#it's so destructive and yet. it's just one little guy

[bibibbon]

Sukuna is a good villain analysis

Coming from someone who hates villains that are evil because they were born that way and with no other explanation. To be honest, out of all the villains in jjk I always found sukuna to be somewhat boring , he is well written but I just couldn't really see what people saw in him. I still think that kenjaku is way more interesting than him but I will say that due to the recent arc and chapters that my opinion of sukuna has significantly changed.

Sukuna is the abstract embodiment of nihilism (in a way). His character for the longest time has always been about destruction and chaos. Sukuna's first introduction consists of him saying that he is going to destroy absolutely everything and there is a heavy focus on him destroying the woman and children. He simply views then as little maggots that he can easily destroy with ease. We later learn the connection (I guess) he has to his mother which he doesn't regard her disrespectfully and his devoured twin whom he is shown to remember the presence of. Every time we meet him before shibuya his power is further emphasised and he is further demonised and built to be the big bad.

It is later in shibuya, during his fight with jogo that we get more to sukuna. In this fight sukuna brings out his CT of flames and jogo is surprised however, before sukuna kills jogo they share an interesting conversation. Sukuna recognises jogo's ideology and desires to be human and sukuna relates to it. He understands jogo's desires of taking humans place and ruling the world yet he views that view as foolish. This is where we learn that sukuna believes that being alone and having the power to destroy everything you care about is what makes one powerful. This can explain sukunas love for destruction and simple chaos. However, sukuna is incapable of understanding why he is talking to jogo, why does he even care for him in a way and instead of trying to understand he does exactly what he said to jogo that he should do and destroys/ fully burns jogo after calling him "strong". At this point both of these curses have experienced what it's like to be 'human' with emotions flowing through them that aren't negative but while one (jogo) questions it and tires to explore it the other (sukuna) rejects it and burns it all away.

There's also sukuna's relationship with his relatives especially itadori his nephew. Sukuna and itadori share completely different ideologies while sukuna believes in him being the strongest and destroying everything he cares for to stay that way yuji will believes that he is a simple cog in a system and tries to do everything to fulfill his role and protect others. Both are strong characters yet it is yujis drive and strong resolve that makes him so much more mentally stronger than sukuna and what irritates sukuna as yuji is claimed to be unbreakable in his views and passion. Yuji also makes sukuna question his own purpose and what he is here to achieve. Even though the two are strangely similar in many ways considering that yuji is a part of sukuna they're vastly different especially with their ideologies.

There's also the huge contrast between sukuna and his twin Jin itadori. Sukuna is strong, cold hearted and would put himself before anyone. Sukuna doesn't care for others and his existence is mainly him trying to satisfy himself and his needs while flaunting the immense power he carries. Yet from the little we have seen from Jin itadori he is is the polar opposite of sukuna. Jin itadori died for love, he was so blinded by grief that when kaori came back even though it was kenjaku he still loved her the same and he loved itadori more. It was stated that Jin really wanted to have a child and truly cared for itadori to the point he and itadoris grandpa got into fights about it. Jin from the moment we see him seems like a really nice and somewhat nerdy guy the complete opposite to his twin sukuna heck even their character designs are completely different with them only having the same colour hair and eyes (I think).

These twins are also juxtaposed to the zenin twins. Its stated that sukuna had to eat his twin to survive in the womb due to how poor their mother was. However, the only thing that sukuna got out of his twin was the physical characteristic and his CT while Jin's soul went through cycles before coming into he human realm again. This contrasts with eh zenin twins whom voluntary chose to join together and when she died Mai chose to take all the CE they both had while dying physically she joined her sister spiritually by becoming a sword. Maki and Mai will always be together and entwined by their souls. The sukuna and jin twins are only connected physically which could be why sukuna has 4 eyes and 4arms.

Sukunas own character design just shows that he is the embodiment of destruction and how he simply devours everything around him. When asked if sukuna ever feels lonely he literally says that he lives however he wants and that he can eat as much human flesh with all of them tasting different and filling him with different emotions. The closest thing that sukuna has to a friend is his loyal servant urauame and they only obey his orders while entertaining him. It's stated that the only reason sukuna keeps urauame around is due to their talent in cooking human meat, the same thing that gives him joy aka any real emotion.

There are then his other fights that focus on sukuna and his views on love and power. Yorozu's fight is an interesting one where we get more on sukunas cannibalism and how both of those characters view love as a means of destruction and death. Yorozu is happy that sukuna killed her and got to know more about her through that while sukuna is questioned on stuff that he views as pointless and meaningless like marriage. Yorozu sees the solitude that sukuna is surrounded by and think that he can understand her since she has faced similar yet they heavily clash with sukuna believing that to have power one must face the burden of solitude. In the end yorozu, does give sukuna a gift crafted by her which he actually takes and uses during the current battle. Yorozu's attempts to get to sukuna and to make him reciprocate his love all fail even when she makes a TRUE SPHERE. Something that has the largest surface area and can contaminate and touch everything yet sukuna leaves untouched by yorozu at all. I think it's interesting that yorozu's heart took a shape of a true sphere just to show how obsessed she is with sukuna and her desire to be with him.

Sukuna then fights with kashimo. Kashimo somewhat like jogo has an understanding of what it's like to be strong yet kashimo is sick of superficial interactions that the strong have to have with people that are inferior to them or want to challenge them. Kashimo asks sukuna if there is a way where he can be strong and surround himself with love sukuna says that this is selfish thinking considering his view that everything he cares for must be burnt for him to be strong. Kashimo isn't satisfied by only having strength but he also wants to experience simple things such as love, sukuna could of been similar to that long ago yet he gave up and has resorted to taking in all the destruction and enjoying himself from it. Kashimos fight with sukuna was more of a self discovery journey for the both of them and at the end they both come out on different sides.

After higumara's death there is a whole chapter about sukuna and he starts questioning his own life view. What has he been doing? Is it worth it? Where is the joy in what he used to do? And he is again faced with his complete opposite yuji. He is deep in thought and he feels empty, confused even he can't seem to understand why everyone is dedicating themselves to this belief, they're all united and strong yet he is alone and bored. Sukuna has done everything he has fought and killed but like kashimo said that caught up to him and now he is tired of it he wishes to experience the unity and stuff that the others fighting him are experiencing. Sukuna has no purpose but to destroy at this point but he has caused so much that him destroying over and over again has just been a mundane cycle.

Yet things start to change as the tides are against him and he may taste losing for the first time.

In conclusion, sukuna is an abstract and literal ideology of nihilism to a cerian extent and conveys the big bad villain trope in a fantastic way. I find him way more well written than AFO and muzan.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk manga #jjk rambles #jjk ramblings #jjk critical #jjk spoilers #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jjk analysis #sukuna being yujis uncle is way better than them being twins #i actually dont mind sukuna but kenjaku is just better #kenjakus behaviour needss to be studied the dude is insane #jjk parallels #jjk contrasts #jjk has some serious family drama and iam here for it #jjk meta #jjk rant

[homestuckreplay]

Harlequin Anger vs Jester Ennui - Color as John Egbert’s Emotions

Week 2 Retrospective

John Egbert is the silliest little guy, but we’re starting to see hints of what he’s feeling beneath the surface. Looking at the themes of the comic so far, my current theory is that the colorful elements in the comic are the things that make John feel strong emotions - both good and bad - while the monochrome elements represent what makes John feel bored and frustrated.

Analysis below the cut - about 2,200 words.

‘A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.’ (p.82)

Desolation has two, related meanings - one is loneliness, grief, and lack of companionship, while the other is ruin, emptiness and destruction. The first meaning is John’s current mental state, while the second is the suburb he lives in. The majority of what’s surrounding John is entirely monochrome, and so is John himself. We also learn from the narration on p.82 that ‘something feels missing from [John’s] life’ and that he has a sense ‘not of mirth, but of lack’. I think he spends a lot of time going through the motions - poking at things in his room without settling to anything, wandering up and down the stairs when his dad is occupied - but his life is the same day in and day out, and he struggles to inject any excitement into his life, or even any anger at the situation he’s trapped in. 

I think it’s extremely notable that almost everything relating to John’s family is monochrome. In addition to the house as a whole, the portraits of his dad and nanna are monochrome, as are the gifts and cakes from his dad, the car outside, and most importantly the piano. I don’t think John hates his father, but I think he struggles to connect with him or feel close to him. Ignoring page 72’s peanut ambiguity, the worst we hear about Dad is that he will ‘monopolize hours of [John’s] time’ (p.30) and ‘can be a real cornball’ (p.49), which is a big contrast to him calling Betty Crocker his ‘arch nemesis’ (p.48). 

Therefore, John’s dad is an inconvenience, not a threat. John might know intellectually that his dad loves him - ‘the old man really came through this time’ (p.19), as well as the kind fatherly notes left on John’s birthday presents (p.12, p.55) - but I think he can’t make the leap to actually caring about his dad in return or enjoying his company.

John is a gifted piano player, and gives us a ‘haunting piano refrain’ (p.77). Him being a musician ties back into the act title - ‘the note desolation plays’ uses the language of music, something so often filled with emotion, to describe a lack of it. Given that, of course the piano is monochrome. Perhaps John even sees the piano as the source of his problems, or at least representative of them. 

I noted at the time that it was strange John hadn’t listed piano among his interests when it’s clearly something he’s spent a lot of time on, and now I think it’s something that was taught to him as a kid by either his dad or nanna. He’s good at it, but he’s so disconnected from family life that it no longer brings him any joy, it’s just a hangover from his childhood. ‘Haunting’ makes me think it was his nanna who taught him - now every time John plays, he’s haunted by her memory (or even her literal ghost). Possibly her death is what made John disconnect from the hobby, especially with ‘desolation’ relating to grief.

On page 4, we get our first glimpse of the outside. The blue sky shot through with the brown tree is the largest splash of color in John’s room. The promise of the outside world is extremely colorful, and we know John wants to go there - the window reflected in John’s glasses on page 28 as he grins excitedly is a clear visual indication of that. Yet when we finally see it, the outside isn’t all color - the grass, sky, trees and flowers all are, but the man made aspects such as the driveway, tire swing, and other houses in the neighborhood are gray and dull.

Page 82 gives us the dramatic moment of John removing his clever disguise and gazing up at the sky. It’s the first time we see the sun and the uninterrupted expanse, and it’s framed like it’s significant for John, too. I don’t think it’s literally his first time stepping outside (you can’t tell me his dad didn’t push him on that tire swing as a kid) but I think it’s the moment he realizes that leaving his literal house doesn’t mean he’s not stuck - the neighborhood is just more of the same, and whatever restrictions John’s working within mean he can’t go any further than this. A front yard is legally part of a house, and the reality of the outside doesn’t excite him as much as the idea of it.

And then there’s the clowns. The one aspect of his dad that really gets John going; the harlequin portraits in the hallway and living room that Dad brought back from clown con are bright, obnoxious, and impossible to ignore. Interestingly, the ones in the study are black and white - perhaps John is okay with the clown pictures in the study, because that’s explicitly his dad’s space, but he doesn’t like the ones in the main area, because they make him feel like the house is fully his dad’s, not a shared space they could decorate together. 

This is pure speculation, but I don’t think John has ever moved house. I get the impression that he grew up in this house, which is his dad’s now and was perhaps originally his nanna’s, and has never known a world outside of this specific neighborhood. Because John’s been there since he was born, it’s never crossed his dad’s mind that John might want to, say, put his Little Monsters poster in the living room - hence why that gift was left in John’s bedroom, while the harlequin doll is allowed to be downstairs. 

Speaking of John’s room, it’s definitely not an oasis of color within the house. In our first shot of the room, we see six splashes of color, including the outside and John’s shirt - comparable to the living room (six including John’s shirt and hat) and study (five including the outside and John’s hat). A full three of the colorful elements in John’s room are related to Sburb, which in both the visuals and text is the thing John’s by far the most excited about right now, but I’ll circle back around to this. 

John’s magic chest, magician’s hat, blood capsules, and copies of Colonel Sassacre’s and Wise Guy are all colorful too, but other prank elements - fake arms, beaglepuss, handcuffs, sword, smoke pellets) are all monochrome. This one’s tough, but my best guess is that John feels conflicted about his interest in pranks because it’s so similar to his dad’s interest, and perhaps even that the monochrome items are things John’s dad bought for him for past birthdays and holidays, while the colorful ones are things John got for himself. 

John’s shirt is also worth mentioning here. John’s ambivalence with the house extends to himself, and kids often don’t have a lot of control over their appearance. He probably doesn’t choose his own clothes or glasses or haircut, and he definitely can’t go out and get a tattoo of Slimer or anything like that, so it’s very telling that wearing a shirt with a favorite movie on it is the one way John can actually connect to himself. 

That said, all the movie posters in his room are monochrome, which I’ll again circle back to. One exception is the close up of the Problem Sleuth poster (p.11), which is mostly monochrome, but has four kernels of colorful candy corn. I love this detail so much. It’s a fun reference to Hussie’s previous work and suggests that the candy corn gags in Problem Sleuth are John’s favorite part, which feels right for him. I wonder if John will use candy corn for a prank at some point in reference to this game he likes. I also noticed that the menu bar at the top of the web page also contains four kernels of candy corn - is this just because Problem Sleuth is Hussie’s most notable work, or could it be a clue for Homestuck too?

The most colorful and complex elements of the comic so far are the screens. We see John’s computer, which as a physical object is monochrome but which lights up to a brightly colored world of chums, flashing programs, desktop icons and stunning feats of graphic design, including things John loves (Slimer) and things that make him boil with rage (coding). We also get to see a very green tinted TV commercial in the living room, and a full color clip of Con Air linked from page 20. 

All this makes me wonder if John’s list of interests is chronological. First on his list (p.4) is ‘really terrible movies’, and many of his favorite titles are from the 1980s and 90s, meaning he probably grew up with them. I think he still loves watching and discussing them, but - given that movies are a fairly passive medium - just the reminder of them on his wall isn’t enough to take him out of his own head anymore. He then got into programming, the paranormal, magic, and video games in sequence, meaning that the final two are his most active interests right now, and the ones to which the most time and color are devoted. In this way, the casual end to the list ‘You also like to play GAMES sometimes’ reads like intentionally downplaying something that’s actually really important, the sarcasm of ‘sometimes’ revealed later when we learn that John has ‘put countless manhours into this assortment of quality titles’ (p.31).

Unlike the movie posters, most of the games on John’s CD rack are in color, and unlike movies, games can offer an interactive, immersive experience. Games are enticing to John right now because they’re the best escape from a monotonous, suburban life that John has access to. He’s played his current collection time and time again (to the point that Bard Quest and Problem Sleuth have lost their color), and that’s why he’s so desperate for Sburb to arrive, and why the colorful reminders of Sburb are all over his room.

