lucifer did after gabriel yelled at him but knowing michael and how he reacts to things of that magnitude he probably would’ve given himself two minutes tops for a tear or two and then flew off to go hide in the church because there was no time to grieve and he doesn’t process his emotions anyway. adam on the other hand woke up on that beach with the world at peace so he had time but in a way i think that would make it worse because he doesn’t process his emotions either he just compartmentalizes so he’d probably give himself like one minute tops and then sit up and start trudging back towards civilization. and then in the future he just keeps suppressing everything by sheer force of will. which wouldn’t surprise me, since that’s probably what he did the majority of his time in hell
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merakiui · 3 years
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A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze
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yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz
The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.
And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.
Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.
During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.
Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.
“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”
A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.
Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.
To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.
It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.
The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.
“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”
“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”
The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.
“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”
Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.
“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”
And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.
“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”
“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”
He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”
“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”
Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.
Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.
Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.
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whirlybirbs · 3 years
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          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )
✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?
summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.
pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader
tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn
word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl
a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 
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MOSCOW, 1975.
In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.
War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.
You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.
War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.
In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.
To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.
He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.
He was the disease that devoured all.
He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.
The spoils of war.
His smile is stained red.
There is no deal to be made.
The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.
NOW.
His eyes are open.
Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —
Then:
“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”
The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.
He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.
When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?
He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.
Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.
“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.
You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”
“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”
You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.
“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”
His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.
“Thank you.”
You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.
“Don’t.”
“You want it?”
“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”
“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”
“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”
“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”
Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.
Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.
“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”
“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”
“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”
His face falls.
“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”
Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.
That hasn’t happened in a while.
Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”
You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.
You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.
“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”
“Looking?”
“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”
“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”
“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”
Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.
“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”
Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”
“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”
Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.
Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”
“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.
“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”
“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.
“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”
“You’re not the sidekick—”
“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”
“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”
Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.
The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.
Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.
You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.
His tone is stern. “I mean it.”
“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”
“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”
“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”
“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”
“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”
“Thursday.”
You nod.
All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.
“Today is Sunday.”
You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”
“Shit.”
“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.
He’s got keys in his hand.
“C’mon.”
He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.
“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”
“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.
You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.
“Why?”
“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”
You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.
Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.
“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”
Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.
Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.
It’s a jet black Harley.
Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”
He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.
“We’re going upstate.”
                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   
It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.
You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.
You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.
Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.
Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 
Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.
Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.
You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.
“Shit.”
“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”
“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”
“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.
Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”
He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.
“Want help?”
“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”
“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”
Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.
He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.
It unsettles Bucky every time.
Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.
“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”
The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.
Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.
The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.
Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.
There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.
Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.
You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.
“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”
You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.
“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”
You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.
“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”
His eyes soften. Bucky nods.
You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.
He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.
“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.
Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.
Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.
“How’d you do on that test?”
“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”
You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.
Bucky nudges you with his hand.
“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.
The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”
You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.
You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.
“What was that?”
“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”
Your face softens. “Sister?”
“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.
You hum. Bucky sighs.
He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.
This side of Elmwood is quieter.
Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.
There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.
One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.
“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”
“Everything alright?”
“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”
“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”
“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”
“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”
“Exactly.”
You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.
“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”
She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.
“Friend.”
“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.
It’s like a little slice of home.
Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.
And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.
In it is Steve Rogers.
Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.
“Bucky.”
The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.
To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.
“Hi, punk.”
The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.
“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”
“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”
You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.
“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”
“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”
Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.
“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”
“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”
You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”
“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”
Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”
That earns him a wave of the hand.
Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.
“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”
“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”
“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”
You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.
“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”
Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.
“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”
A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”
“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”
There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.
When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.
“That’s right. I forgot.”
“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”
“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”
You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”
Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.
He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”
“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”
“Sam?” you ask slowly.
“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”
“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”
“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”
You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.
“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”
Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.
“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”
“M’ not flirting—”
“I know that look, Steve—”
Steve is laughing.
Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”
“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”
“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.
Steve laughs loudly at that.
Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.
The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.
It makes your heart ache.
And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…
The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.
The walk back to the bike is quiet.
Bucky speaks first.
“He’s dying.”
You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.
“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”
“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”
You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.
They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.
“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”
Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.
“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”
You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.
                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   
You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.
In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.
It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.
You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.
He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.
No use in thinking about it though.
“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”
Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.
“...I’ve got a date.”
You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.
“Oh. Oh!”
You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.
Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”
“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”
Bucky groans. “Shut up.”
“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”
The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.
“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”
“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”
But, that doesn’t end up happening.
No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.
He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.
“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”
When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.
“Get laid?”
Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.
He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.
“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”
You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.
He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.
Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.
“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”
“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”
You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”
You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.
“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.
“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”
That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.
Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.
Bucky laughs.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.
You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.
You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.
“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”
He lights up at that.
You laugh.
You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.
By your knees, Poke chirps.
“He’s cute.”
“I never took you for a cat guy.”
Bucky snorts.
You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”
“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”
You laugh out loud. It shocks you.
“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”
He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.
“I can be funny.”
“Funny lookin’.”
He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.
There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”
More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.
“You got a plan for Thursday?”
“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”
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buckyownsmylife · 3 years
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Worst Behavior - Chris Evans smut
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The one where it was supposed to be a sex scene, but Chris fucked you for real - and he didn’t care that your boyfriend was watching
Warnings: infidelity (reader cheats on oc boyfriend with Chris), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, angst.
Word count: 1.7K
A/N: thank you to my ride or die, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for looking this over and giving me her thoughts about it. Writing is such a better process with you to scream about it!
Chris’ P.O.V.
I was seething when I burst through her trailer’s door, so out of my mind that the sight of her raising a hand over her heart, clearly startled, didn’t make me feel even remotely guilty.
“So this is it, huh? We’re gonna film this one last scene, and then you’ll be back by his side, like you and I were nothing, like I never even mean anything to you.” Somewhere inside my troubled mind, a tiny, still emotionally sober part of me saw her wiping a stray tear after it immediately fell from her eye, clearly not wanting to show this sign of weakness in front of me.
But again, I was too out of it to care. I wanted her to hurt, I wanted her to feel the pain that I was feeling, after all she put me through. How could she expect me to leave this set like I was the same man that met her? She had fundamentally changed me, by showing me how to love and be loved, how it was possible to find in a single person the answer to all of my needs and desires for my future.
I couldn’t just go on pretending I didn’t know what I knew now. But that’s what she intended to do. She wanted to leave and keep living in the pretense that nothing had changed, that she was still in love with the man waiting for her on set.
I knew for a fact that wasn’t the case. I knew it because there was no way my feelings were one-sided, no way everything we had gone through had only mattered that much to me. I knew her, probably better than I knew myself. And I knew this was all just fear and anxiety, clouding her mind and stopping her from going after what she truly wanted.
Unfortunately, the only way I could process these emotions at the moment was through anger.
“Is that how you see me?” Her sweet voice surprised me, I didn’t expect her to actually respond to my hurt-filled accusations. “Do you think I’m that cruel, that I would just be able to… to leave and forget you like this?”
I huffed, too inside my own mind to relent now. Yes, this is how I saw her, at least at that moment. She was the cause of my hurt, because she was the object of my desires.
“You’re doing this out of your own free will,” I reminded her. “Don’t try to pretend you’re just some innocent little victim in all of this. You have our fate in your hands, and you’re deciding to let it all go to waste.”
At the sight of tears rolling down her cheeks, my decision to leave was made even before she ordered me out of her trailer. I couldn’t stand to see her cry, couldn’t deal with the knowledge that I was the cause for it.
So, once again, I turned that distress into anger.
Y/N’s P.O.V.
The air was chilly on set, and the fact that I was practically naked under the robe didn’t help. Neither did the tension between Chris and I. I wanted to make things right, I wanted to reach over and run my hands over his shoulders, relax the muscles I’d come to know so well. But I couldn’t do that right now. Not with my boyfriend watching us.
So I resigned myself to fiddling with my fingers as we waited for the set to be ready. Since it was one of those artistic sex shots, it would be filmed from a distance and there wouldn’t be any lines or sounds that we had to make, just movements to simulate. Which meant that the few people that were allowed to stay on the set had to watch the whole thing unfold from afar, and we would be free to fake having sex while they filmed us.
I don’t think I realized this could very well be the last time I had Chris this close to me until I had his mouth on mine again. I could still feel the emotions from earlier that day right beneath the surface, boiling his blood as he buried his hand on my hair and devoured my lips like he’d done so many times before.
Good thing the scene called for desperation.
I kissed him back just as desperately, wanting to enjoy every second of this experience, even if it wasn’t exactly what I desired at that time. Chris always kissed me so well, guiding me to where he wanted, and in no time at all he had me sprawled on the bed, underneath his larger body. I couldn’t help but to moan lowly when his lips attached themselves to my jaw, and I felt his smirk against my skin.
I couldn’t blame him. The effect he had on me was incomparable. He had every right to be smug about the sounds he could pull from me, Lord knows I’d cried out his name enough times to permanently puncture my own ear drums.
And still, it didn’t seem like it would be enough. The more he touched me - even if it was under a blanket, for a scene - the clearer it became that it could never be enough. I still wanted him. I wanted him forever, in fact.