I think there’s a very real question of whether Sburb will live up to John’s expectations. At only one letter away from Suburb, it’s a clear reminder that video games don’t actually take John away from the life he’s stuck in, they’re a cosmetic alteration at best - and if the themes of the game are too close to John’s real life problems, he won’t find that escapism. So while I’d love to see a version of this comic where John finally starts playing Sburb and the whole screen immediately explodes into color, I’m not sure it’ll be that easy.

Finally, there’s the meta elements of the story. The captchalogue card overlay and strife specibus are pink and green respectively, and other elements that pop up (indication of whether or not we’ve got John’s name right, the cake turning blue when selected, the blinking green telling us we can put the poster on the wall, etc) are colorful too. The hammer that John allocates to his strife specibus is monochrome, however, which fits really well with John allocating it on TG’s instructions and not knowing that the allocation is permanent. If he’d known, he would have chosen something he felt more strongly about.

Interestingly, the narrative text is black. I still don’t think we’re directly getting John’s perspective, I think that’s been filtered through a specific narrator who has a voice very different to John’s (based on John’s Pesterchum messages), but I don’t think John has any awareness of this. In contrast, he’s all too aware of his captchalogue deck and the artificial, needlessly complex limitations it imposes, and he visually reacts to us getting his name right or wrong. 

If John were to somehow become aware of the narrative text, and have strong feelings about the way he’s being portrayed (or the fact that he’s being written about at all), perhaps it would change color? After all, when John talks to his friends, each of them has a defined color, perhaps relating to the different relationships he has with each friend, and different emotions arising from that. John doesn’t seem to always like his friends - he gets frustrated at the notifications, and spends his whole conversation with TT already trying to leave - but he still replies and actively engages with them, a massive contrast to how he is with his dad. 

‘His riddle is Absence itself.’ (p.82)

To conclude, I do find it interesting that the brightest colors in the comic are the things that are most natural (grass, flowers) and the things that are most artificial (screens, the abstract concept of the inventory) while everything in the middle is black and white. This fits with the idea of color being about both extremes at once, and the idea that John wants a chance to explore both the real and virtual worlds. 

The meta function of color is to make certain visual elements stand out to the audience and tell us they’re worth paying attention to. From a purely functional perspective, it makes sense that the things most important to John would also be highlighted to us. But given the theme of lack and emptiness, the absence of color is just as important. And as the comic is already playing so much with the meta, I think that’s the most helpful starting point for analysis. 

#homestuck #john egbert #analysis #i wanted to house of leaves this post so bad........ #also is it cool and helpful to have all the page number citations or is it really bad to read. anyone who has opinions please tell me #(shaking in my boots as i state that 'games are an interactive immersive experience' without the 20+ citations that i Know this claim needs

[muzzleroars]

thinking of minos referring to v1 as "creature of steel", acknowledging its creation by mankind but how he may possibly view it as almost animalistic in nature now (he cannot judge its actions necessarily and does not blame it really for its imparted instincts, but it must be destroyed as it threatens what little is left of human souls) vs sisyphus calling it "child of man", a phrase used to either emphasize humanity's lesser status toward god/angels or as the title for the one who would usher in the end of days...and simply, purely, "weapon". it is an unthinking harbinger of destruction on any level - it will come, it will destroy, whether as an animal, as a tool, or as an entity. both a force of nature and the result of human hubris...ouughhaaa

#THIS IS NOTHING but i keep thinking about v1 all the time #v1...little force of nature made by human hands! #it's so destructive and yet. it's just one little guy #i think this personal connection is a nice contrast to v1 as part of the masses of machines #BUT how these titles also reinforce with its status as one of many #a pack of animals. a tool like all the others. a leading force that brings a multitude of woes in its wake. #YEA....i love v1..... #cake.txt

[noahtally-famous]

not me popping back on here with a post after months of semi-inactivity (uni is being a bitch) just to reiterate how much i love writing the pahkitew island cast.

aside from sammy and amy (obviously), literally everyone else can be shipped with one another and it'd make sense to some degree, like it takes skill to create a group of people so inherently shippable (platonically and/or romantically) and ofc the writers didn't know it they just shoved a bunch of random ppl together and dusted their hands off on it but fr tho 😭

(yeah im planning out my leonave 'stranger things inspired' au, and the gears are turning, and i forgot just how much i love writing for this dumbass group)

(i swear im working on the next chapter of a guide to surviving the apocalypse too)

#no but i've way too many ideas lmaoo #i forgot ive a whole longass post in my drafts dedicated to ramblings abt this longfic and i came across it today ahaha #like amy leading a manhunt for leonard bc shes got everyone to think he killed her sister (who she didn't even like much smh) #and topher's one of the ppl involved and when shawn hears he's like “topher? yeah i can handle him dw” (possible tophawn minor pairing??) #and leonard's abt to get the equivalent of being burnt at the stake literally #when guess who shows up in a fucking mercedes of all cars #fucking dave #and he helps leonard escape narrowly by driving fast af and leonard's so confused bc like “i thought you'd be with those guys” #and get this: dave doesnt believe leonard killed sammy bc of his vehement belief that leonard doesn't know magic LMAOOO #and leonard doesnt know whether to be affronted or grudgingly thankful bc if it wasn't for dave's desire for everything to be normal #leonard would have been part of the witch trials 2.0 #and idk who's watched st but the plot is somewhat inspired by it #like shawn goes missing first and dave as his best friend is panicking abt it (in this one axel is shawns cousin???) #and then when they find him at last the weird deaths start leading to leonard finding sammy dead and this whole situation #and theres a whole different world underneath them and its up to leonard dave ella and sky to team up and prevent certain destruction #and theres slowburn leonave (with pining leonard and oblivious dave) #and leonard lives with his uncle whos understanding of his passions (unlike his dad who basically gave him away for the same reason) #and leonard's life is total opppsite from dave's #and they both know it #and omgggg this au has been a brainrot for so goddamn long #but idk why i just got a slew of ideas for it today #and like dave stays over at leonards at one point and leonard gives him his bed (like a gentleman) #and the next morning shawn barges in like “wheres my best friend” bc ever since he was taken he's been v paranoid abt losing the ppl he lov #and he hugs dave and daves like “how dirty are you rn” and shawns like “nothing yet i waited so that i can hug you when i see your dumb ass #and everyones like abt dave to leonard “idk if he's the right one for you” #but then later on dave saves his life by going a little bit unhinged classic dave-style #and ends up scaring a nurse and receptionist into retiring early #total drama #td leonard #td dave

[ornithic]

i took a little break to draw + general wrist break afterwards so i haven't gotten to play this week but!!!!!!!!

another oras theme that's been stuck in my head is This one

(+ flying latios song i said in the tags)

#caw caw #Youtube #i'm once again grinding for the elite 4 but i realized that i didn't go through victory road yet; which also means i couldn't Fast Travel #AND. GOOD LORD. #the area where you meet wally again was So Cool and and hearing this theme was /EVEN COOLER/ #it rlly fits one of my ocs too...................... #i said this before i think but my blaziken Truly is going to be level 90+ before i actually become champion #and that's 100% Accidental; bc i'm trying to train and play with my other pkmn! #i'm not rlly finding it a Chore compared to when i played sun but mayhaps it's bc i'm not stucj at the same spot #and there's more little guys to find (though moreso for catching) and another thing i can't remember #it's also fun flying around with latios! ESP WHEN IT'S NIGHT TIME #all the oras songs are just rlly good in general. Honestly hghswghdewsoughdewj #hopefully!!!!!!!! i'll get to play more Tomorrow <3 #i caught a deino a few weeks ago and they're pretty close to evolving; and i do want to keep them on my team! #i was so surprised when i saw them and my brother said that i'll Eventually have to say goodbye to the little baby #and say Hello to a beast of destruction when they evolve #but it's Okay <3 #^ not pictured; me going ''who's my good boys? you are! yes you! and i can't forget you too! ^0^'' and feeding them my homemade treats

[tacticalprincess]

tw yandere elements, stalking 18+

stalker!könig who becomes infatuated with you the moment you show up at his doorstep and greet him with a pearly white smile, all dolled up and pretty, comically out of place in the run down apartments you live in. you’re a sight for sore eyes after being surrounded by death and destruction, far more appetizing to the man in front of you than the colorful cupcake you shove into his large hands. he knows he’s in for it when you excitedly announce that you’re his new neighbor.

stalker!könig who has a crippling fear of corrupting you. all of the evidence he’s gathered thus far points to him being good for nothing but inflicting pain and suffering. he knows someone as sweet as you has no business being affiliated with someone like him and for that reason, he doesn’t trust himself to be as close to you as he craves to be. he avoids direct contact with you at all costs, opting to admire you from afar in fear that he’ll taint you, should you fall into his greedy hands.

stalker!könig who hates that you’re always so bubbly and kind to him despite his brooding, aloof attitude. you’re too friendly for your own good, it’s oughta put you in danger one day, schatz. don’t you know that you shouldn’t be so inviting towards strange men?

he hates it because it makes him feel ten times worse when he’s alone in his room, fat cock heavy and drooling, brain riddled with the thought of you :( he hates himself for the things his depraved mind conjures up involving you, too dirty and dark for such an innocent angel. he feels guilty as he recalls the curve of your ass poking out of your skirt when you bent down to press your floor number on the elevator, the way your pretty little nipples stiffen against your shirt when you “forget” to wear a bra in the corridors, the way your big eyes shine up at him whenever you speak. when he’s fucking his aching dick into his rough fist, he can’t help but imagine it’s your much smaller, much softer hand, picturing how cute your pristine nails would look grazing along his hairy groin.

stalker!könig who doesn’t think of himself as a stalker, he prefers bodyguard that you just don’t know about yet. a guardian angel of sorts. he only has your best interests at heart, just wants to make sure you’re safe. or at least that’s what he tells himself when he finds himself with his hands around the neck of the guy who slid you his number on a napkin at your job. a napkin, really? did this pervert really think he was good enough for you? it doesn’t help that you smiled and blushed at him when you picked it up, always so lovely, even to those who don’t deserve it. dumb little girl, who knows what his intentions were with you…

you’re just so naive, little maus, if he doesn’t protect you from men like him, who will?

#stalker!konig #konig cod #smut #x reader #konig x y/n #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig smut #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig cod #bella writes⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[evilminji]

You know what I would kill to see?

Nedzu, in the Zone.

He IS a registered Hero, after all. He probably gets calls for missions. Failing that, he's still legal allowed to intervene. Like, say, if some poor four year old were losing their shit? Got separated from their mommy, their headache, which has been getting Ochier ALL DAY has finally gotten Really REALLY bad... and they... they just CAN'T! So they melt down.

Whoops. Four year old with portals.

In a crowd.

Luckily he, Mr. Principle, is a "cute" looking sort of Hero. And as an educator, well trained in de-escala-*CRASH!* Some jackass glory chasing young thing, with no care for innocent lives around them, smashes onto the scene. Terrifying the poor child. Which obviously makes their non-existent control WORSE.

Starts throwing the word "villian" around.

Nedzu is going to EAT his license in front of him.

The poor thing is hyperventilating, crying, clinging desperately to Nedzus suit. Things are being flung from portals. Sucked into portals. He's seen no less then 53 SEPERATE dimensions on the other side of those rifts. At least two were to the open void of space.

He narrowly dodges a portal straight into the heart of a volcano. Can feel the blistering heat singe his fur. Alumni from HIS school, at least, have arrived to actually SAVE people. Get the crowd away from the danger zone.

And to think, all he wanted was some tea.

How this MORON doesn't recognize him, he has no idea. His graduates are actively SHOUTING his identity, for heavens sake. Yet the glory hound continues to chase his so called "villians" at the expense of everyone around him.

He's about to throw the boy to a near by police officer, to get to safety, when the worst occurs. The tract of land he was about to push off of disappears beneath them. The boy's mother screams. He activates High Specs, world slowing as his mind rushs. Twisting, he throws the boy high.

The portal closes before he can see if it is Eraserhead or Cementoss who will be the one to catch him. The odds were 68.3% in Eraserhead's favor. He hopes... Aizawa, does so take these things quite hard, he hope he will not blame himself.

There was no way to catch him in time.

He was already gone.

Gravity arrests, slowing to a drifting meander. The air thick with something the burns his sensitive nose. Green. Everything is a very peculiar green. This is not a planets or if it is, it is countless times larger then Earth. A gas giant of some sort? There does not appear to be a horizon.

In the distance, an almost stereotypical spaceship changes destinations. Now aiming right for him. It seems aid might be on the way. With nothing better to do, he waits. They slow to a stop, a hatch opens, and... oh? A young Hero student! Hello there young man! I am Mr. Principle of the illustrious UA!

And just? Danny? Trying to return this small furry alien guy back to his alien hero school? Getting the run around and "hmmmm, let me look that uuuup *takes forever* yeeeeah, soooorry. You're in the wrong department. You'll have to fly like three days to this OTHER department, fill out 260 forms, and dance for our amusement. Byeeeee~"

Like? He just wants to get this guy HOME! Why are you all LIKE THIS!?

All while Nedzu is " :) My, this is FASCINATING. I am learning new things, battling wits, learning new languages, AND guiding a promising young mind towards a future of Better Heroics? Delightful! This is practically a vacation!"

He even stops by the Fentons for dinner. Some fudge. A little light destruction of Goverment branches on the side. Just? A Grand ol adventure of Nedzu.

Danny suffers through bureaucratic hell. But Nedzu? The most mentally stimulated he's been in years. His crops are watered and his fur is groomed. Thriving! New toys!

Then?? He just... shows back up to work.

How did he return? Where has he been?? Who is this glowing green Hero Child groaning face down on his very expensive carpet? *sips tea* wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy! *maniacal Nedzu laughter*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @spidori

#dp x bnha #dp x mha #minji's writing #nedzus adventure au

[stxrvel]

hate is a strong word

summary: you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: some bad words, a lot of arguments, a HUGE flashback, a little bit of angst i think? bucky and reader insult each other, reader doesn't like to listen, bucky is easily angered, bucky likes to destroy things when he gets angry but regrets it easily, this is not exactly a healthy relationship(? descriptions of weapons, missiles and buildings being bombed, reader is also very stubborn and likes to put her life at risk… or so.

note: hi guys!! so i came back and i am kinda proud of this one. i think i haven't felt that way in a long time. i gave myself the time to write when i felt like it and it was wonderful, so this came out. also i put the poll for a whole week and i can't change it now >:(, but i think this onsehot fits the angst with a happy ending (im not sure if this fits the angst tho, you gotta tell me) but im gonna try to do something else that fits the vibe, and i'll probably do some other poll to write about someone else. (also i think i should warn you guys that i dont think im that good writing action scenes or tension scenes, so if that's bad i hope you forgive me): anyway, hope you guys like this one!! i love reading your comments so if you want and can, please leave some <33 love you all and see you next time!

part 2

Bucky was really pissing you off too much at that moment. Or maybe you were feeling a little uncomfortable.