But just as the realization occurred to me, his thumb slipped over my covered clit, pressing on the little nub and making me jerk away in surprise. “Shhh…” He directed, making sure to cover my face with his bicep so the camera wouldn’t catch my shock. “Just relax so it doesn’t hurt.”
I didn’t understand what he meant until I felt him pulling the flimsy excuse of underwear aside. That’s when my cunt pulsed, just before he positioned his cock and easily slid right into my wetness.
The feeling of his thickness was too much, especially when I wasn’t expecting it. My mouth fell open in a silent gasp, and he moved his arm so the camera could see it, but also turned his head to the other side so they wouldn’t notice his lips moving as he murmured to me, “Careful, sweetheart. Can’t make any real sounds. Not like the ones I usually pull from you. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to realize that we’re actually doing it, huh?”
Chris’ P.O.V.
My desire for her ran so deep, I could hear my blood pumping in my veins as I fucked her right in front of her boyfriend. Right in front of everyone from the filming crew, for the camera to see.
I took sick pleasure in knowing this moment would be eternalized for history. Everyone would see just how pretty she looks for me and only for me, and no one would ever know the truth.
No one would ever know the truth. That I had her, that she was mine, but only for a bit. That I got to hold her, and have her screaming my name, but I’d never get to hear it again. I’d never get to have her again.
I didn’t want to have to pretend that I forgot it. Like I didn’t know this other side of her, that we never shared these sexual experiences that felt much more intimate than anything I’d ever shared with anyone else before.
It was hard to pretend that I didn’t care underneath the mask of a character that cared too much, because I was that character. I loved this woman just like he did, and I wanted to show her just how much.
I’d looked for her in everyone I’d met before. Slept with so many women, went out on so many dates, and now here she was, clenching around my cock, reaching for my hand and still, she wasn’t mine.
How can you keep looking for the love of your life if you’ve already met them?
And even if there was emotion - and there was so much emotion, ours or of our characters, it didn’t matter anymore - this felt so dirty, dirtier than anything else we’d ever done before.
I’d had her in so many ways, and still, having her now, right in front of him, brought new feelings I never expected to feel. And I couldn’t suffer through them alone. I needed to make sure she’d acknowledged it too.
“He has no idea, you know,” I whispered, low enough so the only person who could hear was her. Her eyes met mine in surprise, but she kept in character, while I took advantage of my position to taunt her more. “No one has. No one knows you only look like this when you have my dick inside of you.”
A moan broke free from her, making me smile inwardly even though I couldn’t smirk like I wanted to. I let go of one of her hands to push a few strands of hair away from her face, so both the camera and I could get a good vision of her expression.
“You’re such a good girl for me, honey. He could never get you like this. Only I can do that.” The way she clawed at my back made it obvious that I was right. And still, the reality of our situation didn’t allow for me to feel any sort of pride in that.
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to cum and have to pull out of her, let her go back to him and their life as I was left by myself. “I can’t let you go,” I admitted, and her eyes opened up to meet mine, a slight sparkle of understanding in them. “Not like this,” I continued. “Not ever.”
And still, my hips picked up the pace and brought us to that old familiar high, right when I came to terms with the fact that I’d have to leave her. “Baby,” I whispered, this time knowing the microphone would pick it up.
Our eyes connected once more, but this time, there was mostly pain, from my gaze and from hers. I stood there for as long as I could, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, until the director’s voice freed us from the scene, and then I was forced to leave.
Before I did though, I had one last thing to say.
“I don’t want to have to miss you.”
One thing was certain. It would be impossible to remain professional during the press conference.
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arizona2004 · 3 years
Text
Safe Haven
Requested: yes
Cazriel x reader
word count: 3914
My face was pressed into the mud; I couldn’t even scream anymore. Three males held me down so I could barely move, but I was too tired from fighting so hard to struggle anyways. I was about to give up when the tip of a blade grazed my wing, and I remembered what I was fighting for. They were trying to clip my wings. I fought against the hold the males had on me to no avail. The fourth male brought his knife down, tearing it into my left wing. And not just once, not twice, but three long wounds. Then onto my right-wing. I tried holding back the tears, but it did me no good. I sobbed into the ground as not only my wings were taken from me, but the freedom and joy they stood for. 
When the knife was pulled from my wing, I thought it was done, but the male picked up mud and smothered it in the open wounds. They burned, everything burned, and it was getting blurry. I was going to pass out, I realized. “No one is to touch her, no one is to clean her wounds, no one is to heal her,” the voice of the camp leader rang out behind me before he walked away, and I fell into unconsciousness. 
I awoke a few times the next day, but when I did, it was to burning pain at my back and pitying eyes in all the females that walked by. I noticed I was no longer where I had been, pushed off to the edges of the camp, no longer in their way. So I turned my head away and looked at the forest to my left, falling asleep once more. 
It was the next time that I woke, that I was not alone. I felt someone crouching to my right, and as I turned to look at him, another person crouched to my left. I whipped my head to the left to find Azriel. Staring at me with pain and grief behind his eyes. “It- it’s gonna be okay,” I heard from my right. Cassian. I turned to him to see the same look in his eyes and tears. He’s crying. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix this,” he murmured, pushing my hair back from my face.
I turn my face away, looking toward Azriel, but he’s not there. That’s when I hear the shouting. I look back to Cassian and passed him to the camp. I can’t see the women and children. There are only men; they’re being pushed inside a blue-force field? Yes. All of the men are being rounded up and forced into a prison, and there is Azriel: collecting them and pushing them all inside. I look back to Cassian and notice beneath the sorrow in his eyes is anger. He combs a hand soothingly through my hair, “We’ll take you to Madja. She can heal you,” he says, voice cracking. That’s when I notice the bandages on my back and the fact that I am not in as much pain as before. Whatever infection was settling in has been slowed by magic. 
He continues soothing me until Azriel calls, “Cassian, they’re all here.”
“I’ll be right back,” he places a kiss atop my head and stands, walking toward Azriel. I watch in a haze as my males, my lovers, question all the men. Anywho are young, innocent, or remorseful are released. There aren't many.
They decipher who the males at the core of hurting me were. The camp leader and the ones that held me down. They were pulled aside one by one, and I had to close my eyes while Cassian and Azriel took turns hurting them. Through it all, I listen to them fighting, to their yells, and their pleas. 
“We didn’t know she was your lover,” some of them screamed.
In the end, I’d turned my head away from the scene. I am no stranger to blood and gore, and I would never be angry with Cassian and Azriel for what they are doing, but I do not revel in watching those males dying. The camp leader is the last of them to die. He spits out cruel and disgusting words at all three of us, and I try not to listen. I’m not sure which of them does it, but his words are suddenly cut off as his head is cut from his neck.
Cassian returns to me first. He pulls the make-shift bandages from my wings, inspecting the wounds beneath, “Az, we need to get her to Madja. We couldn't have cleaned the wounds well enough, and she’s still losing blood,” he said over his shoulder. Seconds later, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and we were spinning through space.
The room we landed in was clean. The floors and walls were pristine white and blue, and everything looked very orderly. Nothing was out of place or messy. A few people were in the large room, and their attention was immediately drawn to us as Azriel winnowed us in. Whatever place this was, it had many doors leading out of it and many healers- I realize as several of the males and females come to inspect my wings. Faintly I hear Azriel speaking to an older female. She must have ordered me moved because soon, Cassian is carrying me through one of those many doors and into a room with nothing more than a bed and a couple of chairs in it.
Then, I must have fallen asleep again because I woke up hours later, remembering very little after being brought to this healing den. I’m lying flat on my stomach, facing Cassian asleep in a chair to my left. Slowly I blink my eyes awake and turn my head. Azriel is seated on my other side with his head in his hands. When I try to speak, only a quiet groan escapes my throat. Azriel sits up suddenly and before he can mask it I make note of the guilt and pain behind his eyes. Cassian also jolts up behind me and moves to Azriel’s side of the bed. He’s far less skilled at hiding his emotions; they’re always written all over his face.
I want to speak, but the words won’t come. As if knowing my question, though, Azriel says, “she couldn’t save them,” Cassian turns his face down, away from me, and Azriel avoids my eyes too, as he continues, “She tried. Several healers did, but they couldn’t save your wings. The infection was too great. You’re lucky to be alive.”
A choked sob leaves me as everything crashes in. My wings have been clipped. I’ll never fly again. I turn my face into my pillow, dry sobbing into it, while Cassian sits on the edge of the bed. I feel his hand hover over my back, but he pulls back, deciding not to touch me. 
I feel like I can’t breathe as I heave into the pillow and wish the entire world would just disappear. I know Cassian is saying something, but I don’t hear his words. Azriel hasn’t said anything else, but I can feel his eyes on me and the guilt in them. 
After some time, I fall asleep again. 
*
Before I even open my eyes, I know it's not a nightmare as I had hoped. My wings ache with burning pain. “You’re due to take another tonic for the pain soon. I can go get it,” Azriel says from behind me. He must have sensed my pain. When I open my eyes to look at him, he is not who I see. Slouched forward in a chair, head lying on the bed, is Cassian. One of his hands is brushing against mine, and I move it closer, wanting more contact. I look slightly behind me at Azriel and tell him with my eyes that I would like that. 
He’s gone for only a moment before he returns. I barely had the chance to blink, and he was already back. Walking over to my left side, where Cassian sleeps, Azriel helps pour the bitter liquid down my throat and gets water to ease that too. 
My hand rests on top of Cassians; I briefly look before returning to Azriel. “He must be exhausted to not have woken up yet,” I say.
Azriel looks down at him and puts his hand to Cassian's head, gently running his fingers through the dark curls, “He wouldn’t sleep. Drank so much coffee he couldn’t even dose off; he didn’t want to. Eventually, I knocked him out.”
I raise my eyebrows in shock, but Azriel just smirks slightly looking back to me, “I didn’t hit him or anything. I asked Rhys to go into his mind and put him to sleep for a while,” the moment ends then, the smile leaving his face, “I didn’t want him getting hurt too.”
He blames himself. I know he does. He always does, though I wish he wouldn’t, “It wasn’t your fault, Az,” I murmur, closing my eyes. I can feel him staring at my wings, which have already started to ease as the tonic sets in.
“If we had come to see you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. Madja said there was nothing we could have done about the infection, even soon after they did it, but if I had been there a day earlier, then we could have stopped it from happening at all,” the words rush out of him angrily at first. He sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than me. Then his voice cracks on the last few words, and I open my eyes to see tears welling up in his eyes.
I look at him for a moment longer and say, “come lay with me,” a confused look crosses his face, “this wasn’t your fault Azriel, now please come hold me.” He didn’t miss a beat. Crossing to the other side of the bed, he laid down on the edge, gently maneuvering himself to only touch me where there was no chance of making contact with my wings. 
His right arm slithered under my head, resting his hand on the other side of my body. My right hand felt numb beneath my body, but I pulled it up to brush it with his. He grabbed my hand in his, and so I fell asleep, knowing I held both of my males close to me.
*
My dream started as a memory. It was the first time I had met my males; crouching next to the creak outside of camp, I sharpened a rusty old knife with a rock. I had been wishing I had a good knife, but that would be too risky to steal, and any protection was better than none. I didn’t hear the figure to my left, and when a branch snapped behind me, I knew I only heard it because that male wanted me to. 
Dropping the knife, I quickly stood, turning to greet the male. It had been Cassian. Jokingly he said, “You couldn't hurt a fly with that knife. You really need a lesson in weaponry, don’t you?”
I shouldn't have gotten angry, but I did anyway, “I know about weapons,” I snapped, “but not all of us are privileged enough to have pretty little knives like you,” That's when I became aware of the figure to the side. He laughed deeply, and I was sure he must be laughing at me. I would be punished severely for this.
My attention snapped back to the first male as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, “but you really shouldn’t use that dagger. I’ll get you a better one.”
“Here. She can have this one,” the other male spoke, pulling out a dagger. It is plain and silver with a simple, twisted image of shadows carved onto the surface, leading to the black hilt, “I’ve had it for ages but never really use it,” He detached a sheath from his belt and slipped the dagger in before handing it to me. I looked into his eyes a moment longer before turning away, blushing.
“What do you need a weapon for anyways?” Cassian asked.
I shrug slightly, “protection.”
“From?”
“Everyone,” I say, tucking the dagger under my skirts. I probably should keep it closer being alone with two males, but for whatever reason, I did not feel threatened by them. The memory faded away as another appeared. Only days after I had first met the two Illyrians, the high lord’s most trusted friends, and advisers, they appeared in my camp again. Not for business with the Camp leader, however. I felt them stalking me as I walked through the wood,  when I was carefully distanced from the camp, they showed themselves- Cassian with a grin spreading across his face, and Azriel with a carefully blank expression, but curious eyes nonetheless. That was when things began. When I started falling in love with them.
These meetings continued for months. We met inside a small cave just outside the camp. It was glamoured now from anyone's eyes but ours. My little safe haven. It had been where I was running when I realized they intended to clip my wings. I wasn’t fast enough, though. 
Now the dreams were turning, twisting into something more terrifying. Darkness rushed toward me as I fell into the next scene. I tried screaming and fighting as hands grabbed me in the dark, but I just kept falling. My whole body burned, and a shiver ran down my spine as I was thrown into the waking world.
*
The warm heat of a body pressed at my right ran through me as I blinked my eyes open. It was Azriel, I realized now. He brushed his fingers gently down my spine, soothing me, “It was just a bad dream,” he murmured against my hair, pressing a kiss to my head. 
On my other side, I felt Cassian squeeze my hand. He was awake now, holding my hand tightly as he laid his head closer to mine. Feeling them beside me was already enough to relieve my aches and ease my mind. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Cassian whispered between us, just loud enough for Azriel to hear. I shook my head in answer, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to fall back asleep. 
I couldn’t, though. So I just lay there with my males on either side of me, trying to pretend we were still in that little cave, and nothing had gone wrong. I still had my wings. 
*
Days have passed now. Most of them were filled with me laying in bed with one or both of my males holding me. Other times though, they involved tears streaming down my face and screams tearing out of my throat. Cassian and Azriel were always there, rocking me through it and reminding me of what I still had, though it felt like I’d lost everything. 
Occasionally I’d wake to arguing. I heard the high lord scolding Azriel and Cassian about their actions after the first day, but he didn’t sound seriously angry. Mostly I heard the whispered arguments between Azriel and Cassian about me. My treatment, my pain, how best to help me. I hated that they were arguing. It happened less and less as I recovered, but I still hated it.
Neither male was here now though, it was a rare occurrence. I had told both males the other was staying with me and told him he should go eat. I needed the alone time, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Rather than stay in bed, I stood on numb legs and hobbled over to the bath. It has been too long since I’ve bathed. How Cassian and Azriel managed to be near me without wanting to vomit at the stench was beyond me. 
Kneeling on the ground, I held my hand under the water as it rushed out. When the water was ready and smelling of lavender, I submerged myself to the waist. Slowly I let my wings touch the water as I lowered myself further. When I was finally in the water entirely, I relaxed and leaned my head back before slipping down lower to wet my hair. 
When I was still under the water, finally relaxed, I breathed out slowly. Everything was peaceful until a pair of large hands gripped my upper arms and pulled me from the water. My eyes shot open, and I fought the male until I noticed it was Azriel, “Stop!” I yelled at him, “What on earth are you doing?” I shouted. I shot a glance to Cassian, standing in the doorway. He looked upset, and Az was definitely angry.
“What are you doing?” he replied with a growl. I tried pulling my arms away from him. He loosened his grip, but only enough to no longer hurt. I still couldn’t get away.
“I was bathing,” I glared at him, “I didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed.”
“Bullshit,” he said
“Az…” Cassian spoke.
“You’re not allowed to kill yourself! I won’t let you,” Azriel shouted.
What, I thought, “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I say calmly, looking straight into his eyes, “I just wanted a bath.” Suddenly a wave of guilt hit me because I’d made them think that. Azriel must have believed me because he released my arms and took a step back.
I pulled my arms up to cross my chest and looked away from them. Cassian pulled Azriel out of the bathroom, but neither of them closed the door. I returned to the bath but was no longer relaxed. I decided to quickly clean up and return to bed. The room was nearly silent except for the short whispered argument between the males. When I stepped into the room to dress, they both studiously looked away from me and one another. I dressed quickly and laid in bed, falling asleep before either of them could try and talk to me. 
After weeks had passed, I was sitting and walking again. Most of the pain had gone, now only phantom pains and sore scars remained. I was barely able to move my wings, and Madja said with some physical therapy, I would regain much of the movement but never enough to fly again. 
Cassian sat with me now, massaging my back. Things had gotten better. I’ve tried imagining life without my wings, and as long as I remember that I’ll always have my batboys, things aren't so bad. “Do you wanna go for a fly,” Cassian whispered. 
“I can’t,” I said, tears welling up as I imagined I could.
Cassian pulled me up, “come on,” he said, pulling me by the wrist. He walked us up to the roof and stood behind me. Pulling my hips to him, he said, “stand on my feet.” I looked at him confused, “just do it.” So I did. I stood on his feet, and he wrapped his arms under mine and across my chest. “Try to keep your legs straight against mine,” he whispered against my ear, “if you need to hook your ankles around mine, do that.” Then we were taking off into the air, flying straight up. It wasn’t the same as flying myself, but it was relaxing nonetheless. We flew straight for the house of wind and hovered there for a moment. I was going to ask why we weren’t moving, but then Azriel walked out onto the balcony and shot toward us. 
We spent hours in the sky. We even developed signals so Cassian would fly however I wanted. Glide left or right. Sharp turns. Down, up, backflip, frontflip. I felt like a kid again as I tumbled through the sky with the two most important people in my life.
When finally we were too exhausted to continue, we landed at a restaurant in the city. Azriel went in first, apparently having made reservations. As I followed-Cassian's hand in mine-we were led across the room between tables until we reached a curtained wall in the back. The males both grinned at me as our host pulled back the curtain, revealing a beautiful candle-lit scene. A beautiful private area just for us.
The evening was perfect. We ate dinner and laughed and just enjoyed each other. The room reminded me of our cave: chilly, small, and with colorful pillows and blankets littering the floor. It didn’t take long after finishing our meals for the three of us to end up in the mess of fabric. I have no idea how long we laid there. They just held me whispering beautiful things into my ears and an occasional obscenity from Cassian. They always knew what I needed. 