He hadn't spoken a single word to you since you had arrived at that tiny house, only shrugged silently and then exploded. You had seen Bucky explode several times before and you admitted that watching him was somewhat entertaining; seeing the faces of frightened people, trying to flee away from his angry face and destructive hands, but physically forced to stand by and listen to his scolding. You used to have fun with that. However, at the time, when you were the extreme recipient of that anger, it wasn't so much fun.

You had already heard a couple of broken glass, shattered wood and metal containers fall to the ground. Maybe five minutes or so had passed and he was barely pausing to look at his artwork. It wasn't too much that he had taken and thrown while you had stayed in the room, but it had all sounded very loud, so you had no choice but to go out and see what he was doing.

You were leaning against the threshold of the hallway to the bedrooms, right across from the living room and kitchen. Bucky looked like he had just finished getting all his anger out when he finally stood silently. He probably thought you were asleep while he was doing all that, as if that sound couldn't wake you up. Was he really that angry about what you had done? You mean, yes, it was very risky, but there you were alive, weren't you?

You felt the best thing you could do was to stay quiet and wait for him to say or do something, because you could risk that angry outburst really coming down in your face. For that moment he had only taken it out on the house, which had nothing to do with your problems, and you didn't want the arguments to start filling the silence that followed his stillness.

But, well, you didn't always do the right thing. That's why you were in that situation in the first place.

“Are you done yet?” you signed your sentence.

Bucky had a tense posture, squared shoulders moving in rhythm with his accelerated breathing. His back was to you, staring at the kitchen counter that had been left completely empty. You knew by the way he was clasping his hands that he was trying to maintain his composure.

“Are you serious?” his voice came out hoarse, a sign of his growing anger.

Maybe you should have stopped there, or when he continued to not turn to look at you, but you just couldn't keep your mouth shut.

“What's your problem, Barnes? Yes, I took a chance, but it's not that big of a deal. It's not for this,” you pointed to the mess around you, even though he wasn't looking at you.

“It's not a big deal, you say?” Bucky moved and you felt yourself watching his angry figure move in slow motion. “What's your problem?”

His beady eyes met yours. You felt a little intimidated by the ripples of annoyance coming off his body, filling the entire room with an unbearable, suffocating tension. His scowl and that strangely calm tone of voice made your hair stand on end.

None of the pieces of glass or splintered wood on the floor looked as dangerous as that expression on Bucky's face. He looked very angry, yes, but there was also something in his eyes when he looked at you. Something like concern… but that was impossible.

“Really, Y/N, what's your problem? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Now, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I was the mission leader!” his voice rose, his body moving forward as he pointed his index finger at himself. “And you were supposed to follow my orders.”

“I did, Barnes, I-”

“No,” he exclaimed, again moving closer. “You didn't do anything I asked you to do! Why can't you just…? Argh.”

You moved back a little as he planted his hands on the dining room table. You felt a little pressure in your chest at the sight of him like this, as if defeated and hopeless. Disappointed. But that was a common thing. That's why you used to have individual missions, and that's why you didn't really like working in a team. You mean, it wasn't wrong to do it, but everything always ended up in arguments because nobody liked the way you worked, so it was better to do it alone, right?

Seeing Bucky like that reminded you of how many times you had seen that look on the faces of Steve, Natasha, Tony, Clint, even Thor… It was never welcome nor were you comfortable with what was coming next, but it was the way you worked, how could you change out of nowhere something you had done your whole life?

Maybe you just had to apologize, sometimes that worked. Because you also knew that, knowing how bossy and caring Bucky was, you should have at least held back a little during the mission. Bucky's patience couldn't stand that sort of thing.

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I was a little careless, but that's how-”

“A little careless?” he interrupted you, his voice and face incredulous. "You almost got yourself killed."

“We're in this job under that risk, Barnes, that's not news.”

The man in the middle of the mess ran his hands over his face, elated, frustrated and surely overwhelmed. He let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl before turning back to look at you.

“Why can't you just listen?”

His accusing gaze enlarged a hole in your chest that you constantly tried to ignore, planting bitter feelings of sadness that you were usually very good at avoiding. But at that moment, for some reason, you couldn't stop your face from twitching at the strong, hurt tone of the man who looked at you as if he couldn't believe who you are and what you do. It seemed like Bucky was always in denial and today he realized that what everyone always told him was true.

That look, that dull gleam in his eye, that expression of understanding… All of that you were used to seeing, but coming from him it felt different. As if you hadn't really meant to cause those feelings, as if you wanted to turn back time to do things differently. The surprisingly incredulous and remorseful look was digging deep into your head, searing itself with hot iron to make sure to haunt you in the future.

At that moment you didn't care if Bucky realized how much his words affected you. Maybe you deserved to feel that way. Maybe he should have known that it affected you too much, that would surely do more than an apology.

“If only you had listened to me, we would have left sooner and without any trouble,” Bucky spoke again after what felt like hours of silence.

You couldn't take him back. It was true.

“Why did you…? Argh. Whatever. I'm going to report to Fury.”

His figure passed you like a blur. You barely felt his presence very superficially before all was silent again.

Your heart ached again. For some reason, it wouldn't stop hurting that it was still beating.

The day before.

“WHAT?” you exclaimed in disbelief and the director's tired look reappeared.

“It's already scheduled, Y/N, I can't undo it. So just go, try to cooperate together and come back in one piece,” Fury leaned back against the back of the chair, putting his feet up on the desk.

You looked at his shoes as if they were to blame for everything.

“It's funnier to think Bucky reacted the same way,” Tony spoke up, sitting in the chair next to yours, a mocking expression on his face.

“Shut up,” you smacked his arm before turning back to the director. “Sir, you know Barnes and I don't get along and knowing that, what makes you think we'll hit it off on a mission?”

Fury shrugged. “A hunch.”

“A hunch…?” you repeated in a low tone, twice as incredulous that the big SHIELD director had just said that.

“That's it, agent, you're dismissed.”

You left his office on your own, not because you had been dispatched. The walk to the housing complex took you longer than ever at that point.

You'd only had one mission with Bucky Barnes once a couple of years ago and it had been a disaster. Your group missions usually ended with a close call, but that time with Bucky it was like going to hell and back.

You two had never gotten along. Regardless of Fury's hundreds of attempts to get along, you had never managed to vibrate on the same frequency. It seemed more like you repelled each other every time you were together, and it was totally justified because Bucky was too bossy and wouldn't let you breathe for a single second. Every second of the mission had to be ruled by him because otherwise he was going to explode into a sea of rage and, God, no one wanted to piss Bucky off in that Complex. However, you were always the first to tell him that his tactics weren't working or that he was too slow and well, naturally, you ended up arguing.

You met Natasha and Steve halfway to the rooms and from the way they both looked at each other before the redhead approached you knew you must surely have a scrunched up face.

“Did something happen?” Natasha asked as soon as she reached your side and started walking at the same pace as you, slightly more hurried than usual.

“Fury assigned me a mission with Barnes,” you spat out the good news, impossibly frowning harder at the mention of that name.

“Oh,” Natasha nodded. “Well, you could try to work things out-”

“What things, Natasha?” you paused, turning to look at her as everything around you turned red. “There's nothing to fix here, because Barnes is a stubborn, obstinate, childish, bossy, stupid man who is incapable of speaking like a civilized adult and only knows how to shout orders everywhere as if he's the bossy one in the Complex. I can't stand him!”

“Wow.”

You heard his voice.

“I hope you know the feeling is reciprocated.”

You turned to see him, his body was leaning against the island at the entrance to the kitchen, in a strategic spot as if you could never realize he was there because your path was to the other side. Natasha watched between the two of you like a tennis match, fearful as if at any moment the screaming would start and she would have to run away.

You didn't know what to do. You were super angry, yes, and you felt your blood boiling inside your veins, too. And you'd said all that stuff to Bucky's face before, and God knows how many times before you'd argued just by seeing each other in the halls of the Complex. Despite that, you felt trapped. The anger was still there, yes, but his gaze pierced through you like a sword.

“Believe me, I don't want to go on this mission with a stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, ignorant, individualist like you either, who cares not for the safety of the team but for her own victory, no matter how she achieves it.”

With his eyes sharp, his heavy footsteps approached you, echoing in your head loudly like the second hand of a clock. He had stopped at a safe distance as he spoke and at one point Natasha had grabbed your arm when it seemed you had tried to approach him as well.

“You're a hypocrite,” you spat at him.

“Ha! Me?”

“You always play the saintly dove, but you know you're not much different from me.”

“I'm nothing like you,” Bucky wrinkled his face, as if the very thought caused him to shiver with disgust.

“You're an individualist, too, imposing your plans on others.”

“You never have a plan! What do you expect me to do, let you go and die?”

“I do have plans! But you don't like them because they are more effective than yours.”

“They're more effective at the cost of risking more of our lives.”

“That's what our job is all about!”

“Our job is about protecting! How are you going to accomplish a mission if you're dead?”

“Well, I've done pretty well so far, in case you haven't noticed.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you've gone airhead straight into danger and ended up nowhere near dead, I'd have as much money as Stark.”

“And if I had a nickel for every time your stupid, slow plans have caused you to lose sight of the target and made you come back empty-handed, I'd be twice as rich as Stark.”

“At least my kill rate is minus five.”

“And my hit rate is one hundred by the way.”

“Are you even listening to what you're saying?”

“That I always finish missions on the first try, unlike you?”

“That you're treating your life like it's something insignificant.”

“Ah, now you care about my life?”

Natasha tightened her hand around your forearm again preventing you from again getting too close to the man who was getting on your nerves. Before he could respond, you spoke again:

“Look, Barnes, to make it absolutely clear to you for the rest of your long life: I love my life and I love my job. I love my life because it allows me to have this job and I love my job because it allows me to have this life. If you have a problem with how I choose to do the job, that's just that, your problem. But don't think you're coming here to give me a psychology lesson to make me believe that I don't value my life just because now you've run out of arguments. It's because I value my life, Barnes, that I always come out of every mission unscathed. I don't put myself at risk because I'm oblivious. I always have everything figured out and that's why everything always works out for me.”

Bucky snorted, his body moving away from yours, but despite that expression on his face he didn't respond again. He gave you a sidelong glance before walking back into the kitchen.

Your shoulders felt a little lighter. For a moment you thought he was going to continue arguing.

Natasha next to you sighed, finally letting go of your forearm.

“Why did you hold me so tight?” you frowned at her, rubbing the part of your skin that was slightly red. “Did you really think I was going to fight a super soldier?”

Natasha shrugged under your gaze.

“We've known you to do crazy things.”

“I wouldn't have stood a chance of beating him even if he gave me the upper hand.”

Five hours earlier.

You hadn't seen Bucky for the rest of the day after that discussion, until the next day when you had to get on the Quinjet and didn't even glance at each other.

Steve was in charge of handling the airplane and, apparently, he was also in charge of briefing you on how you were going to proceed on the mission, because Bucky was too busy drilling holes with his gaze somewhere else on the Quinjet away from the two of you.

Neither spoke when you descended nor when you approached the base apparently in a state of abandonment.

Bucky's mission were flat and simple, but as usual he had no backup plan, because all his backup plans were the same: run away. Bucky had a chick's sense of survival, that's why when things went bad was the time when he would scream at you the loudest.

Just like it happened on that mission.

“This place is deadly quiet,” you spoke for the first time, barely earning a sidelong glance from the man next to you.

You had already finished thermo-sensor checking every floor of the building and it was indeed desolate. Still, you felt a strange uncomfortable chill run down your back.

“Well, that's what deserted means,” Bucky commented, his sarcasm sharp.

You rolled your eyes at him, even if he couldn't see you, and kept walking with your gun raised as you approached the checkpoint.

“I mean I can't even hear birds or crickets, doesn't that strike you as odd?”

“Well, we're on the fourth floor, wouldn't it make it stranger if you could hear them at this altitude?”

“Well, you can hear at this height. Tell me, do you hear anything down below?”

Bucky paused. They were a few steps away from reaching the room. His deadly stare caused you nothing but boredom and you would have ignored him completely except that he let out a sigh, dejected. You detailed him minutely as he seemed to focus his hearing on external sounds.

“There's nothing,” he spoke after a few seconds, his brow slightly furrowed.

“You see?”

“But that doesn't mean anything. We'd better finish this quickly.”

Ignoring the grimace on your face, Bucky moved to step into the room whose door was wide open. You stared offended at his back and felt the urge to smack his big head with the butt of your gun.

“Here it is,” you heard him exclaim from inside.

Sighing you made your way to where he stood. A large display of old computers anchored to the wall.

“You should do it yourself,” you looked at Bucky with a smirk. “I don't handle equipment this old.”

Bucky only snorted in response and moved with his gun to another side of the room, leaving you in complete silence to do your job.

You moved quietly and sat down in front of the machines. You plugged them into the power source you brought in your suitcase and in a few minutes they began to work.

The mission was simple. There was one of the old HYDRA bases that contained specific information that Fury needed to find. Up to that point, they had searched about seven abandoned bases without any success. So there you were with Bucky, at the eighth base they had identified, digging through old commands and in another language trying to find the information they needed.

Ever since they left the Complex that morning you were convinced you would find nothing. They had already raided several bases and there were still a few more to go. The probability that you would find that information at that time was…

Bingo.

“Got it,” you exclaimed to Bucky.

You heard his hurried footsteps and then felt the warmth of his body next to you.

“Is that it?”

“Just a folder.”

“And why does it load so slowly?”

“It's an old computer, Bucky, it works at its own pace.”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance. “Wish you understood me like you understand that thing.”

“Aish,” you pouted by way of mockery. “Jealous, Barnes?”

The aforementioned just snorted.

The load was running at forty percent and truth be told, yes, it was too slow. But you could do nothing but wait, there was no way to speed it up.

Bucky paced back and forth behind you and you just watched the green lines move as if that helped at all. But, well, what else could you do?

At one point, as the charge was about to reach eighty percent, you heard interference on your communicators.

“Argh,” you shook your head and raised your hand to move the device a little away until the sound died down. “Steve?”

There was no response.

You turned to look at Bucky, who had the same quizzical expression.

The interference returned and then you heard Steve's voice distorted.

“… of… moment!”

“What the fuck is he saying?”