My back was pressed to Cassian as he carefully wrapped his arms around me, avoiding my wings. I’m almost positive he’s asleep, and even in sleep, his grip is like iron. I couldn’t possibly move. Azriel, in front of me, combed the hair out of my face. “You’re gonna be okay, ya know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I know it doesn’t always feel like it, and you wanna give up sometimes, but you can’t. Please don’t ever leave us. We’re gonna be okay,” a tear slid down his cheek as he whispered these words to me.
“I promise,” I whispered back, pressing my forehead to his, “I promise.”
*
The next day I was released from the healers’ den, but it didn’t matter; Cassian and Azriel still never left my side. I didn’t mind, though. As soon as we left, they dragged me down endless streets of houses. I had no idea where we were going until I saw the large manor seated beside the Sidra, to our right. It must be the high lord and lady's house. We didn’t turn to it, though. Instead, I was led left, that’s when I noticed the smaller house, seated directly across from the manor. It was smaller, but not small. Beautiful ivy ran across the brick it was built of. It was supposed to look old but was certainly brand new. A short white fence ran along the yard. Cassian opened a little gate motioning for me to continue up the path. Inside, the house was stunning and appeared brand new. A curved staircase wrapped around behind us, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling.
“What is this,” I asked quietly, not wanting my voice to echo.
“A house,” Cassian answered simply, “how about a tour?”
“Whose house?” I asked.
“Ours, of course,” Azriel replied. “We figured the house of wind was out of the question since you wouldn’t very easily be able to get in and out. And the beds in the River house are just big enough for two Illyrians. Not three.”
“So we bought this place. For the three of us,” Cassian finished, biting his lip nervously. 
“You bought me a house,” I asked incredulously.
“Us. We bought us a house,” Cassian replied.
This would take some getting used to. Them doting on me all the time; always near. It wouldn’t be difficult, I imagined.
“You can decorate it however you’d like,” Azriel spoke.
“Even if I want to paint all the walls pink and hang orange curtains from all the windows,” I smirked. He cringed slightly, and Cassian laughed, holding out his hand, offering the tour again.
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Hello! Could I request nsfw yandere headcanon/pet play kink for “Please just stop! I’ll do whatever you want me to. Anything but this.” and “I’ll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me.” with Grand Duke Leuvis?
Leuvis/F!Darling: "I'll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me."
TW: noncon, pet play, tentacles/monsterfucking
____ had already been wary of Leuvis's strange tone when he'd finished bathing her--something she already hated, being stripped and fondled while he washed her. She wasn't a demon, but she was still an adult capable of something so simple. When he'd dried her off and she'd reached for her clothes, Leuvis shook his finger and smiled at her through his mask. "Ah ah," he chided. "I have something else to put on you."
____ clutched the towel wrapped around her and tried in vain to find any sign of emotion behind his mask. What was he planning? She knew better than to refuse or try to get him to change his mind outright, so for now she had to play along and hope she could win his favor later on. "I see...what did you have in mind, my Lord?"
Leuvis rested one bony hand on her shoulder and took what looked like a length of ribbon out of his coat pocket. When he dangled it in front of her, she realized that it was a leash with a silk collar attached to the end. There was a small golden medallion as well on the collar, engraved with Leuvis's crest. When ____'s eyes widened, Leuvis let out a low chuckle. "You look surprised. Don't you think it suits you?" He brushed her cheek with his finger and held the collar up to clasp around her neck before she could react. "A lovely collar for an even lovelier pet."
____ felt the cold metal and soft silk against her skin, and a shiver ran up her spine as Leuvis leered down at her. He'd never had her wear anything like this before. The line of the leash leading from his hand to her throat left a sick, uneasy feeling in her chest. She WASN'T his pet. She wasn't some stupid animal, lower than him and meant to be owned. Even if she was a captive, she still had her dignity, dammit. "It...it's very luxurious," ____ said carefully. She smiled shyly at him. "What nightgown should I wear with it?"
Leuvis moved his free hand and wrapped it around ____'s waist. "You don't have to worry about that," he replied. "Tonight, you won't wear anything. I want to see how adorable you look with just this and nothing else."
____ froze and stared up at him. She had gotten used to being stripped and bathed by him, but she'd never been naked around him aside from that. She couldn't. She couldn't be so exposed like that, with just a collar around her neck like a dog! Before she could open her mouth to object or come up with some excuse, Leuvis tore ____'s towel off of her body; the fluffy terry-cloth that had been keeping her warm and feeling secure fell to the ground, and goosebumps immediately raised on her body. She immediately moved to cover her breasts and cross her legs, but Leuvis tsk-ed and pulled the leash forward to make her stumble forward.
"Don't hide yourself from me," he said sternly. "I'm your master, and you are my pet." He felt her tense and heard her let out a small gasp as he thumbed over one of her pert nipples. "Do pets wear clothes, my dear?"
____ clenched her fists and felt her face heat up as Leuvis touched her. "O-Only if their master dresses them up," she replied tersely, looking away from him.
Leuvis moved his hand to play with her other breast. "And do good pets say 'no' to their master?"
____ bit the inside of her cheek and she remained silent. She couldn't just lie down and take this treatment. Even if she knew it could have painful consequences, she wasnt going to let Leuvis have his way completely. She pointedly kept her mouth shut and pressed her lips together, refusing to give him an answer. Leuvis cocked his head slightly and pressed the edge of one of his sharp fingers against her nipple. "Surely you know the answer, don't you dear?" His voice was dangerously soft.
____ felt tears welling up in her eyes from Leuvis's finger and from her struggle to stand her ground. She could defy him, but that satisfaction would be temporary. And she knew how sadistic Leuvis could be when he wanted to punish someone...was it even worth it to resist him? She glanced back up at Leuvis and tried her best to focus her gaze on the middle of his mask, too scared to meet his eyes directly. "I...I do," she said hesitantly. Her mind raced to try and find a way to avoid provoking his ire. "But I can't say it out loud." Another half-truth that left a lump in her throat.
Leuvis's grip tightened a bit around her and she winced. "And why is that?"
____ swallowed nervously. "Because," she replied quickly. "The answer...it-it's 'no.'" She tried to keep her lips from wobbling as she gave Leuvis a demure smile. "And a good pet never says 'no' to her master."
Leuvis stared silently at her for a few seconds, and her heart raced as she desperately hoped he wouldn't see through her lie. He finally let out a small laugh and pulled her by the leash into his arms, dwarfing her with his draped-over clothing and large frame. He picked her up and pressed his mask up against her cheek. "Very clever, my dear," he replied. "I'm lucky to have such an entertaining little pet." Behind his mask, ____ swore she could see his gaze darken. "Even when you try to misbehave."
He set her back down and gently tugged on the leash to goad her into following him. ____ tried her best to breathe and keep calm as he led her into his bedroom. "I suppose that part of the blame lies with me," Leuvis mused. "I've definitely been spoiling you. But you still need to be properly trained and taught your place--you're not a stray running around in the woods anymore."
____ crossed her arms and dug her fingernails into her bare skin. Surviving out in the wilderness had been difficult, to say the least: hunting and foraging for food, concealing her presence and memorizing all of the best hiding places for miles whenever she heard Demons coming by her camp, and spending countless nights staying awake out of fear of being discovered and eaten while she slept. Every day was a struggle to survive and stay sane. When she'd finally made a mistake by unknowingly scouting for a new camp near Leuvis's estate, she had been ready to die the moment he and a few of his hunting buddies had found her collecting water at the edge of Goldy Pond. The moment she'd heard their footsteps and saw three Demons closing in on her, every part of her body had just shut down all at once. Instead of trying to flee or fight, she had collapsed into a paralyzed heap onto the ground and could do nothing except stare up at her would-be killers with wide fearful eyes. Looking back on it, it had reminded her of whenever she would hunt rabbits in the woods and how some of them had just submitted to their fate as prey and looked up at her the same way as they waited to be eaten. Maybe that was why Leuvis had decided not to throw her into one of his hunting parties; there was no fun in hunting prey that had already given themselves up to you so easily.
____ snapped out of her thoughts after a sharp tug to her leash caused her to stumble and fall to the ground. "See? You're already proving my point," Leuvis scolded. "When I ask you a question, you answer me."
"I-I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I was distracted. I didn't mean to ignore you."
"Distracted?"
"I was thinking about when I was on my own," ____ explained. "When I was a...a stray. Before you gave me a better life." Again, not quite the full truth, but not a lie either. And this time he seemed to actually believe her; he slowly reached down to tilt her chin up to look at him, and she could see the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile behind his mask.
"I see." He brushed his thumb over her cheek and then her bottom lip. "Even if you weren't listening, it seems you answered my question anyway." His smile widened. "You are grateful for everything I've done for you." She looked up at him with that doe-eyed expression on her face that pleased him so much, and he lifted her up again to place her on his bed. Even for a Demon it was massive, and when he set ____ on the bedspread her legs dangled over the edge like a doll on a shelf. "And I want you to show me that you're grateful."
____ whimpered when she felt Leuvis push her down to lay her flat against the bed. He'd never done anything more than fondling her while giving her baths or absentmindedly touching her while she was in his lap as he read a book or enjoyed a glass of wine. When she saw him reach up to unbutton his coat and then remove his shirt, she backed away from him on the mattress and let out a fearful cry when he took her by the waist with one hand. "Stay still," Leuvis ordered. His fingers dug into her skin as he held her in place. "Stay."
____ choked back a sob and complied, going limp and sinking into the silk comforter underneath her. His grip loosened and he traced circles into her upper thigh before he finished undressing himself. "Good girl."
A nude Demon was something ____ had never thought she'd encounter before, and certainly not like this. Leuvis's body was similar to his face and hands in terms of proportion and color. His body seemed to have muscles made of thick white strings of sinew that resembled a human form, but only in the barest sense. His pelvis was similar to that of a skeleton's, with a strange appendage in the middle that almost seemed like a shell composed of two "plates" of hard muscle. Leuvis stroked the seam between the two plates with a few fingers and let out a soft sigh; a thick black braid of tendrils slowly made its way through the crack and eased its way out, and ____ felt an intense wave of panic as it gently writhed its way out and shone with a bit of slick fluid.
Leuvis took the appendage into one of his hands and ____'s back with the other. The tip wriggled between her thighs and she broke down crying, squeezing them together as tightly as possible to keep this...thing...from invading her. "Please, please, don't," ____ begged hysterically. "Please stop! I'll do anything you want me to, anything but this!"
Leuvis held each of her thighs with one hand and firmly held her in place as she squirmed underneath him. "I know you're scared, but that's only because this is your first time being played with," he insisted irritably. His voice strained a bit as her thighs tightly enveloped his cock. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm training you." He increased the length of his tendrils just a bit and made the braid separate, and soon he felt the tip of one of the tentacles brush against her labia. Her breath hitched at the strange sensation, and soon another tentacle made its way to flick at a sensitive bud of flesh that made her face flush. Her nipples hardened from the stimulation below and a strange mixture of warmth and something entirely new began to build up inside of her.
Eventually ____'s crying subsided a bit and she sniffled as Leuvis gently spread her thighs apart to feel even more of her. Now that she was starting to realize how pleasurable this could be, it seemed she was becoming much more obedient. Leuvis slipped one of the tentacles not playing with her clitoris inside of her tight walls; the two of them moaned in unison and ____ automatically moved her legs a bit further apart to accommodate more of him. The shiny medallion from her collar jingled a bit as he rocked her hips back and forth, and Leuvis smiled. He took her leash and tugged it to turn her head towards him. "See? There's a good girl," he praised in a soothing voice. "You're already doing so well, and this is just the first night of our little 'training.'" He chuckled breathlessly and eased another tentacle inside of her; she let out a delicious little gasp and her eyes rolled back slightly as she finally started to move her hips a bit of her own accord. "I'll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me."
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lasquadrasfuckhouse · 3 years
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hello I am back with a request if that’s ok with you q w q ) for la squadra with scenario-hc’s with their s/o taking care of them ( can go nsfw if you’d like but for now sfw thoughts ) as much as I love them taking care of their s/o I love when the roles are switched. Can be injured or other— but the goal is to make them feel safe and loved for as much as possible, like my other ask tender emotional moments are my jam. If find the muse for it 💖 if not that’s completely ok too. Pls & thnk u 🥰
ALWAYS OKAY W/ ME I LOVE SEEING U IN MY ASKBOX!!!! it's tendie hours 😍
taking care of la squadra 😌
risotto ✂️
it isn't easy to get risotto to relax, he's a workaholic. sit on him and give him a Look that you're not moving and neither is he, and he'll be so charmed that he'll relent.
he's also more used to taking care of people than being taken care of, so it's a bit of an adjustment to sit on his ass for a few days until he's recovered from the worst of whatever injury/illness he's got, but he finds himself getting like, quietly kind of emotional about it. he hasn't allowed himself to be cared for in a long time and he expresses that to you, and how much he appreciates and loves you.
he finds he really enjoys the opportunity to relax, cause yeah he's under the weather but at least he can chill for a bit. and he'd very much love to chill with you if you have the time. quiet cuddles or existing comfortably in the same space will have him feeling very cozy, loved, and rested. kiss him on the forehead to remind him that he is soft and precious and he'll want to snuggle you all day with a little smile on his face.
prosciutto 🚬
also not used to being taken care of. he'll be grumpy and try to micromanage the house from his bed at first (and you probably banished him to bed because he wasn't getting any rest on the couch). he relaxes when he wants to!!!! remind him that he needs time to recover and he's only human, and you promise the house won't fall apart without him. not only is he soft for you but he trusts you completely, so he relaxes.
he might be a bit restless, but set him up with a book and he'll be good. you may even take on prosciutto-like mannerisms in his place, like shushing the others if they're being too noisy. if he overhears you insisting on peace and quiet so he can rest, he'll smile to himself.
what really gets him and lets him know he's loved is taking over what he usually does while he rests, like folding his laundry and putting it away in the order he likes. and if you initiate the classic forehead touch with a smile and tell him to chill so he can get better, he'll gladly lay around all day thinking of you.
pesci 🎣
he tries to power through it but no honey you need to rest. give him puppy eyes and say you really want him to relax and get better, and he'll do it for you. he will get SO better for his babe just u see!!!!
he's also kind of glad for the chance to have downtime tho, even tho he's typically eager to help and stuff. he just wishes he didn't feel like ass. cheer him up with lots of cuddles and quiet relaxing things u can do together and he'll feel loads better!!!
he may feel kind of bad at first like oh no he doesn't want to bother u. but reassure him that he is never a bother, u love him and love being with him and that doesn't change when he's under the weather. he will accept that and thank u wholeheartedly for taking care of him
formaggio 🧀
milks it for all its worth. OOOH BABE IM IN SO MUCH PAAAIN PLEASE HOLD MEEE 😩 if he's feeling like shit at least he's gonna get cuddles out of it
would love nothing more than to snuggle up and watch stupid movies with you all day. he may just cling to you if you try to get up and insists that someone else can fetch you both dinner/blankets/etc instead. you're his best medicine!!! his comfort!!!! do not seperate!!!!!
but he is a sucker for a home cooked meal. even if you go for a bit, if you come back with something u made urself, even if it's not the most amazing display of chef skills, he'll be falling all over himself with how much he loves you because you put love and effort into something to make him feel better
illuso ✨
one of the WORST when he gets sick or injured because he just complains and lays on the pity party even more than formaggio. everything sucks!!! woe is illuso!!!! he needs ur healing kisses!!!!!
he definitely goes into the mirror world to rest b/c he needs peace and quiet or he'll get cranky. but he will bring u ofc. not just to be pampered either he's just cozy and happy in ur company
lavishing him in attention aside, what will REALLY tug on his heart is taking initiative to take care of him, like asking first how he's feeling, bringing an extra blanket cause you know he likes to have a pile of them, offering to very gently brush his hair. just like, little genuine attentive things. it may get him blushing
melone 🍈
very practical about it, there's that whole thing of 'people with medical backgrounds are the worst patients for one reason or another' but he doesn't try to take shortcuts with the rest he knows he needs and he's very polite and patient with asking for/instructing on what he needs
he's great at finding ways to entertain himself so no worries in that regard. if he's worried about getting you sick he may actually discourage cuddles for once in his life but otherwise he'd love to snuggle up to his babe all day
he'd honestly just feel really comforted if you told him all about your day and shared cool things with him or the classic 'i saw this and thought of you' he'll be 😍
ghiaccio ❄️
EXTRA grumpy when he's uncomfortable or in pain and unable to work his energy out. he's very active, so his body (or you) making him sit on his ass when he doesn't want to will leave him very prickly even though logically he knows it's for the best.
he'll generally want his space but then have bouts of feeling very cuddly. picture him cocooned in blankets with only the top half of his face visible and his general grumpy glower relaxes as u massage his scalp like calming an angry cat.
he'll be very thankful for everything you do, including kissing his cheeks or leaving him to chill with some water and a book or shushing the others if they're being too rowdy. but he'll be extra super thankful and soft if you bundle him up and go for a walk with him around the block just to stretch his legs and get some fresh air cause you know how much he hates sitting around.
sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦
if one of them is under the weather, the house gets a brief respite from their antics cause you and the other one are there to entertain them and curb their restlessness. if they're both sick/injured, good fucking luck because their boredom will feed off each other and it will be a nightmare.
sorbet likes to chill but he always needs new surroundings. he'll want to stay on the couch to at least observe the house's regular chaos but if you (and maybe gelato) see that he's not getting enough rest you will have to literally drag him into your bedroom because 1) he's not letting go of his entertainment that easily 2) it's fun to watch you struggle. he is devising every way to cause problems on purpose without moving around too much
gelato HATES sitting still so he is slowly going insane and he will let you know it. get him a big stack of movies, let him have free reign of the tv, play cards with him etc if you know what's good for the whole house because otherwise he won't stay in bed or he'll do shit like scream for help just to see you rush in and then grin and be like oh nvm babe im fine :)
you thought they were a handful together regularly? HAH. when they're sick or injured together they enable each other even more than usual. you are the only one capable of placating them, enjoy being squished between your two extremely cuddly boyfriends.
cuddles and kisses and loving attention always make them feel better, a surefire way to get them to actually rest is by snuggling them. but even if you do go for a bit, what brightens them up is hearing about all the new happenings on base or this cute dog you saw or if you bring them new snacks every day or try making something different for dinner. like, not just to placate them, but cause you know they're bored and uncomfortable and you want to cheer them up, that's what gets them. and then they'll pull you down and hold you for the rest of the night.