Bucky remained silent, tapping the device on his ear as if that would fix it.

But you saw it before you heard Steve's voice again.

A clump of people through the window. A freshly loaded cannon.

“Barnes…”

And at that moment, Steve's voice filled them with clarity.

“It's an ambush! Get out of there now!”

The quickness of the impact didn't let you process what was happening. Less than a second after hearing Steve the ground shook beneath your feet. The cracks in the floor started small and then swallowed you apart.

You held onto a beam, barely lucid enough. You propelled yourself upward, swinging your forearms over the patch of ground that was still intact. You heard Bucky's grunts in the distance. He was surely all right.

You heard him call out to you too, but as soon as you could sit down on the ground, the first thing you did was to reach for the pendrive.

Your heart was pounding, so hard it might as well have flown out on its own. Your breathing accelerated, with adrenaline rushing through your body was the only thing you could feel. At that moment you felt capable of anything.

You stood up quickly to look out the window again. The people were gone and the cannon had been destroyed.

It was at that moment that you realized that Steve was still talking on the communicator.

“I'm fine,” you replied, after being able to decipher his words amidst the constant buzzing from the sound of the explosion and the dizziness you felt at the sight of the hole next to you.

“Okay, you're both fine,” the Captain spoke again.

“Y/N, you can get down from there and get to the floor below. I'll catch you.”

At the sound of Bucky's voice, you moved away from the window.

Bucky had landed on the floor below, and yes, from where you were you could jump up and you'd probably have nothing but a cramp.

“How's it going up there?”

“Well, the shields are holding up okay, but I've got poor vision. I think they're regrouping somewhere else.”

You looked around.

Most of the floor had swallowed up the computers, but the main one was still loading the document. You could see the green from where you were. It was at ninety-seven percent.

But it was dangerous to get too close. The pendrive was dangling from the main computer which was about to succumb to the cracked floor.

There was some concrete left in front of the computers that you could walk across, so, without a second thought, you mapped out a mental guidance plan and moved forward.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm getting the pendrive.”

“What? Are you insane? That side of the floor isn't going to support your weight!”

“Yes it will. I know how to do it.”

You started walking all over the remaining edge of the floor in front of what was left of the computers. Small pieces would break off as you passed causing Bucky to hiss.

“Y/N, you'd better stop and get down right now. There's still a risk of them firing again.”

“I'm gonna get it, Barnes.”

“Y/N! Get down, now!”

Ignoring his command, you held onto the remaining wall in front of you as you continued on your way, almost reaching where the pendrive was, about to fall into the abyss.

Ninety-eight percent.

“Y/N!”

“Fucking hell, Barnes, will you shut the fuck up? Your yelling is breaking my concentration.”

“You want me to just stay quiet while you walk to your certain death?”

“I'm not going to dieee- ahh-”

Your left foot, the one in front, wobbled as a piece of the floor came loose. You clung tightly to the wall as best you could, breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. Panicking at that moment wasn't going to do any good.

“God, I can't believe this,” you heard Bucky's voice, muttering to himself. “Now are you really going to get off?”

His voice sounded reprimanding, but agitated. In the midst of that mess, you wondered for a moment if he was really worried.

“I'm almost there.”

You heard him grunt in the distance.

You kept moving your feet in the direction of the main computer, this time more cautiously and more slowly. The floor all along that edge was too cracked, on the verge of falling. You were surprised it had lasted this long.

At that point, Bucky started talking to Steve, but you kept your full concentration on not falling. Maybe Bucky was right and you really didn't have any regard for your life, but…. No, no. You were very sure of what you were doing. You couldn't give up without trying everything. Maybe for Bucky it was too risky, but that was your life. And you knew you could do it.

Ninety-nine.

You had reached the critical point on the ground.

The voices of the two men were becoming too overwhelming, so you quickly took off your communicator and stuffed it in one of your tactical pants pockets.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Bucky exclaimed, a considerable distance away. He wasn't as far away as you thought.

“Your voices are distracting me!”

Good. You were close. Maybe from there you could reach it… if you stretched a little… a little more… a little- Whoop. Nope. You weren't that close. Another chunk of floor fell and with it everything around you shifted. The concrete was so unstable that it tilted further into the abyss after your not at all incredible maneuver.

You had to get even closer.

You had to use plan c.

But for that, the pendrive had to be one hundred percent charged and you weren't sure you could wait for that. Or well, you weren't sure the floor would hold. You had to be quick.

You heard Bucky behind you, but his words were carried away by the wind. You couldn't focus on him because that would be too distracting.

So, arriving at point x, you executed your plan as quickly as possible.

You ran. Even if the world was falling down, you ran. In the direction of the pendrive. The green number didn't change. You took a deep breath. You felt the sparks fly around you. The sound of the ground cracking was going to haunt you in several dreams.

You picked up the pendrive. You would have a few extra seconds as you leaned over and climbed over the computers to gain momentum.

The bing of the computer filled you with a rush of adrenaline.

One hundred percent.

You jumped. You held your breath for a second. Nerves built up in your throat. You felt like you were going to lose consciousness for a minute. Maybe you heard Bucky in the background, you weren't sure, but knowing him he was probably still scolding you.

In the midst of a deep exhalation…

Your feet hit the ground. You rolled. You moved quickly as you turned to see that the ground was still falling. You got up and ran.

You ran until you collided with a solid body. Bucky was shaking your shoulders.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exclaimed, his face angry.

You could hear Steve's voice through his communicator because of how close he was.

“Shit.”

He grabbed your arm and you ran again.

Somehow, Bucky managed to get you out of the building as they bombed it again. You had a gunfight the moment you touched the cold snow.

You moved alongside Bucky like a symphony, aiming and firing with your gun until you managed to get away.

When you noticed that you kept going and kept running…

“Where's Steve?”

“If you had your fucking communicator on…”

Bucky grabbed your hand again to keep running.

You quickly reached a shack that looked abandoned and the man next to you wasted no time in letting go of you and running in the direction of what appeared to be a garage. There was a motorcycle.

You reached into your pocket only to realize that the communicator had been destroyed.

And Bucky looked too angry to want to talk.

“Get on.”

He drove all the way into town, but he didn't stop there.

You were on the road for at least about two hours. You had no idea where you were.

Somewhere along that trip, Bucky stopped in front of another abandoned shack and from there he pulled out a car. He set the bike on fire.

You went back on the road, for at least another hour.

Until you reached a small town and Bucky finally stopped in front of a house that didn't look so neglected.

“They destroyed the Quinjet's shields at missile point. Steve had to leave. We'll stay here until I can get through to Fury and we know what to do.”

His voice gave no room for retorts.

Present.

Well, yes, you were a bit reckless during missions, but so what? You got what you needed thanks to your incredible action plans and always came out unscathed. If you didn't do that during missions, how far behind would they be now in their knowledge against the enemy? They would probably be sitting ducks. Bucky didn't see that.

You two didn't talk for much of the afternoon and evening. You had spent it in the living room, trying to avoid the mess he had made to get something to eat and rest. You had perhaps slept for about three hours when you woke up and saw him sitting in one of the dining room chairs. The room looked cleaner than before.

Bucky sighed when he realized you had woken up.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Earlier when we arrived. And for all the mess,” he averted his gaze when you leaned on your forearm to get a better look at him.

“Don't you think it was the least you could do?” quizzical, you sat back on the couch.

“Weren't you the one who said I don't know how to talk like a civilized adult?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Sometimes.”

“Well, now I want to. That's why I deeply apologize for reacting that way.”

You remained silent, not really knowing how to answer him. On the previous mission you'd had with Bucky, when the whole mess was over and you were quietly in the Quinjet taking it all in, Bucky had only said “you're fucking crazy” to you before exiting the aircraft. There was no scolding, at least not from him, no complaining, no yelling. Just that. And with that you stayed for a week because you never even saw him again.

Despite the number of times you had heard that, you couldn't see it that way. That was your job, that was what you did and you didn't dislike it. You had done it forever, it was basically your way of life and you had always done it excellently. You trained and practiced for situations like that, that's why you were part of SHIELD's risk management team for so long. You used to risk your life like that to save other people and it didn't bother you. Now you were still doing it, also to save people. There was no dark reason behind it. You were contributing to a common good and that was enough.

“I guess I haven't made things bearable for you either,” you admitted with a hint of remorse.

“No, never,” Bucky shook his head in agreement.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” the words slipped from your mouth. You wanted to say something else, but, well, that had to work.

Bucky let out a short laugh. His head jerked in sync, his shoulders loose as if he didn't have a care in the world. For a moment you felt like you were somewhere else; maybe in a living room, some alcoholic beverage in one of your hands as one of your favorite songs played softly in the background, and Bucky. Bucky sitting in front of you, just like that moment.

Wow. What the fuck was that?

“You apologize for my reaction, but not for what you did?” his sly grin was getting on your nerves. You preferred it when he wasn't trying to upset you at the point of smirks. You never thought that was a weapon he could use against you.

Feelings.

Ew.

No, I hate Bucky Barnes. This is unacceptable. Mind, get your shit together.

“Well, I tried to do that earlier and you didn't care. I don't know what you want from me, Barnes,” you turned your head away, nonchalantly playing with your hair to avoid seeing those light eyes again.

“You'd better leave it at that. I couldn't take that knack away from you if I tried for years,” the sigh that accompanied his words reminded you of something you'd thought of when you were in the building. His face still looked calm, but a little upset by the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Why do you care so much about that?” you asked him directly now that you had the chance.

You looked at him as he turned his head away, his eyes roaming over your face, confused.

“Are you asking me why I care about your life?”

Puzzled, you shrugged. His look almost made you think that was a weird thing to ask, but was it really? “Yes. Well…. You hate me.”

“What? I don't hate you,” Bucky shook his head, his face more contracted than before as if you'd said he had cat ears on his head. He looked almost offended.

And that was the really strange thing.

You mean, almost as long as you'd known Bucky your relationship had been based on fights and demeaning adjectives to each other. That he would say that made even less sense than you asking him why he cared so much about you. He had to be pulling your leg.

“What? But I hate you because you hate me,” you explained vaguely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. That was one way of putting it; that is to say, Bucky never gave any indication that he didn't hate you. Or well…

“I don't hate you,” Bucky shrugged, his nonchalant expression confusing you that much more. “You're just a little… insufferable sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's just a synonym for hating.”

“I don't hate you,” he repeated, this time turning to look you in the eye. For a moment you felt like your breath caught in your throat and you were going to choke. “I know we argue and say a lot of things to each other, but… hating is too strong a feeling.”

“Are you really serious?” you shook your head to get the extraneous thoughts out; that wasn't the time to make a discovery, to realize you had lived a lie.

“Yes. And just to make you more sure, I wouldn't mind hanging out with you outside the Complex,” Bucky blurted out, matter-of-factly.

Your head went blank.

“WHAT?”

Several seconds stunned.

Bucky barely cracked a smile at your dumbfounded expression. It sure looked like you'd actually seen cat ears grow on his head. The things he was now saying… they didn't make sense. “You dislike the idea that much?”

“Do you want to not say things so drastically different every moment? You're changing my perception of reality.”

Bucky kept his small smile and you had to swallow hard to ignore the warmth that settled in your chest. It wasn't welcome, not at that moment. The sound of that music in the living room in your head was getting louder, as if your own mind wanted to mock your surprise.

“Well, back to your question,” Bucky moved his hands nonchalantly over his lap and your eyes followed his movement unashamedly, “I don't see why I shouldn't care about your life. We are partners, after all.”

Partners? After all you had been through? Were you partners? Did Bucky believe that?

“Are we?” you didn't try to hide the incredulous tone that accompanied your words, because it already sounded like you'd just stepped through the door into a parallel dimension.

“Sure,” Bucky nodded to emphasize your words and the calm expression on his face became more familiar with each passing second. Could it be that that had always been the reality and you had been deprived of it? “We've known each other for five years.”

“I always thought you hated me…” you mumbled to yourself, looking lost because your head recalling every fight of the last few years, since you met him, every tongue out and every exalted word, but his incredible hearing clearly picked up what you said as if you had murmured it in his ear.

“Surely it was a mistake in communication.”

“Mistake?” you frowned at his reassurance. “You always called me stubborn and childish every chance you got.”

“I thought we were annoying each other. Although, of course,” his face became a little more serious, “there were times when I knew you hated me intensely. You said really hurtful things, what was I supossed to do? That's why I never bothered to talk to you like this. You did hate me.”

“Because I thought you…! Argh.”

Bucky smiled again.

“You're the insufferable one, Barnes.”

You hated the way your head snapped back to that image in the living room, so peaceful and calm, so serene and warm, the moment his barely noticeable smile hit you again. You had barely managed to get those words out of your mouth before you felt yourself running out of breath again.

Were you asthmatic?

And why was your head suddenly filled with platonic thoughts you'd never had before in your life?

What the fuck was happening to you?

“This is the longest civilized conversation we've ever had,” Bucky spoke again, his gaze wandering somewhere in the room.

Yes, that was true. Whenever you talked for this long it was always to argue and say hurtful things to each other. But you were too surprised by everything he had said, because just yesterday he told you that he didn't want to come on this mission with you either and in his eyes you were sure you saw something like what you felt. Something of hatred, when you saw your eyes through his.

Did you just… imagine it all?

Did you think he hated you because you hated him too?

Or maybe you wanted to convince yourself that he hated you. Maybe it was easier to deal with that than with the idea that you…

Oh no.

No, no, no. There's no fucking way that's it.

But then Bucky stood up and with his smug, know-it-all, hateful look, with that sly, evil grin, like he'd always known everything, like he was squirming around enjoying your confused stare, he held out his hand to you and said:

“Shall we fix something to eat?”

Oh, no, you were screwed.

--

a/n: thank u so much for reading!! <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #james bucky barnes #stxrvel talks #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier #the winter soldier

[yesimwriting]

oh my god yes i'm very much interested in a drabble about my favourite besties kissing as besties do!!!!!!!!

the one that i really can't stop thinking about is the "i trust you more than anyone else" stuff like it's me and you against the world i'm such a sucker for that!! especially since felix is surrounded by people who wanna be close to him all the time and as easy going and open as he seems with anyone, it's of course on an entirely different level with reader

ugh the intimacy of it all makes me melt i love them��😭

you get the vision!!

also had to start off a little angstier than usual bc the bestie kiss ™️ is only justifiable if both of them are upset enough to be more focused on being close than anything else, y'know

----

The taste lingers. The bitterness infects all it touches, poisoning you from the inside out as you down the drink that some guy pushed into your hand a few minutes ago.

A familiar warning briefly flashes to the front of your mind. Don't take drinks from strangers...especially not drinks that you didn't see them make. One of a hundred safety rules that you usually adhere to.