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ichor-and-symbiosis · 3 years
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Obedient. (Shigaraki x f!Reader; NSFW)
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Commission for @kazooli​.
Shigaraki knows you are upset. Not that he needs to use his intuitive perceptiveness to notice your downtrodden mood -- you are, and always will be, an open book of emotions. 
You try to be on your best behavior. You always try. Nobody needs to see their teammate moping around the decrepit hideout when everyone has their own problems to deal with. It could always be worse, you tell yourself. And you need to stay strong for your leader. 
But he knows. Finds you pouting on the ripped up sofa, even though you are the one who should come to him when called. You look up at him with your doe-eyed, downtrodden expression, and Shigaraki’s expressionless eyes sweep over you before walking past. Your gaze lingers on his broad back, wishing you could reach out and grasp the fabric of his coat just to keep him around a little longer. 
He pauses in front of the door. “Come with me,” he commands, and you are on your feet before you even think to ask why or where you are going.
-
The exhilaration of walking by your leader’s side through winding streets is enough to keep your mouth shut. Better to be quiet for now, anyway. Better to move like a shadow, like Shigaraki’s shadow. It must be a mission. You keep your eyes and ears sharp and primed, ready to take on the next challenge. 
Until Dabi’s words ring through your mind and you feel yourself deflating all over again.
Shigaraki pays no attention to you. He leads and leads, guides you towards a destination only he knows, and you are grateful for the chance to simply follow. You try not to question him when he stops at a food stall. Two orders of takoyaki, spoken with a quiet, serious request. Your stomach grumbles and you grip it in embarrassment. When was the last time you ate?
The worker holds out your meal. Shigaraki looks at you expectantly, and you realize he wants you to take it. And you do, rushed and mousy as you thank the worker, and then you spend the next minute mentally berating yourself for saying thank you at all. You are a villain. Why would you thank a random nobody? You should be thanking your leader instead. And you do.
He offers a grunt and keeps walking. Your heart flutters at the sound. 
You end your journey on a rooftop. The building is not familiar to you, and you doubt Shigaraki knows it either. A random building with a roof that smells like asphalt and cigarettes. You take a deep breath as the wind wafts the takoyaki steam toward you, and your stomach growls demandingly. 
You wedge yourselves into a narrow space, hidden from surveillance or anyone who may come onto the roof. Your only view is that of Shigaraki sitting across from you and you are perfectly okay with that. Very okay with that, in fact, especially since his legs are forced to bend and rest on either side of you. Your only choice is to sit cross-legged for his comfort, and you try your very best to avoid staring at his crotch.
It’s right there in front of you. He just brazenly has his legs spread out and brushing along your knees and you shove the takoyaki into your drooling mouth to keep yourself occupied. All you would need to do is bend forward, and it wouldn’t be the takoyaki in your mouth anymore. It would be something else entirely, something musky and warm and solid, and you squirm in your spot as heat pools below your belly. 
Shigaraki silently eats the first stick of takoyaki and sets the box aside. You pause your eating and wait, because he has that pensive look in his eyes right now. His arms are limp and resting on his knees, and you allow yourself to admire his beautiful hands. Beautiful to you, long and slender fingers, blue veins peeking through pale skin, oh how desperately you want him to touch you - 
“So.” The word hangs in the air between you. You stare at him, obediently waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t look at you. “What happened.” 
“U-um … “ You wrack your brain as your anxiety builds. Did you do something wrong? Were his plans compromised? “I’m sorry, I don’t - “ 
“You’ve been looking like a kicked dog all day.” 
“Oh.” You muster up a weak smile. “It’s nothing serious. Maybe I was just hungry, or … you know. Present circumstances and all that.” 
“Don’t lie to me.” 
Perceptive. You don’t want to burden him. It really was such a silly disagreement with Dabi. “Really, it’s - “
He says your name. You look at him, transfixed by his solemn stare. His eyes are sharp, commanding. “Tell me.” 
And you do. Nothing at first, trapped in your throat, and then all at once.
“Dabi is just such an asshole,” you blurt out, and Shigaraki’s snort encourages you to word vomit. “He took me with him on a scouting mission and things didn’t go as planned and he kept blaming me! He said it was my fault and that - and that I’m … useless.” Your head hangs in shame as you stare hard into your lap. “He said I’m useless and that the League doesn’t need me. So I’ve been thinking all day about that. If I wasn’t useful to society and I’m not useful to the League, then ... “ You don’t know where your trail of thought was going. “I don’t want to feel useless,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hold anyone back. I don’t want to waste your time like - like right now.” 
Shigaraki waits for you to finish. He looks a little surprised. “That’s a lot.”
Your mouth gapes like a fish before you shut it tight and dig your nails into your thighs, hoping the pain would counteract your burning embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. “Sorry. I talk a lot.” 
He eyes you with a calculated expression while you silently flounder in your awkwardness. “Come here,” he suddenly says, and your confusion makes him grow impatient. “Turn around. Back to my front.” He motions to the space between his legs. “Right here, puppy girl.” 
You nearly choke on your gasp.
Your body moves mechanically, too stunned by shock to make your body look anything other than enticing. You sit as he directed, back to his front, and wrap your arms around your knees as you try to calm your breathing. A gap remains between you, because there is no way Shigaraki would want you pressed up against him, except he does and you let out a startled squeak when he places his arms beneath your thighs, spreads your legs over his, and makes you lean back onto him. 
“What are you doing?” you breathe out, heart stammering in your chest as you soak up his body heat and pray to god that this moment will never end. 
“Testing out your obedience,” he off-handedly comments, and your clothed cunt immediately becomes flooded from the vibrations of his voice, the low rumble so close to your ear. His hands move to grip your forearms, and you jolt at the contact, all wired up with frayed nerves and anticipation. “I want to know what makes you think I’m wasting my time here.” 
“W-we’re talking about me.” 
“Yeah. And you know what I learned?” His mouth is close to your ear now. You shiver at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin. “I learned that you’re not at the top of your game right now. You’re drowning - “ He taps a finger to your temple. “ - from all of these fuzzy little thoughts in your head. And I can’t have an obedient puppy girl if she’s thinking too much.” 
“I - “ 
“Quiet.” One hand cups your throat, middle finger poised over your pulse. The hold is firm and encompassing around your neck. It makes you tremble with desire. “We have to get rid of those thoughts, don’t we?” His other hand brazenly cups your mound, and you let out the most pathetic sound of your life. “There’s a lot of ways to release pent up feelings,” he continues conversationally, fingers delving past the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m feeling charitable enough to help you out.” 
Your endless stream of thoughts fizzle out as soon as he finds your swollen clit. “Thank you,” you sob, gripping his arm and gyrating your hips for more of his touch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you - “ 
The hand at your throat moves up to cover your mouth. “Shhh.” Fingertip moves lower, runs itself through the slickness oozing out of your tight heat. “Relax.” You whimper brokenly, slump back against him as he rubs your clit in feather-light strokes. His hand moves from your mouth and rests on your temple, fingers buried in your hair. “This is what you’re good for.”
Shigaraki is not an expert by any means. Sometimes he loses his momentum, rubs too hard or too slowly, doesn’t really know how to set a proper pace. But you have never felt more wet before. Never has your heart raced this quickly, never has a simple touch driven you to mindless pleasure. 
He plunges inside you unexpectedly, shushing you once more as you let out a wordless cry, and even through the pain of being stretched far too soon, you feel your pussy loosen to accommodate your beloved leader’s thick fingers. He works you open good and proper, thorough in his thrusting, forcing you to take him down to the last knuckle. You lie there and take it, moaning and writhing in his lap as he fucks your sloppy cunt. 
“Just let it all out,” he murmurs in your ear. “It’s not good to keep the bad shit locked away inside. Or else one day … “ His fingers ease out of your pussy and leave a trail of juices clinging to his fingertips. You try your best not to whine as he brings his fingers up for inspection. “ … It’s all gonna come pouring out.” 
You don’t know what he is trying to do. You don’t know what he wants from you when his fingers tap against your bottom lip, but your mouth falls open all the same to let him smear your juices onto your tongue. A pathetic, desperate whimper escapes as you taste yourself on his fingers. And you taste him. Your leader’s fingers are buried in your warm mouth and your stretched cunt contracts from dizzy exhilaration. 
Your tongue licks away the evidence of your arousal, and for one delirious moment you think you hear Shigaraki hum in approval. He pops the digits out of your mouth and you begin to ramble before you can stop yourself. “Y-you don’t … have to do this,” you shyly stutter, cheeks burning from shame as his hand drops back between your trembling thighs. “I was being dumb, I’ll get over it, you d-don’t have to worry about me like this - “ 
You break off into a choked gasp as he traps your clit between two fingers and slowly runs them up and down. 
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, lets your head fall back onto his shoulder. “A leader takes care of his subordinates.” 
A burst of emotions burns your chest at the statement. How could something sound so detached yet intimate? You wonder what this means to him. You wonder if he’s done this for anyone else. The very thought of it makes tears well up behind your closed eyelids, but you do not let them fall. This is your special moment with your leader. Here and now, he chose to take care of you. You focus on those words instead, focus on how full they make you feel, just as his fingertip rubs your soaked entrance and slips back inside with ease. 
“Just trust me,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna train this greedy puppycunt to only think about me.”