You've never really under the self destructive urge after drinking thing. Maybe it's just being tired. Maybe it's just this.

You wipe at your eyes with your palm, only remembering the products you had so carefully applied to your skin a few hours ago after the fact.

"Are you--" A familiar voice cuts through the music. You blink once, but it's not enough to force your eyes to adjust, so you try again. After screwing your eyes shut for a second, you can finally make out the person in front of you. Annabel. "You don't look like you're doing too good."

Your irritation has nothing to do with her, and yet seeing her standing there, effortlessly flawless with a slight edge that just fits here, you feel the knot in your stomach tighten. But that's not her fault, so as stabiliy and politely as possible, you answer, "I'm...fine."

She regards you for a moment, eyebrows pinching together in uncertainty. "Why don't we find Felix, yeah?"

Why does everyone always assume that Felix is the solution to all of your problems? "I'm okay," you try again, voice a little more certain, "really."

Annabel still doesn't seem too convinced. She turns her head, scanning the crowded room. It doesn't take long for her to find Felix. It never does.

He's sitting on a loveseat that's been pushed towards the edge of the room. A few people are standing around him, a girl is sitting on the chair's arm, her legs swung over his lap.

"And he seems..." You force your face to remain neutral as your eyes finally land on him. "Busy."

Annabel looks back at you, her lips pressing together. Her expression only adds to your unease. "He wouldn't mind. It's you."

You shake your head, the motion adding to your slight nausea. Usually, you wouldn't think twice about sticking by Felix's side. Especially in this kind of setting, but after the words the two of you exchanged earlier, everything feels off its axis.

You're not used to fighting with Felix. It's such a foreign concept that the strange tension that had you walking away from him earlier probably doesn't even constitute an actual argument. But it's enough to make you feel out of place.

Swallowing once, you force yourself to focus on Annabel. "I think I just need some air." Annabel's still regarding you with uncertainty. "I'll be back in a minute, and if I feel sick or anything, I'll go get Felix." She doesn't move until someone calls her name. "Go. Have fun. I'll see you."

Annabel nods once, giving you a polite smile before leaving.

The door is near where Felix is sitting, which means there's no leaving without walking past him. There's enough of a crowd around him that him not noticing is a likely option, so you feel safe crossing the room.

You push your way through the room, eyes trained on the ground to help your balance. It's also a good excuse to not look at Felix as you reach the door.

There are stragglers--a group of girls chatting and giggling in front of the door, some guys doing shots, a girl in the middle of a phone call that looks painful.

You walk around the side of the house until you find an empty section of the sidewalk. The party feels far away here, even though the only thing dividing you is a few cars, a mailbox, and a streetlight. You sit and let yourself pretend that the bit of distance you've managed to create means something.

You could actually leave. Sure, this is a slightly off campus house party, but it's only a few blocks away from the street that'll take you to your dorm. You did walk here, but that was when you were focused, sober, and you had Felix with you.

But that's--you brought cash. You think. Maybe you should call a cab. It's not the worst idea. You drop your attention to the ground, instinctually searching for your purse.

Ugh. Your purse. Felix. You gave it to Felix.

Okay, you're still an independent person. This is probably for the best. It's never a good idea to leave a party without at least telling the person you came with, and this way it won't be a big deal. You'll ask for your purse so that you can call a cab. He probably won't even care.

You just need a minute to get it together. Then you'll be able to go back in, tap Felix on his shoulder, and get your purse. He won't even have to get that girl off his lap.

It is such a double standard. Felix completely forgetting about you is perfectly fine, but you talk to one person that isn't more Felix's friend than yours at one of these things and that must mean you're trying to replace him as a best friend.

Maybe you've been deluding yourself, convincing yourself that your friendship means more than it actually does. The thought makes it hard to breathe right.

"It's cold out."

Your palms press into asphalt as you snap your head to find the source of the sound. Felix. A lump wedges itself in your throat. "I'm fine." He takes a step forward. "I just wanted some air."

You turn your head, forcing yourself to stare ahead. Soft footsteps, the crunching of asphalt echoes, somehow sharper than the music coming from the house. Felix sits.

He's farther than he usually is.

You lift your hands, taking your time brushing your fingers against your palms to get rid of the debris that indented itself into your skin. "You um--you have my purse, right?" You fold your hands against your lap. "I need my phone. I--I need to call a taxi."

"What?" His voice doesn't come out angry, but there's a flatness there that burrows deep into the pit of your stomach. It almost feels disappointed. "Why?"

You squeeze your hands together, "I want to go home." You still can't look at him. "I want to go back to my room." Your voice starts to crack on the last word. Nails instinctually dig into your knee.

Felix sighs, angling himself towards you, "You don't have to do that." His voice is soft, cautious. "If you want to leave, I'll take you."

"No," you shake your head once, attention still focused forward to keep him from noticing the fact that your eyes are now watering. All of this feels so dumb, so small. Why are you almost crying? "It's okay, you're having fun, I can get back by myself."

He lets out another breath, moving his arm so that his hand sits between both of you. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

A beat of silence that feels like an attempt at admitting that he's more than just drunk. You saw Tyler--or Trevor, or maybe Timothy--wandering the halls. Some guy whose name you can never remember because he only shows up at the end of nights, when you're too out of it to do much more than just be happy. He's known for carrying--and sharing--harder stuff.

Not that you'd know. There's nowhere that Felix won't take you, nothing that he keeps from you. That's part of the beauty of your friendship, the lack of judgement. But Felix isn't fond of you participating in everything all the time.

If you ever show interest in anything on a night that Felix isn't feeling too sure about, he'll offer to get you whatever you want later, when it's just the two of you. Maybe you'd mind his concern if you cared about getting high more.

You can feel Felix's stare, the weight of his full attention. "You don't actually think I'm going to let you go anywhere alone, after drinking, in the middle of the night."

There's a patience there that makes it hard to sit still. You turn your head, finally looking at him, "I'm fine. I can--" You cut yourself off with a slight sniffle.

You wipe at your face with the side of your palm. Felix's eyebrows are pinched together. You don't know what to make of the way he's watching you. Felix lifts his hand, fingers finding their way against your jaw before you can move. "You're upset."

Pressing your lips together, you try to force yourself to look as neutral as possible. "I'm fine." He doesn't move. "You should go back to your party, Felix."

"The party?" His expression briefly contorts in confusion. "I don't care about the party." Your vision is starting to blur. "There are other parties. You're crying." Felix shifts his hand up your face, his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek.

You try to take a stabilizing breath, "It's not a big deal." You will yourself to move, to rely on him less. "I don't think I'm going to be any fun tonight, you should go, and I--I'll talk you tomorrow."

He frowns. "You don't have to be any fun." Felix shouldn't have to coddle you. Embarrassment and guilt further knot your stomach. "If you want to sit here, we can sit here. If you want to go inside, we can go inside. If you want to go home, we'll go home."

"Earlier," you manage, focusing on keeping your voice as even as possible, "When we--" Tears pool in your eyes, something at the back of your throat constricts. "I didn't--I don't know--"

You're not making sense, forcing out fragments of thoughts that don't work together. Felix seems to understand anyway, his thumb grazing against your cheek. "We don't have to talk about that now." You nod slowly. "If you still want to go home, let me take you."

You attempt a full breath, "But what ab--"

He tilts his head in a way that makes it feel like he's telling you a secret, "If you ask about the party again, I'm calling you delusional."

You roll your eyes. It's a relatively lame threat, but it serves its purpose. The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards, your lips pressed together to hold in a partial laugh. "Okay."

Felix's hand slips from the side of your face and finds a new place against your shoulder. "Yeah? Let's go then."

He stands first and then extends an arm to help you. His stability makes it easier.

There is no laughter or pausing on sidewalks to try to hold onto each other. The two of you are quiet, but Felix does keep your fingers intertwined the entire way back to his dorm.

You don't think to question where he's taking you until you're in his room. "Felix." The walk had been good for you, the fresh air and time to gather your thoughts providing enough of a reprieve for you to get it together. "I want to go to sleep."

"Yeah," he mumbles, "I know, I'll get you your favorite shirt."

Your eyes focus on the ground. "I think I should sleep in my room tonight."

Felix sighs, turning away from the door. "You're trying to leave again."

The accusation only half makes sense, but there's a quietness to his voice that gets to you. All the nervous, alcohol fueled energy is coming back with a vengeance. "When have I ever left you?"

Felix scoffs, the sound bitter. "You left me tonight." If his voice was any less raspy, any less urging, you likely would have laughed. He's the one that got mad at you. "You just--you walked away from me. Like I didn't even matter to you."

The a thinly veiled sadness there that almost feels nervous. He can't meet your gaze. The pride encouraging you to stand still bleeds from you. Without its heat, its fire, there's not much keeping you stable.

You move forward, footsteps cautious. "Felix." You stretch a hand forward, fingers brushing against his forearm. He doesn't move. "Of course you matter to me. So much." Your fingers bend around his wrist. "You're my best friend."

He turns his arm. Your body tenses, preparing for his rejection. Felix's hand squeezes yours. There's a tension in his hold, but you embrace it all the same. "You walked away from me."

You take another step towards him, freehand finding his arm. "That's why." He sets a hand against you waist. The contact is firm, unforgiving. There's still hurt, but the only thing more unthinkable than holding on is letting go. "What you say means so much to me, because you're my best friend." His fingers press into your side. "And you were upset--and there were so many people--" Tears prick the corner of your eyes. "And I couldn't do that there."

"No." He squeezes your hand. "No, don't--don't cry, we're okay." As if to prove his point, Felix pulls you closer. The movement's too sudden for you to keep your balance on your own. You tighten your hold on Felix's arm. "Still my best girl, yeah?"

This is nowhere near the closest you've ever been to him. He has a hand on your hip, but that's far from the touchiest he's ever been. It shouldn't--he shouldn't be this distracting. It takes you a second too long to remember to nod.

He angles his head downwards, his cheek finding a place against your shoulder. Felix's breath is warm against your neck. "Wouldn't leave me."

You nod, moving your hand to rest against his back. Felix relaxes against you. It's not easy to stay stable with the alcohol still in your system and Felix's weight on you, but you manage.

"No." You mean it so much it almost hurts to get out. You'd never walk away from him. There's nothing like your bond with Felix. You could talk to him, be around him forever without feeling drained. "Of course not."

Felix turns his head, brushing his lips against your neck. "Stay over, then?" The question is soft, fragile. It'd be smart to create distance. If tonight's proven anything, it's that you're too attached to him. "Please?"

You smooth your knuckles against his spine. "Okay." He presses a kiss against your shoulder. "Yeah. I'll stay."

He hugs you even tighter. "No more tears, alright?"

You squeeze him back. "Alright."

For awhile, the two of you stay like that. There's nothing left to say, and that still manages to be comfortable. Silence is never uncomfortable with Felix.

He eventually shifts to place a kiss against the side of your neck. "We should get ready for bed."

You hum once in agreement. Neither of you move. Things are simple when you factor out the rest of the world. Things are easy when it's just you and Felix.

An overwhelming wave of fondness brings you back. As gently as possible, you start the process of untangling limbs. Felix pouts at you, expression drowsier than before.

Your fingers carefully brush his hair out of his face. "I need to change."

Felix fully straightens. His hand finds the back of your head. He pulls you towards him, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "Okay."

He lets go of you before walking towards his dresser. Felix opens the top drawer and finds your usual sleep shirt. You take it before entering his bathroom.

Going out outfits are cute, but there's something about the moment you get home that immediately forces every ounce of discomfort to hit all at once. You shed the restrictive layers before pulling Felix's T-shirt over your head.

You swear there's some kind of rich guy secret to keeping clothes this soft. A combination of fabric, fancy detergent, and some third thing that's reserved for those in the know.

You turn on the sink, ready to wash what's left of the night off of your face. Felix has never gotten rid of or moved anything you've left in here. What's left of your buzz has you more emotional than usual, making the evidence of your life in his space heavier than it should be.

The feeling is good and bad all at once. Your attachment to Felix is the kind of thing that can only come from fully understanding someone. But there's an inherent danger in knowing someone like that, carrying about them like that. Especially Felix, who has everyone so he doesn't need anyone.

You splash some more water onto your face, attempting to shake off any lingering angst. You don't want to dissect your friendship until it eventually falls apart into nothingness.

When you finally step back into his room, Felix is sitting on his bed, back pressed against the wall. He's managed to change into pajama pants, but seems to be struggling with everything else. His shirt's half unbuttoned, and his fingers are actively working at undoing the rest of them. Felix's movements are slow and clumsy as he tugs on the fabric.

Wow. Maybe you were right to think he was high. "Hey." He looks up at you, hands still attempting to pull apart his shirt. There's something endearing about the clumsiness. He drops his head back down to refocus."Do you--uh--do you need help?"

He angles his head to one side, a smile playing at his lips. "Are you asking to undress me?"

Heat burns through your chest, leaving you hollow. You approach his dresser, leaving your neatly folded outfit on the wooden surface. "Figure out your own shirt."

"No," his sigh is light, almost a laugh, "'M kidding." Your glare only seems to add to his easygoing mood. He smiles, dropping a hand to pat the space next to him. "Come here."

You give in with a sigh, crossing the room and sitting at the foot of his bed. He reaches forward, briefly squeezing your shoulder before returning to work on his shirt. It's hard to watch him stumble through undoing a single button, just to have to start the process all over again.

You pull your legs onto the bed, turning to fully face him. Your knee is pressed against his thigh.

"Lovie," he hums, as if your presence is some kind of revelation.

"Felix." He grins, hands releasing his shirt in favor of trying to grasp your arm. "Wait--" His fingers wrap around your wrist. "I'm--trying--" He pulls your hand towards him, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You laugh. "I'm trying to help you."

He tugs on your arm. His pull isn't harsh, but the unexpectedness of it paired with your buzz makes it enough to throw off your balance. Your freehand presses against the mattress in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Felix laughs, tugging on you again.

Fighting your own fit of giggles, you instinctually push yourself onto your knees in an attempt to regain some control. Felix gives you a second to find your footing. You gently pull his hand off of your forearm and set it on his lap. He frowns.

You extend your arms, placing your hands on his shoulders. Part of the reason for it is to help keep you stable, the rest of it is to keep him focused. He looks up at you, eyes pools of hesitant affection. "Stay still."

He lets you reach for his shirt. "Y'don't have to, I'm okay."

Shrugging, you continue to work at unclasping his buttons. "It's okay, I like helping you."

You unbutton the few buttons that are left. "Better?" Felix nods. "I'll get you a pajama shirt."

Before you can get far, Felix grabs your hand. "We're..." He focuses on bending and straightening your fingers. "Good, right?"

There's something soft about the question, almost shy. "Yeah." He turns over your palm, tracing the lines etched into your skin. "Of course we're good." You adjust, crossing your legs beneath you to sit down.

"Honestly, I was thinking about it, and part of the reason I was upset is because..." This is harder to admit than you thought it'd be. "You seemed really okay without me, and that--I don't know. It's dumb, because I really do want you to be happy, but it made me feel a little replaceable, I guess."

"What?"

You sigh, dropping your attention to your intertwined hands. "I know, I said it was dumb." You pause, eyes darting up to look at him. His expression isn't judgmental or like he needs space. You can't fully read his expression, but nothing about the way he's looking at you feels unkind. "I only mentioned it to be honest, I don't like the idea of keeping se--"

He pulls on your arm again, this time his hold a little firmer. You're closer now. Felix's other hand finds your hip, anchoring you in place. You're too confused to do anything but blink at him.

Felix lets go of your arm, fingers finding their way beneath your chin. He angles your head so that all of your attention is on him. Your lips part, a half thought out question is on the tip of your tongue when Felix leans towards you. His lips meet yours.

You're still, shock and something a lot more electric rendering you in capable of anything else. This isn't the first time Felix has pressed his lips against yours. He's affectionate, especially when drinking is involved. He'll brush his lips against yours after taking a shot together, or just because at the end of a long night. It's not an everyday thing, but it's happened from time to time.

This--this isn't that. He's lingering, lips parting so that his teeth can graze against your bottom lip. Felix pulls away just enough to look you in the eye. His thumb brushes across your cheek.

"You're my best friend." Felix's words are so urging, so pleading you nod before you can think. "Best mate. You're the--the only one that gets me. Really gets me." His hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you back to him.

Any sense of hesitance vanishes the second time he kisses you. He's all consuming, lips dragging against yours with a desperate patience that's dizzying. It's disorientating, the desire to be that much closer to someone when there's no way to get there.

Felix's hand finds your back. He pushes you towards him. There's no good way to oblige. You try anyway, shifting your weight back onto your knees. Felix pulls you forward by your waist. You're too focused on him to realize what's happening until you're on his lap.

He takes his time letting you go, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. "I trust you more than anyone." Felix leans back in, placing a quick kiss against your lips. "You're not replaceable." He squeezes your shoulder. "You know that, right?"

Still breathless, you nod. He's watching you with so much patience, so much care it's almost hard to bare.

His thumb smooths circles against your shoulder. "Let's go to bed, yeah?"

You lift his hand off your thigh to press a kiss against the back of his palm. "Yeah, lets go to bed."

He squeezes your shoulder once before letting you go. You move off of his lap carefully.

Felix sits up enough to push his shirt off of his shoulders. Your eyes instinctually fall to his sheets. "Do you want me to get you a shirt?"

"Why? Distracted?"

You roll your eyes in an attempt to the fact that you are struggling to look at him. "Shut up."

He grins as he pulls back his sheets. "M'okay." You take the opportunity to slip beneath the layers of fabric. Felix waits until you're settled to crawl beneath the sheets. "It's warm enough, even with you stealing my blankets."

"I do not," the sentence is more of a mock gasp than anything else. Felix shifts onto his side before collapsing his weight on you. "Felix."

"What?" He rests his cheek against your chest. "This is the only way to keep you from taking my sheets."

You sigh, feigning annoyance as your fingers find his hair. "Rude. I'm a great bed sharer."

Felix lets out a partial laugh against the side of your neck. His hand finds your hip. "You are pretty great."

Your hand trails down towards his back, nails grazing against the bare skin. "You are, too."

Silence stretches between the two of you for so long you assume that he's already fallen asleep. Felix has a talent for drifting off in the blink of an eye.

"Lovie?" He whispers the term so lowly you almost convince yourself the sound is a figment of your imagination.

"Yeah?"

You can feel the shift in his breathing. "It's you and me--just you and me, when it comes down to it." His thumb brushes up and down your side. "You know that."

He relaxes as your fingers trail down the start of his spine. "Yeah. Of course I know that." A part of you feels naive for believing his words so easily. He's too adored to just be your Felix at the end of the day, and yet-- "Just you and me."

Felix leaves an open mouthed kiss against collarbone. It's the kind of warm that leaves goosebumps breaking out everywhere the contact can't be felt. "Good."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

#saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton #bestfriendfelix #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader

[moondirti]

animalic (6)

← chapter five // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 4k summary: misery makes good company warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, angst, i mean it guys, miguel o'hara is really not nice in this one, fighting, death/extinction, morally questionable characters, weapons of mass destruction, implied drug withdrawal, reader is given a backstory notes: apologies for what's to come. it's okay if you hate me after

“Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.” 

There’s a warm hand cupping the back of your head, callused fingers spread to steady the junction between it and your shoulder. It’s the first thing you notice when you wake; that, and the breath fanning across your face.

You think it odd. Signs of life pound beneath you like the febrile concoction of a dream, burning hot in emphasis that you’d survived. A heavy pulse behind your brow, the headache pinching at every sense until they all dim to conductive static. Your tongue, pasty on the roof of your mouth. The hind of your arm itches, the urge running bone-deep, humming from flesh gracelessly torn apart by a gutter. When you shift to examine it, a fire roars up your neck, the smouldering pain robbing you of any effort. 

(The only other time you’d been this uncomfortable, you were bitten by a spider the third month of your internship with Alchemax. The puncture site didn’t burn so much as the delirium that followed.)

“What did I just say?” 

And, there’s that voice. You find it difficult to discern its more unique attributes, words muffled from behind the wavering pane of your lucidity – yet, even still, it stands as the most tangible thing present. Deep, resonant. Smoked with a ruggedness you can feel in your teeth. It doesn’t occur to you why it seems so unfamiliar; perhaps it’s the fact that you catch it through its source, your ear pressed to a muscled chest. Or, that’s it’s whispering. 

You’ve never heard him whisper. Not to you. 

The need to retaliate swells once you realise who holds you. It’s nothing productive, not the string of questions you should be asking – what’s happening, where are we; but it’s the only natural instinct that overcomes you. When you attempt to make good on it, though, the clutter of jokes, gripes, and snubs tangle in your throat, emerging as little more than a groan. 

And the act wears you more than it probably should, exhausted tremors wracking your frame. A tender ache ripples from a point on your ribcage – separate from the area you’d fractured at the quarry. The pressure here is more centralised, a focused bruise you locate the source of with a wriggle of your elbow, when a rock comes loose and clatters to settle underneath you. It joins a mound of similar rubble, a pseudo-cushion of chalky cement broken off the larger slabs surrounding you.

You assume they do, at least – based on what you can tell of the terrain behind your back. In reality, you have no means to confirm your circumstances. The space around you swims in ink-blot darkness, the type that is almost material, where sheer absence of light could be considered an element of its own. You squeeze your eyes shut, then widen them, and find that there’s no difference between the two. 

So – dark, dusty and… cramped. You’re positioned across Miguel’s lap, his legs running under and perpendicular to yours. Neither of you can stretch them to their full extent, however, forced to cross and bend in unwieldy ways, tangling further in each other's limbs. Your clothes are worn out enough to allow you to detect when any surface of his body – tense abdomen and thick thighs – twitches, thrumming with a molasses-slow tension that starts to diffuse through you. 

Not a scenario of his own choosing, then. 

But the turn of events that might’ve converged to this are lost on you, white noise fluffing the space they’d evacuated. Last you recall, you were staring down a cop car, the lingering comfort of a child’s trust filling you with a remarkable sort of purpose, that which you cannot place. Had you acted against that convict? Or left it up to the man cradling you? 

As if on cue, he speaks. 

“You’re trapped under a collapsed building.”

He says you like he’s not a confounding variable in this equation. You know it’s meant to single your blame in this, stranding it somewhere where you can brood without cross-examining him or why he’s here too. It nests on a well of guilt you keep suppressed for good reason, irking you in a particularly special way. 

“Figured that out for myself, thanks.” Despite the trouble you put into getting the retort out undisturbed, it ends up sounding more unconvincing than not. Miguel waits for the coughing fit you have afterwards to subside before pitching in his acknowledgment. 

“Did you, now?” 

Little shit isn’t even trying to hide his sarcasm. 

You ignore him, continuing with your scepticism. “I’m just wondering why we’re still here.” 

Because it’s a genuine conjecture. While you’re not a part of the educated camp in spider-hero abilities – being so clueless to the extent of your own – you’re far too familiar with that infamous super strength. You’d sensed the difference for yourself; your increasing aptness in carrying hefty weights, the fluidity with which you cruise through life, physically unperturbed. And you’ve been on the receiving end of the spectrum too, your skin littered with scars that point to the sheer power of your companion. 

A few tonnes of demolished concrete should be a walk in the park for him.

He clicks his tongue like it’s obvious. “I pulled under a steel arc in time for the debris not to crush us. If I disturb this pocket, or try to rearrange a tunnel, then I run the risk again.” 

The logic makes sense, as much as you hate to admit it. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from picking at the contrivances in his language. It was you when discussing what went wrong, and now it’s I when it comes to the out. You realise it’s probably unintentional. Somehow, that makes it worse. He must truly believe you’re nothing beyond a malevolent fuck-up; some villain willing to sacrifice herself for the greater demise.

(The latter might have its validity. It’s the former you hold issue with.) 

Likewise, you also ascertain an easy fix to all this – on account of your spectral properties. And, if you were a better woman, it would’ve been feasible. Phase out, crawl through until you breach the open, get help.

It’s long since been established that you’re not that person, though – and you’ve come to accept your own incompetence. You don’t mean to die here; you’re not sure if you want him too either, for all your ire. But your immateriality is a fickle thing, recurring at the most inopportune times, in the smallest increments – a potential problem for the doubtlessly long crawl it’d take to escape. You don’t want to imagine what would happen should you solidify within the walls. 

Resignation seems easier than tempting it. 

Miguel must recognise the option as well. As it stands for him, he can’t afford to let you go, nor is he desperate enough to trust you yet despite it. You don’t bring it up then, maintaining the upper-hand by his misunderstanding of your capacity. 

(Maybe you are evil.

Or, just tired.)

“That’s okay. I think it would be funny if we passed like this.” You pitch, nudging your cheek to urge the smile clearly lacking in your tone. There’s no humour behind your choice of phrase, and it’s a jarring step back from where he’d been, expounding himself. You suppose it might be a clumsy distraction from the exact gravity of your predicament, yet even that rolls over in your brain, not quite satisfactory to dissolve as truth. “It’ll make a nice story for the people who dig us up.” 

His chest puffs, filling with an irritated inhale. In the same movement, his fingers constrict onto your cranial base; it has the adverse effect of bracing your neck for the sudden shift, minimising the soreness triggered by any activity. You decide to take it as the warning it’s meant to be instead. 

“Eres patética.” He murmurs, sinking back down. You wince when his clutch weakens, pain flaring. “And whiplashed.” 

You purse your lips, critical. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Sure.” 

“My arm–” 

“Will be fine.” As if to punctuate, he reaches for the wound. A clink sounds when he taps it. “Used the nanotech off my suit as a bandage.” 

You should have caught that it doesn’t sting like it would’ve if exposed. Similarly, his hands are gloveless. Bare – while the rest of him isn’t. You’d felt the dry surface of his palm, the fixed warmth it emanated, but for some oversight, you hadn’t considered that he was touching you. Skin-to-skin, the simple size of his fists dwarfing you in every measure. 

A stone lodges in your throat. 

“Did– How’d you know?” You pry, referencing the perpetual tenebrosity you’re suspended in. 

What he replies with shouldn't shock you, not as much as it does. But the air’s shifted to a nuanced degree, a hesitation substituting loud anger. It's the awareness that he's just as tuned in to you as you are him, sympathetic to try and redirect you off the brink of death. Or, more likely, it’s the poignant impression of his fangs, wedged in your flesh, his tongue lapping up the very same path. 

(And the wanton moan it’d triggered.)

“I could smell the blood.” 

Oh. 

Truthfully, you’ve no clue whether you respond aloud or keep your contemplation close to your psyche. He admits it almost… awkwardly, like it’s a condition he’s not so fond of himself. Yet it’s one that reverberates in the strained silence, plucking at taut strings that stretch with every passing second. You play it on repeat, stewing over the way in which he spoke; the diction, the stressors, the slight roll of his accent. 

I could smell it. I could smell you. The blood. 

Your life on the run hardly ever allows for moments like these. Over the past year, stress has anchored itself by the dock of your being, streamlining a flow of cortisol to every major organ. Continuity hinges on an alertness to the forces propelling you, and while the occasional wisecrack can alleviate some effects it has on your health, you don’t have the luxury of sinking into whatever fear bolsters it all. 

It’s with him, though – hanging from a crane, or cornered in a pen of his own design. Only ever with him are you slapped with the resounding, festering distress of your own weakness. It consumes you, gnawing on your gut with its brutal teeth, tearing away the indifference you’d built around your systems. How dissimilar the two of you are; a girl unwilling to fight for even herself, and a man capable of wrapping a slash in the dark. 

(He could smell it. And he can probably see, too. 

By just how much does he outmatch you?)

“You’re welcome.” Miguel growls. You scold yourself for your elongated reticence, the pace of your heart overtaking the anxious torrent of thoughts that pump through you. It’s good practice to thank the man who’d saved your life four times over. Be that as it may, does it really count if he’s the reason it was necessary to begin with? He’d dropped you off that crane, he’d swung you a hundred feet high. Him, him, him. 

You curl your tongue, desperate to quell the barrage of resentment that escalates at his prodding. Despite it pulling you from your rapid dissociation, your fight-or-flight peaks, forcing you to face a confrontation you don’t need. There’s nowhere to run – presently, you’re moored into place, his physicality and unique provocation blocking the possibility all together. 

You scoff to placate the spiralling desire to argue. 

It doesn’t work. 

“For what?” You hiss.

All too quickly, his legs spread, creating a trough for you to slide down into. When your ass hits the unforgiving floor, you involuntarily cringe at the contrast it poses to his leg. A calculated effect, you’re sure – so too is the newfound freedom of his grip releasing your head, the crossing of his forearms pushing you away from the post his pecs provided. 

It’s what you wanted, to distance yourself from his overbearing stature. And he manipulates it to his own favour; you’re made to bear your burden, the agony of your injured state tripling as if to exclaim: ‘see?’

Touché.

Nevertheless, it palliates your memory. The chill of the earth under you spikes your nerves, clearing the brume overcasting your day previous. You’d driven a car into that symbiote based on a groundless hypothesis; bold, any scientist would tell you. Yet, as far as your perception extends, it worked. 