Shigaraki keeps talking. He is so, so chatty, and it is hard to focus on his monologuing through the sound of your wet pussy being played with so thoroughly and invasively. You bury your face in his neck to stifle the whiny demands on the tip of your tongue, ignoring your monumental need for him to stop talking and just kiss you. It’s a selfish thought. Your leader is speaking to you. You should listen, you should let him take care of you, you have to trust him, you have to chase the high and let go, just as he always does on the battlefield. 
“You’re doing so well for me.” 
A heavy pit of pleasure builds deep within. 
“Always so obedient.” 
The thumb buried in your hair strokes slowly. 
“My favorite puppy.”
Your pussy clenches, fighting to suck him in and keep him inside. 
“Mine.” 
You come with a shrill keen, trembling and shaking through your orgasm as Shigaraki’s fingers pump in and out, squelching and sloshing your juices as loudly as he can. Your mind is adrift, completely gone. All you can do is lay limp in his arms and breathe heavily, letting him settle your underwear back over your messy cunt. 
There is silence for a moment. Only the sound of your breathing. His hand settles over the top of your head properly this time, ruffling your hair in a movement that might have been accidental if not for the fact that Shigaraki never makes mistakes. “I like you like this,” he says. “No thoughts or worries. Just a properly trained cunt and an obedient subordinate.” You smile a little at that. If only he knew how badly you wanted to be used by him. “I decide who’s useful to me, not Dabi. You’re around for a reason, got it?” 
Your heart aches with happiness. “Yes sir. I’m yours.” 
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blu-joons · 3 years
Text
DATING GOT7 HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Jackson Wang
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A ⇴ AFFECTION
Jackson is the definition of a clingy boyfriend, any time he can get a bit of your attention or close the gap a little bit closer towards you, he’ll definitely do so. He’s always very reluctant to let you out of his hold, or out of his gaze.
B ⇴ BEFORE DATING
He was very friendly to everyone he met, so with that of course, you just thought he was being nice to you too. As you got closer, he began to get a little flirtier with you, but you brushed it aside again as something he just did to everyone to make them feel comfortable. It definitely hurt Jackson seeing you react so coldly, but he could see why you did so.
C ⇴ CONFESSION
One night when you brushed him aside, the pain became too much. He took you by surprise by pulling you to one side, offloading every feeling he had, both the hurt he felt by the way he treated you and how much he felt himself falling for you. You were shocked, it took a long time for you to react, Jackson was convinced you were going to reject him, but just as he began to walk away you pulled him back and let him know how you felt too.
D ⇴ DATES
He often liked to impress you on dates, he’d always arrange something special for the two of you, if it was dinner, he’d pick somewhere fancy, or if it was at a movie, he’d always make sure to get the best seats for you. He was an absolute gentleman on all of your dates, he always paid and always made sure you were well looked after. As much as he loved to whine and dine you, if you suggested a night lazing around on the sofa, he’d be more than down for that too, whatever you wanted to do, he’d do with you, as long as you were happy then Jackson knew that the date was going to be a success.
E ⇴ EXPERIENCE
The few relationships he’d had before you had fizzled out as soon as he began to get busy, which was his biggest concern with you. However, you were a lot more understanding than his previous girlfriends, at times he found himself questioning why you stuck around, but coming home at midnight and seeing you awake, with dinner prepared, answered everything. He hated sometimes how pushed aside you could be, but as you constantly reassured him, you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into by dating him, and as long as work was going well, you were happy to be the second priority.
F ⇴ FIGHTING
He hates fighting with a passion, he’s more argumentative about the fact the two of you shouldn’t argue than what you’re arguing about. If you walk away, he’ll follow you, if you try to leave, he’ll hide the keys, there’s no way that he’ll let you allow an argument to go on for longer than it needs to. He won’t cry, but he’ll definitely feel himself getting emotional, he’s passionate about even the smallest of things, no matter what the two of you argue about, he’ll refuse to let it go. Once he’s told you how he’s felt, he’ll listen to how you feel and quickly find a way for you both to come to some sort of compromise.
G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY
It was no secret that Jackson was very close with his family, especially Aimee. He’d hyped you up to his niece before you’d even met, somehow convincing her that you were his princess, which was an idea she absolutely loved. So, when you finally met them, and saw the way her eyes lit up, you knew that you were going to settle in well with his family.
H ⇴ HOME
He spent a lot of his time travelling between countries, so it didn’t take long for Jackson to encourage you to move in with him. During some months, his time in Korea was limited, so he wanted to have you around for as much of it as possible. It also meant he could spend more time with you, which he was never going to decline. Coming home and seeing you there was a feeling he’d never quite get used to.
I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”
Even though he knew weeks before he said the first ‘I love you,’ on one of your dinner dates, Jackson was hesitant to say it too quickly and overwhelm you. As soon as he said it, it definitely took you by surprise, you weren’t sure if it was just you that was falling quickly, but you’d quickly reply, and let him know that you loved him too.
J ⇴ JEALOUSY
He’d definitely try and play his jealousy down, he hated letting on to anyone that someone had annoyed him. This was when clingy Jackson would often make an appearance, he wasn’t afraid to hug you a little bit tighter or kiss you a little more frequently if it meant that whoever was around you got the message. Once you were out of the situation, you’d always ask him about it, but he’d just try and convince you that he just wanted a hug, even though you could see right through him each and every time.
K ⇴ KIDS
From the start of your relationship, it will be made obvious to you that Jackson wants kids in the future. Seeing him around Aimee, you could see how much of an incredible dad he’d be, but he also felt the same way watching you with her. It would definitely be something he’d try and plan into his future, he had a goal in mind for when he’d want to start his family by, a goal he had in mind with you definitely planned in too.
L ⇴ LAUGHTER
No one could make you laugh quite like Jackson could, he was always messing around in order to put a smile on your face. He loves to tell plenty of dodgy jokes that you’ll laugh at once you’ve finished cringing of course. Similarly, he loves to laugh around you, he’ll often be smiling when you won’t have even done anything, just seeing you around him was enough to make his heart warm. If you ever were feeling down, prepare for his hands to tickle your body endlessly until the smile is permanently back on your face, he’ll refuse to ever see you down.
M ⇴ MISSING
He always hoped that missing you would be a feeling he’d get used to with how much he had to travel, but it never did. He’d try everything to be able to get you to travel with him, but usually it wasn’t possible. Whenever he was on tour, he’d text you several times throughout the day, and always dedicate at least one hour every couple of days to be able to call you. He worries endlessly about you; he’ll struggle to focus most days unless he’s heard from you that morning so he can at least know that you’re alright. He’ll text you several times until he gets a reply back that can try and ease your mind.
N ⇴ NICKNAMES
The cheesier the better with Jackson, he’ll push all the boundaries until you have to tell him to stop. With that, he’ll love for you to call him every cliché nickname, it always puts a huge smile on his face.
O ⇴ OBSESSION
He was obsessed with everything about you, it was impossible for Jackson to ever pinpoint one thing he loved about you more than anything else.
P ⇴ PDA
Jackson didn’t care who was watching, if he wanted to be close to you or hug you or kiss you, he would. He’d still be respectful of wherever you were, but he’d never allow himself to be pressured to stand away from you or let you go. In any interview where your name was mentioned, he’d talk you about you nonstop too.
Q ⇴ QUESTIONS
He would tend to ask questions late at night to stop you falling asleep. He’d want to stay up as long as possible so he could enjoy your company, or at least keep you awake until he was sleepy, so he had someone with him.
R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS
Jackson loves to involve you when you least expect it. If he’s got an interview or fan meeting, he’ll ask you for a random word just before he leaves the house. When you watch his interviews or see social media afterwards, you’ll notice how he tries to include that word somehow into conversation so that you know he’s thinking about you. Even the fans became sceptical as to what was going on when one day, he managed to describe his song using a watermelon.
S ⇴ SEX
It very much depends on the mood how Jackson will treat you, sometimes he’ll be very soft and sensual, but he also has a very dominate side where he loves to show off to you how strong he is. He’ll never be too rough; however, he’ll go as far as you’re comfortable with. But if he’s in one of his clingy moods, you won’t be able to get him off you, he’ll hold you and kiss you even long after you’re finished as he doesn’t want to let you go.
T ⇴ TEXTS
He’ll text you often throughout the day, often at the most random times. If he’s thinking of you, he’ll let you know, or if he’s encountered a problem, he’ll turn to you first to try and find a way to solve it all.
U ⇴ UNIVERSE
He was very aware he had millions of fans, but none of them compared to you. In a crowd of thousands, he always knew that he could find you. You didn’t understand it sometimes, but it was just something Jackson knew.
V ⇴ VACATION
As he travelled so much, he’d make sure to take you with him as often as he could. If you were going on a trip with him, he’d make sure to extend it by a day or two so that you both had some free days where you could do your own thing. He loved to show you the world and take you to places you never imagined you’d go.
 W ⇴ WHINING
He’s clingy, and he loves your attention, so if you don’t give it to him, be assured you’ll know about it. You’re pretty sure the other side of the city can hear him whine sometimes.
X ⇴ XXXXX
Whenever he has you close, it will be an instinct for him to press a kiss to your cheek. He won’t ever feel like he can’t kiss you, if he wants to, he’ll do it. His kisses vary a lot too, sometimes it will just be a soft peck to your cheek, but other times he’ll grab your face and make sure you know exactly what he wants. They’re a very good indicator of how he’s feeling, and you’ll always make sure to respond accordingly.