“Selfish.” He announces, far from discrete. It’s so unlike him that it smites the ego beginning to coagulate at your remembered success.

Your eyes snap to where you assume his face is, squinting like your glare makes any difference. “Excuse me?” 

Undeterred by the threat inherent in your tone – that which is all talk – he persists. “Who do you think you are exactly, Wraith?” 

The interrogation holds a dangerous quality; again, it feels out of place, a spirit tugging at the strings of his hollow self. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Why? What would you prefer? Anomaly, banshee? You drag death behind you like it’s a curse, only you’ve opted into it. I told you it wasn’t our place to interfere, and you had to push it–” 

He can be jaded, or subtle. Oftentimes, he’s dismissive and passively rude. 

But Miguel O’Hara is never heedlessly hostile. Not like this. 

“That wasn’t my fault, asshole. I fucking glitched!” 

“¡Órale, estás bien pendeja! Nothing ever is, of course! Has it never occurred to you to take a good look in the mirror?” 

The irregularity scares you. Your voice breaks with it.

“O’Hara–” 

“Because I’ll tell you what I see; a girl who can’t face what she’s done.”

“You don’t know me.” You shake your head, tamping the stiffness in your shoulder. It does nothing to exercise the sharp unease that flays you alive. 

“A self-serving criminal who refuses to listen.” 

“I d– I tried.” Hiccupping, the edge worsens.

“You’d have gone back home–” 

“There’s nothing left for me there!” 

“Like there is anywhere else? You’ve devastated them!” 

“Stop it–” 

“Wrecked entire worlds! I’ve been the only one holding it all together,” He yells, pushing his knees closer to one another. You’re slowly crushed in the process, thighs drawing up to press against your torso. “You’re no victim. You’re no hero.” 

“Stop it!” 

“Tell me I’m wrong!” 

Feverish tears slice down your cheeks, spouting to escape the pressure that balloons within you. Your lungs tighten alongside it, heart aching. It’s progressed past the point of prevention – no longer do you retain control of how this turns out. All you can do is drift; a feather, seized in this tempest, stirred by a disembodied man.

When you don’t respond, preferring to preserve your energy for the sobs that rip from you, he inches closer. You sense it when he repeats himself, his hot breath lining the shell of your ear.

“Well,” His claws sharpen, grazing the small of your back. “Am I?” 

His lisp is more pronounced like this, fangs extended to affect the natural position of his mouth. It warps the undertone, like a pool does light, and sends it back more viscous than ever. He’s uninhibited – an addict missing his fix.

It’s almost impossible to choke the admission out against the hatred churning your stomach. When you unhinge your jaw, it’s a credible wager that you retch all over yourself instead.

“No.” You manage to warble, a mixture of snot and wet misery streaking down your chin. Your wrists stay plastered, allowing the mess to mask your countenance, tucking between your legs in a childlike attempt at comfort. Cruelty crackles – self-propagated now – assaulting your faux-confidence until it plummets to a fraction of what it was. 

Cursed. A wraith – haunting the multiverse with her unfinished business. 

There’s nothing left to declare as his impressions are confirmed. You both mark it, this changed, spoken into existence by your divulgence. By some miracle, if you were to slip his capture, it’d be no more of a victory than the gore crusting your fingernails. Proof for his belittlement; that you truly are so inconsiderate as to further endanger the lives of millions. 

(Would you be able to live with yourself?)

You relapse, agonising over the past week. Not a victim – you’d taken advantage of him with a kiss for an unsure opportunity. Not a hero – you’d punched a robber and gotten a civilian killed in the process. You’d run over a murderer and buried several under an early grave. 

(Can you live with yourself?)

And home–

Trapped, you boil in a pond of your transgressions. It’d been a long time coming – your fault, in fact. You should’ve noticed the water was gradually heating. 

There’d been a dam of careful construction at this bank, stacked tirelessly over the several nights you’d been given to think on what you’ve done. To prevent your clear culpability from catching up to you, to blind others to it too. He’s right, but not about all things. You’ve memorised your reflection at this point. Put it in a line up, and you’ll point your place in hell with facile certainty. 

So, there’s no need to admit anything else. Regardless, his sabotage compels you to. Here, loitering purgatory with the one person who’d never understand; what harm could confession do? His opinion of you skims rock bottom, and you’ve no hope at seeing a priest before you rot. 

Forgive me, for I have sinned.

“I’m not innocent.” You start. “Never have been.”

Alpha Centauri, that was the goal. 

Located only four light years away, it’s the closest star system to Earth; with suns Rigil Kentaurus, Toliman and Proxima Centauri forming a trinary network. All main sequence stars – like humanity’s very own Sol – orbited by suspected habitable exoplanets. With the average chemical rocket, it’d take upwards of six thousand years to get there. 

There lay alternatives, of course. Nuclear fission, with an energy yield of almost zero from its original mass. Fusion, ten times as efficient – still, not nearly enough. Ion accelerators, sunlight capture. Interstellar arks were of no interest; no, you’d wanted to achieve extrasolar travel within your lifetime. Warp drives and hyperspace – all theoretical. 

As an undergrad, you’d settled on matter-antimatter collision. 

The latter, antimatter, exists as an inverted twin to ordinary subatomic particles, with flipped states on every front. Antiprotons – negative protons with oppositely directed magnetism, and positrons – positively charged electrons. When the two meet their counterparts, their entire mass is converted into energy. And, when such annihilation is modelled within engines, a ship can accelerate to ninety percent the speed of light. 

Therein subsisted your only chance to touch the stars. 

Of course, like all hypotheticals, it came with its own array of issues. No natural reservoir of the substance is known, and producing at least one tonne would take more power than mankind has used in all its history. Moreover, it’s near nonviable to store. Any container that has ever touched regular matter would only cause preemptive decimation.

You wrote papers and studied computer-generated prototypes. You argued with professors, and attended pro-conferences. Months worth of minimum wage were blown on trips to Argentina,  where the neighbouring system can be spotted through a telescope, winking above the horizon. When it all started to appear fruitless, you caught wind of Alchemex’s exploits within the field.

It was a young company, hobbling on its feet after a rocky merger with Oscorp. But they were daring, and rich, endeavouring into categories that most deemed nonprofit. You’d applied for an internship, waited months to hear back. By some cosmic karma, it turned out to be good news when you eventually did.

They were already working on manufacturing the antimatter. It was your suggestion that encouraged them to use magnets to store it within a vacuum. 

It looked auspicious. It had been. 

Then, you were bit. 

The spider was from another division – radiation, you suppose. By some breach on account of a more negligent temp, the critter had found its way into your improvised cubicle. And so the story goes; it’d champed down on the webbing between your thumb and forefinger, before promptly suffocating under the cup you’d snared it in. The area stung for a while, venom having directly found your veins. Yet, by the time you’d returned to your dorm, your immunity seemed to have diluted its effects. 

Until, you’d gotten sick. The hysteria was slow to consolidate, starting as a sore throat. You’d used your one day off then, ignorant to just how bad it could get; because the fever only deepened, lesions on the lining of your oesophagus oozing ichor into bile. Your doctor waived the possibility of tuberculosis, mistrusting the notes your instructors sent with you, complaining of in-class fainting bouts. 

You couldn’t miss work, though. Never. Not when you were so close. 

So you stuffed sheets of pills in your pockets and braved each shift with trembling joints. You’d no friends to notice your suffering, and for such an ambitious company, overtime was expected. Sweating through multiple layers of clothing, you kept an eye on your poster of the galaxy and lagged on those long nights. At the rate you were going, you genuinely dreaded a life cut short before you could realise your objective. 

If nothing else, it urged you to work harder. 

Your first milestone came at the one kilogram mark. A party was hosted to celebrate, billionaires invited to gather around the vessel which held such a revolutionary feat. Despite your interloper status, you’d been summoned too, to play big girl scientist and present Alchemex’s future course of action. Your affliction was improving, and you were the inspiration behind the project’s advance. It felt like the biggest night of your career. 

(‘Magnets! What a genius solution.’ From a nobel prize runner up.

‘That ambition will get you far, mark my words.’ The CEO’s cousin.)

In truth, it was the last. 

Because the antimatter had taken centre stage, security slackening with its continued stability. So long as the magnetism wasn’t tampered with, so long as the vacuumed vessel remained airtight, things looked to be fine for your speech. You’d cycled through every known variable, staring down the container, a champagne flute tucked in your sweaty palms. 

Your skin prickled.

The glass smashed to the floor. In your embarrassment, you’d brushed it off as clumsiness prompted by the perspiration – notwithstanding your recount, having seen the drink fall through your mass. Did it matter, though? You couldn’t put it past your illness to cause such hallucinations. It was impossible, a trick of sight.

The festivities progressed, yet the tingle of your nerves didn’t subside. Anxiety – you chalked it up to common apprehension. So, when your boss announced your name for all to hear, and the agitation flared, it wasn’t alarming. You could think of nothing else anyway, honed in to the address you’d practised all morning. 

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Your gut flipped. Your vision blackened. 

The steps lost depth; you stumbled up them with all the grace of a hunted fawn. 

Today–

Your skin prickled once more, and you collapsed. Through the antimatter’s vessel, through the floor. 

There’s nothing to recall after that. Not for a long while. 

“I don’t become intangible.” Your brow bone rests on the curve of your knee, body curled in a foetal position. “My particles merely… find the best way through something.” 

Miguel has remained eerily quiet throughout your chronicle. You try not to let it dissuade you. 

“So–” 

“Some came in contact with the antimatter.”

“Yeah.” You murmur, moved by an unnamed emotion. “It detonated, naturally, with a force roughly equivalent to a nuclear bomb. Wiped out everyone in the city upon discharge, then everyone in the state with its impact. Or– maybe, I don’t know. I was discarnate for weeks – the explosion had no effect on my immaterial self, and the radiation couldn’t hurt me when that spider damn well sought and failed at it already.” 

You hug yourself tighter. 

“I only witnessed the winter that followed. The blast was large-scale enough to trigger firestorms and a global climate cooling – similar to the one they scare you with when talking about nuclear warfare. Crop failure, famine. Millions died and my home devolved into cataclysm. It was mass extinction,” You school yourself, waving the snivel crawling up your nose. “Because of me.” 

An end by starvation or infection, confined to this tomb, seems a perfectly fitting penance. 

“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

chapter seven →

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[justblades]

⌕ LUSTFUL REQUIEM, 18+

⟢ yandere! blade x afab! reader wc : 1.7k

⟢ cw : fxck buddy! blade, dubcon, cervix kissing, degradation, toxic themes, filming, choking, somnophilia

❝ you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's. ❞

blade is not one to typically fall for eye candies as if it was a part of his everyday routines, no one piques his attention nor does the male has his eyes set on a person. it was not until long once he gets a taste of flavors of lust: commixing together, making a concoction he would never forget, that one day, he decided to yearn for more.

every beginnings are sweet nothings that eventually become bitterly endings - one could draw that conclusion as scenes continue to unfold, blade's grasp on your wrists tightening as he bucks his hips upwards, thrusting into your slit with little to no difficulties.

adorned by your melting features are the weak sighs you let out everytime he slips his cock into you, sweat and drool racing down your dewed skin. "louder." his voice was flat and stern, an intonation that pierces through your wary self. you part your lips wider so more natural moans come out just as the male orders you to, a smirk of satisfaction following suit once his wish is finally fulfilled.

"were you moaning this loud for that asshole earlier?" another question rises from blade's dry throat, dehumanizing queries coming out one by one the longer the session prolonged. you shook your head vigorously and shut your eyes, but blade bucks his hips with more force now, his cock's tip eventually meeting with your cervix. "don't give me that nodding and shaking your head, i only take words for an answer."

his brows tightly knit, frustration seethes out of his gritted teeth. "answer!"

uncertainty fills your heart to the brim as you slowly take a trip down the memory lane, recollecting the events that unraveled earlier that lead to this now-present, once future.

crimson hues seep out of the man's wounds, several of his teeth had fallen out already - his body failed to keep himself stable and the navy haired across him doesn't falter. he only continues. "i can do this all night." blade says with utmost confidence lacing his words, the bandages of his hand come undone, revealing such deep wounds that seemed to have never recover.

ah. you understand a part of blade's destructive behavior now. the reason he's like this was because you slept with another man behind him— "fucking slut. how could you do that to me?" he lets go of your wrists for a short moment, only for them to land back on the silhouette of your waist, cupping the margins to make your body shudder the deeper he pushes in- "come on. rock your hips like how you did as you fucked that loser."

it was only a connection solely established to cope with ephemeral temptations. shortlived feelings yet the hardest to resist is what describes lust best, especially for two beings who feed on nothing but these urges. it was a mutual bond, a shared understanding to not be cuffed by the confinements of this relationship, but blade crossed that fine line like it was a a puny boundary for him.

you should've known from the beginning. you should've been able to discern from the way his glassy eyes scrutinize your appearance everytime he realizes you just got back from the hands of another man. you should've been able to know from the way the words roll out of his tongue when he speaks out of frustration, no rational thoughts behind those lashed out actions.

amidst of all of that - it feels good to be filled to the brim by your fuck buddy's dick. regardless of how he beat the guy you were with into a pulp with no hopes of recovering, here you are, basking in the pleasures intercourse with blade had to offer. it felt gratifying, but it's also heavily contradicting.

the same hands he use to inflict wounds on people who got close to you are the same hands now gradually becoming tender in his touches as he pounds into your velvet walls - blade picks up this little detail, a sneering smile replaces his scowl in an instant. "are you feeling good now?" he leans to your face, the tall bridge of his nose few inches away from yours.

your eyes burn in crystalline reflections, perfectly reflecting blade's image as he presses his lips onto yours, tongues next in action, twisting and twirling altogether— fighting for dominance. "h. . hmm." you hum as a response, much to blade's delight. he quickly breaks it off however, a hoarse chuckle slips out next.

"i've become so whipped for you," blade muses, catching you off guard. he bats his long lashes as he trails your facial features up and down. "i can't bear the thought of anyone else fucking you like this." his dominant hand at present cups your cheek, the thumb finger drawing viscules on the dampened skin. blood rushes into your cheeks as you mewl at how his grip once more tenses, "at last, i can call you mine now." his smile felt rather eerie that you could only return a mere "huh?"

he shifts his gaze elsewhere, a coy smile replaces the eerie one in a blink. "i can't believe my fantasies are finally coming to real life." a crease between your brows forms but the male has your body flipped in 20 machs speed, your back now lays flat on the matress while his cock is nestled in between your lower lips, he rocks his hips forward to make friction, another string of mewl escaping past your mouth.