Y ⇴ YOU
You were the one for him, the only one that he wanted in a world of billions.
Z ⇴ ZZZ
His clinginess definitely continues at night, he can’t sleep without you there which often makes touring so difficult. You can often hear him muttering into your ear as you begin to sleep when he wants you to know how he feels.
---
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shadowqueen1220 · 3 years
Text
Analysis on C! Tubbo's Emotional State
Disclaimer: I am in no means a professional and I am heavily basing this off of my own experiences and general observations. (Please let me know if my wording is bad)
This is all about the roleplay characters if it wasn't clear
Warning: self harm, self sacrifice, self destructive behavior and talk of mental health and canon typical violence
Tubbo has always been a self sacrificial character. He always helps his friends at the expense of his own safety (ie disc war and L'manburg). He is a bit of an overachiever and that has gotten worse when combined with tendencies of paranoia. (all og members of L'manburg have paranoia issues, stemming from the final control room)
After the Independance War, Tubbo was involved with the elections. He made a secret bunker, saying "hope for the best plan for the worse" in case the electrons went wrong. He was proven right and then had to endure a harsh dictatorship.
Spy Tubbo was constantly under stress. He not only was secretly slipping information to Pogtopia but had his role of Security of State as well. At the Elections, Schlatt verbally abused Tubbo and scared him into following his orders. Most of the things Schlatt had told Tubbo to have shaped him into the Tubbo that internalizes and represses all his emotions. (ie don't complain, don't cry, don't talk back, agree with everything I say). Tubbo, who already naturally liked to help his friends, was forced to become a yes man in order to stay safe.
The Festival was a disaster and a huge blow to Tubbo's self esteem. The famous line here is "Wilbur said he wasn't going to hurt me" and Tubbo wholeheartedly believed that he could trust Wilbur, his former president and older brother figure. However, all he got was the fact that he was now expendable to Wilbur. His death was brushed aside and it seemed like the only person who cared was Tommy. Even Tubbo quickly became desensitized to the fact that his own pain did not matter in the chaos of the situation.
His life becomes even more chaotic when he is thrust into the role of President and his self sacrificing nature kicked in when no one else would take the presidency. And then in the first 10 minutes into his presidency, he is shot and his nation is blown up.
Tubbo takes this all in stride, repressing everything in order to rebuilt but his cabinet does not listen to him and constantly talks over him. When his vice president and best friend gets into trouble, Tubbo learns that he must be louder in order to be heard.
Tubbo felt betrayed by Tommy's actions during the exile negotiations. He felt as if Tommy didn't respect his power and the pressure of living up to President Wilbur, the threat of becoming like President Schlatt and the expectations of the entire nation all depended on him.
Tubbo once again choose sacrifice but this time, he was not only sacrificing himself but harmed Tommy in his decision as well. Immediately Tubbo regretted his decision and regressed into his yes man habits to cope with the situation.
From here on out, this may be a bit of a stretch but I love putting lore goggles on to every scene for analysis purposes and with a character like Tubbo who is rarely played, we can get some character depth from seemingly "silly" bits.
Tubbo after exiling Tommy shifted from being self sacrificial to self destructive. Both presidents before him had died and the odds were not looking good for Tubbo, already he had made an awful decision that he immediately regretted. Yet he couldn't reverse it and didn't feel worthy enough to see Tommy.
Tubbo never built himself a home in L'manburg. No stuff, no place to sleep, no roots. He told Ranboo that the presidency was all his when the elections came around. He didn't want to be president anymore. He's worryingly self depreciating.
I don't quite remember the timing of this stream but Tubbo and Ranboo once went nether exploring. Ranboo panicked as Tubbo was extremely reckless during this adventure, jumping into lava without fire res, speed bridging with few blocks and jumping off of tall places without checking his health. In addition, Tubbo went through a series of projects as a President, always doing something new and often involving things that could hurt him (ie Ravenger teleportation, tnt jumping). We can see Tubbo become subtly self destructive during this time.
(sidenote: tubbo has a habit to jump off of high things and expecting the person at the bottom to water bucket. Tommy usually is the person to "catch him" and I find it interesting that they both had self destructive tendencies while the other was gone. I'll come back to this point soon)
We never get Tubbo's opinion on the Butcher Army. He heavily opposed the idea at the beginning of the presidency but agreed to take part in it despite Techno killing him being a traumatizing event.
And then Logsteadshire. The guilt of exiling his best friend and being the cause to his death is too much for his mind to handle and he passes out. We never learn how Tubbo got back to L'manburg and the next time we see him, he is back to throwing himself into project after project.
The next time we really see Tubbo is when Tommy and Technoblade take Connor hostage. Ranboo says that Tubbo is just staring at a grass block and when Tommy appears, Tubbo is severely shaken. He is glad that his best friend is alive and upset that he's teamed with his murder but has to all shove it aside to fulfill his role as president. Tubbo takes Tommy yelling at him and Techno's accusations with no protest and once again, represses everything to move on.
Already the Green Festival reminded Tubbo of familiar events but at this time he was in control or so he thought. He had already failed an execution so he was determined to make this word so L'manburg could be safer. He had failed Tommy so he might as well try to make the server a better place by killing Dream. Yet Tubbo had doubts about it.
Dream was manipulating Tubbo during his entire presidency. Tubbo truly believed that Dream was his friend and thought that Dream supported him as a president. His self esteem was so low that he searched for validation anywhere (ie "rate my kidnapping", "phil tell me I'm doing good pls") and Dream willingly gave him companionship.
But then Dream started screaming at him and calling him and awful president, Tubbo agreed with Dream. Tubbo saw himself as weak and stupid and no one came to his defense so it had to be true.
His fight with Tommy was very impactful and led Tubbo to believe that the discs mattered more than him but we'll get back to that soon. Most of the things said during this fight were forgiven by both parties so I hope it doesn't affect him much.
Sidenote: when Quackity suggests to execute Ranboo, Tubbo chooses forgiveness for Ranboo having been in that position before and snaps at Quackity. Here we get a glimpse of Tubbo's inner emotions and we can see clearly that the events of the festival have hurt him.
Doomsday is further proof to Tubbo that he is the worst President that L'manburg had. He stares at the destruction in mute disbelief and even throws himself into tnt and in front of a firework for Tommy. By the end of the experience, Tubbo is so drained that he has given up on government, the fight beaten out of him and he lets L'manburg go, thinking it was his fault it fell.
Tubbo has suffered the most from government yet strives to make a community. Snowchester was supposed to be his healing. However, Tubbo's paranoia from all the violence and the lessons that he has learned from the others, caused him to built a way to defend himself. He doesn't even make a bed for himself in his new house.
Then his life gets shaken up by the Disc War Finale. He refuses to talk about his feelings on the odds, accepts defeat instantly as they were "doomed from the beginning" and doesn't seem to mind the fact that he might die.
In fact, he says "It was about time anyway"
Tubbo thinks he is living on borrowed time. All of the presidents before him are dead and he is in a seemingly impossible situation. Death seems to be the only option and he has accepted it before hand so he is fine with it. Even Tommy seems shaken by this as Tubbo was so positive about the situation before. But Tubbo had been hiding that all for Tommy's sake as he is very self sacrificial.
When everything seems to return to "normal" Tubbo tests his nukes and later tells Ranboo that be had expected everything to go horribly wrong. He is trying to heal and does a decent job at it, starting a family and building Snowchester.
But then he gets the memo that Tommy has been trapped in prison with Dream. He checks out the prison, being a inconvenience to the guards and is hardly fazed when Sam threatens to kill him. He leaves feeling disappointed that he cannot help but that is what it is and Tubbo thinks that Tommy is the strongest person he knows.
So that's why Tommy can't be dead. Tubbo denies Sam's words and when they finally register, begins an investigation to find out who's to blame. He becomes self destructive again, wearing Dream's armor and building a familiar panic room to research the crime.
He is once again extremely reckless when investigating. With Ranboo's help, they go and investigate the egg and Tubbo shows his lack of care for his own safety. He tries to break open the egg, challenges Bad and Ant to a pvp and suggests to continue investigating. But at this point, Ranboo has noticed this recklessness and gently reminds Tubbo of Michael.
From this point, Tubbo seems to be healing again. And then to make things better, Tommy is back and they are going to kill Dream but that's okay because it hasn't really settled yet. Tubbo is once again shaken by Tommy's return and follows him in silence to make sure he is really there. He is so worried about Tommy, he reaches out to MIA Ghostbur to help him.
Tubbo is still self destructive but less so after this. He still jumps off high places but does so more out of trust. He finally gets a bed in Snowchester and things seem to be looking up.
But then Tommy's words about Dream settle in. Dying is no longer permanent and Tubbo has things he wants to protect. To do this he recommissions the nukes but is panicked when one is stolen.
We have no idea where it is going to go from here, but I can already see some problems with Tubbo's increasing paranoia.
In addition, the details about the nukes and their suicide button and Tubbo's willingness to sacrifice himself for the greater good does not bode well.
Overall, Tubbo is a complex character and I greatly enjoy how he is played.
Thank you for reading and let me know if you have any comments!
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