"but . . but didn't we agree there's no strings attached in this?" the atmosphere grows suffocating, blade's looming presence tripled, leaving no room for you to breathe. a click of tongue then chimes into your ears, "those agreements hold no meaning any longer. i've fallen for you . . and you have too. right?" the airway from your throat proceeds to become scuffed as his two hands wrap around the part, "b-blade i can't b—!"

he reinserts his cock back into your entrance and your cunt gladly accepts his intrusion, clamping around his shape as he continually molds your insides. "say you're mine. say only i have the privilege of relishing you like this."

'blade has gone insane', is what you thought upon hearing those bizarre words of choice. you're starting to fear for your life underneath the contrasting touches of your sexual partner, you had no choice but to fall prey to his temptations. his navy dipped scarlet strands tumble on his shoulders in every thrusts he does, he sports a look you've never seen before: a predatory gaze as he watches your lust ridden body, "i-i'm yours. . i'm all y-yours!" you yelp.

you could only hope he gives you a slack, even just a minute would be nice to indulge without him bombarding you with insults and offensive questions. "finally." he rejoices with another arrogant smile, solferino irises turning inwards at the halfhearted sentence that rang to his ears like sweet tones.

"ride me again." for the nth time, he commands you once more. you could feel all the fatigue gnawing at your bones, unable to register how much energy the mental state can drain oneself. blade sees you struggle and he helps you get into position with the help of his fists on your feet, "no, turn the other way around."

your back faces him while your hands are propped on his sculpted, bandaged thighs. this position out of the dozen ones you've already tried with blade strikes you as the most embarrassing one. your legs continue to tremble as you try to keep yourself up, but only now a late realization dawns in your mind as you get a clear sight of what's placed in front of the cabinet across the bed: a cellphone camera accurately leveled to catch both your bodies in one frame.

"hah, you just saw that now?" he pants as he reinserts his dick back into your entrance, your pussy spasms from being ravaged by his cock. "it'll be for our eyes only. i can never share such intimate moment with others, they're simply undeserving."

you wished that reassurance could've ceased your worries, but it didn't.

"this video will be our proof of love and my proof of property of you. this day marks my ownership of you." he murmurs, his deep voice meshes with the squelching sounds emitted from his cock kissing your pussy, and the jagged breathy mewls. "i'm so delighted all of my hardwork paid off, mmh. . ." low moans continue to bubble from his throat, his fingers sinking deep to your body.

"i don't want to share you anymore."

.

.

.

"those days are long over."

.

.

.

"hmph, are you listening?"

blade ascends from his position only to see your passed out state - he cracks a hoarse chuckle afterwards, seeing your frail figure right in the solace of his arms.

"this is fine. i can still worship your body regardless of your consciousness." he murmurs to himself, readjusting your position laid back again in the soft cushions. he coils his hands around his dick, tightening his grip to merit himself waves of pleasure. "ah, haah, i feel so good." blade's guttural moans bounce off the room's four walls, the male then swiftly rubs his tip on your entrance, and with little force, it slips back in. "i'm happy. i . . i know you are too."

all blade is a filth of sorrow, regrets and sadness. growing up, he never understood the charm of owning something. he'd always watch by the windowsill, a blank expression carved on his face, seeing children around his age gleefully claim what's theirs. perhaps . . his upbringing was molded that way for today. for today, he finally owns something now. something that fills the cup of his heart to the point that it's overflowing - something that could satisfy his perpetual yearning.

it is no doubt he'll never let go of you now— at present, you're nothing but a bird inside of a rotten cage. you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's.

that you're merely a timeless fodder for his everlasting hunger: a hunger to own and a hunger to love. at long last, he finally has one.

"i really love you."

A/N : the upbringing part is just my own and obviously not canon, it's more to expound on how he became a yandere for reader ^^ my masterlist !

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #blade x reader smut #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #hsr blade

[angelltheninth]

There is More in You

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, struggles with self-worth, kissing/making out, words of affirmation, grinding, suggestive towards the end

Word count: 1.1k

Flufftober Day 30: Self-Worth / Self-Love

A/N: Have to have one last bit of angst with this flufftober and who better to have it with then Miguel. Also... should I make a spicy version of this?

For the past few months you've seen Miguel go from normal sleep, to few hours of sleep to you not even seeing him sleep at all. He claims he does sleep, but it's always a few hours he gets in his office chair, which isn't the most comfortable even for him with his powers. Worst then that his injuries have been getting more severe, from little scratches to bruises to his hands trembling when he'd put them in ice to stop the bleeding. It was self-destructive, dangerous, reckless, you knew it and so did all of his friends. But he doesn't listen to them.

"He'll listen to you, he always does." Lyla droned on as she hovered around you. "I tried talking to him and he shut me off, can you believe that guy? Me! His best ever assistant!" You've never seen a hologram so offended before.

"You don't think I tried? He tells me not to worry, that he's got this, that he's fine." Frustration kept building inside you for all those times when be brushed your concerns off with a smile and kiss. "Where is he anyway?" You've only seen him briefly when you ate together and even then he didn't say much to you, not like he used to.

"Where do you think?" Lyla pointed in the direction of his home office, where Miguel spent a lot of his time lately.

With a heavy sigh you thanked her, "I'll go and talk to him. Thanks Lyla."

"Any time. Good luck sweetheart." At least she still called you that. You missed hearing it from Miguel's mouth.

Opening the door you didn't find him at his desk, but on the floor doing push-ups, his hands wrapped up, still healing, same with his ribs, "Oh hey. Time to eat yet? I'll be out soon, I just got to-"

"No Miguel, it's still noon. Do you even know how long you've been in here?" His quick glance at the clock told you he had no idea, "Since dinner. You didn't even come out for breakfast. You… for gods sake Miguel, you spend more time in here then you do anywhere else." You wrapped your arms around yourself and looked at him, "Then you do with me." Your voice came out small, hurt, insecure.

He jumped up, ran his hand through his hair and looked at the mission reports on the desk, "Ah, I know I've been busy lately. But you… it's important that this… I really need to make sure everything is perfect."

"Perfect for who? Because I can tell you that everyone is worried about you. You don't sleep, you don't eat, you're throwing yourself into dangerous situations all the time and then you expect me not to worry. In case you for got, I'm your wife, so I don't get to stop worrying about you." He briefly looked at the wedding ring and photos on his desk, then back at you.

"You don't get it. I have to-" He paused, lips pressed together in frustration.

"Then help me understand. You hardly even talk to me anymore. I know your work is important and I don't have crazy superpowers like you and your friends, but I'm always here for you." The look in your eyes softened when you stepped closer to him and pressed your hands gently against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat.

Miguel shook his head, frowning, "I know, and it's because of that… I need to do better. If I can't keep you safe, if I can't keep my team safe, if I send them on the wrong track, if I can't protect them…. if I can't do that then… what is all this for?" He gestured around the room, the inventions, the pictures, at himself, the bruises he has, "What am I for if I can't make sure you're safe?"

Rarely did you see him on the verge of tears. Frustration yes, stress, but not this distraught. "You work hard." You kissed the right side of his jaw, "You take care of your friends." The other side, a bit longer of a kiss, "You make sure to give them time with their loved ones." One kiss on his shoulder, "You're there if they wanna talk." Then the other shoulder, "You make sure to leave me messages when you leave." A very long kiss on his neck, "You can be such a romantic." You needed to raise up on your toes to place a kiss under his ear, "There is so much more to you then being a leader." Another kiss on his chin.

Miguel's eyes fluttered, big hands grasping at your hips, pulling you close. He all but melted against your affections. "I love you. I'm so sorry I haven't been showing it like I should have. You're right, and I can do better. I promise to do better."

"Haven't you been listening? You have to relax more, lean on other people, why not let Peter do a few things? Or that detective guy? Or… I don't know the one with the cool cowboy hat? You don't have to do anything alone. You can rely on me too." He half huffed, half chuckled before he kisses your lips, "And you know what else you're really good at?" You leaned in close, "Something that you've been neglecting lately…" His eyes dropped to your lips, no, even lower, "You're a damn good kisser, Mr. O'Hara."

"I am? I'm afraid I don't remember that? Could you please remind me, Mrs. O'Hara?" The grins disappeared off both your lips when they came together, pushing, pressing against each other like it's been years since they touched. Miguel's hands went up your body, against your smaller shoulders, holding you close to him while you pressed yourself further up, hands around his neck.

Changing the angle you sought to deepen the kiss, licking past his lips, against his fangs. Miguel groaned into your mouth, a sound that you haven't heard in this context for a while. You found yourself walking backwards, hitting the door, trapped against him. His lips left yours, but not your body, seeking the skin of your neck to latch onto as he hoisted you up, your legs hooking around his hips.

It's been so long since you felt him like this you couldn't stop yourself from moaning, seeking friction, rolling your hips against him, kissing every inch of him that could. How long has it been since you've had this? According to the ache between your legs, way too long. At least this time he was ready to do something about it.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara imagine #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel fluff #marvel fluff #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x you #x reader #flufftober

[ms-demeanor]

Going off that post about nutrition and science, I'd love to hear what you think of the 5:2 diet/The Fast 800 and its creator, Dr. Michael Mosley. For context: in order to get an NHS-funded breast reduction (it's a gender thing, but also just a general quality-of-life thing), I need to be a certain BMI, so I've been referred to a weight management clinic. The lady I've been seeing initially just put me on a low-carb diet (130g or less of carbs per day, with an aside from her about how bullshit Keto and BMI limits for treatment are), but now she's said that, if I wanted to speed up the weight loss, I should include the 5:2 diet: 5 days in a week where I eat "normally", and 2 fast days in which I restrict myself to 800kcals. I did a little looking into it myself, and found that 5:2 - which I HAD heard about before - is now being sold as part of "The Fast 800", with Dr. Mosley being the creator of it. I was shocked by that, because I was already a fan of Dr. Mosley's work (he has a podcast called "Just One Thing" that I really liked, and thought contained reasonable-sounding advice), and yet having a diet plan that he's clearly making money off of does immediately make me feel suspicious. I've borrowed his "The Fast 800" book from the library, both to find out more about the diet I've been put on and to see if it's at all backed by evidence, and he does cite a bunch of scientific studies which seem to back up his ideas, but I don't know how valid they are, and I don't just want to accept them at face-value (especially since he's a "we got fat completely wrong in the 80s, therefore we should eat a Mediterranean diet!" types). Obviously I'll go with what my weight management lady suggests, since she's obviously more qualified to talk about it than I am, but I am curious to know what you think, and whether I'm right to be distrustful of all of this.

I am, generally speaking, against any diet for rapid weight loss. They're not sustainable so people gain the weight back (often with more weight getting added on).

There have also recently been findings that suggest that BMI cutoffs for top surgery are detrimental to patients as patients in higher BMI categories are more likely to have minor complications like UTIs or to be readmitted, but are not likely to have major complications or be at risk of significant harm from having top surgery. I don't know if anybody will listen if you bring up that study, and I know that GCS is fraught in many places for many reasons.

I'm also just.

I'm so mad. I'm so fucking mad! I'm so mad about this!

One of my best friends is a guy who was pressured into a pattern of disordered eating and unhealthy exercise in order to qualify for top surgery; since then he has not been able to eat in a healthy way and has struggled with alternating between exercising to the point of harm and other destructive behaviors that make him unhappy and unsafe. And he didn't need that. He didn't need any of that! He needed a very safe surgery that had perhaps a slightly higher risk of minor complications at his size and instead he got top surgery and an eating disorder! I hate it! I'm so fucking mad about it!

Also as near as I can tell Michael Mosley qualified as a psychiatrist in the 90s, spent very little time working as a psychiatrist, and then became a media personality. From what is visible on his website and every biography I've found for him he apparently doesn't have any background in nutrition beyond whatever is standard for someone in medical school (which is NOT MUCH).

Hey I just looked at his website and this is straight-up fucked up.

Anybody recommending an 800 calorie a day diet for 2-12 weeks in a context that is not heavily medically supervised can fucking choke. That is *ridiculously* dangerous and the website says that this can improve insulin resistance but there are a shitload of studies about people on crash diets like this *developing* insulin resistance (oh hey like my friend who became prediabetic after his rapid significant weight loss).

Also in regard to the studies he cites on the website, the "two years later patients are still going strong in their diabetes improvements" it's really important to put shit like that in context

at 5 years 13% of the original intervention group were in remission from their type two diabetes; the average weight loss experienced by the intervention group as a whole was 6.1kg compared to 4.6kg in the control group. That's 1.5kg lower for the people who went through a twelve week medically supervised very low calorie diet compared. That's an average difference of 3.3 pounds between "starvation diet" and "no diet" for the Americans in the audience.

Yours is the second comment I've seen that has been leery of the Mediterranean diet, btw, and the Mediterranean diet is fine. It's very achievable and not super gimmicky and is based on very reasonable reassessments of fat, not the hardcore "you are fine to eat 100g of fat a day" kind of attitude that you get from the keto crew. There isn't really one Mediterranean diet and it certainly isn't low carb (which the bits from Mosely's website seem to indicate it is).

So, no, honestly I don't think much of Mosely and I'm very sorry you're in this situation, that sucks and I hate that they're refusing you treatment until you undergo an exceptionally difficult and potentially harmful weight loss excursion.

I know you're probably stuck with that and it's bullshit and I think it fucking sucks and unfortunately the medical advice you're likely to get is "eat in a significantly disordered manner at least until it is time for surgery" and it blows. That just fucking sucks.

If you're looking for rapid weight loss that you don't plan to sustain (and you shouldn't plan to sustain it, it won't stay off) you may want to look into body building forums for how they discuss cuts. It's still disordered eating and it's still not healthy, but at least they're effective and can tell you what supplements will keep you from becoming malnourished while you prepare for surgery. This is a terrible idea. I don't actually want to give this advice to anyone but bodybuilders are the exact kind of people who know how far and how fast they can push weight loss while having an awareness that it isn't really good for them and it won't stay off.

I cannot overstate enough how much I hate the thought that people are being encouraged to rapidly starve themselves in order to prepare to recover from surgery. I am so sorry and I'm so mad and

#tw weight loss #tw diet talk #tw disordered eating #tw calorie restriction

[ebbaskz]

are you bored yet? | h.hj x reader (a,f)

masterlist

pairing : hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

content : established relationship, insecure!y/n, cutest bf ever hyunjin, lots of self-doubt, angsty with a little fluff at the end

word count : 1.7 k

“but i can’t help from asking ‘are you bored yet?’ ”

The cold pattering of the shower onto your skin has not encouraged the effect you had been hoping for.

You had hoped that the ice-cold water would bring you back to Earth for just long enough that you could do some chores that needed to be done, but in reality, you were now stood under the running water, zoning out into an infinitesimal space of self-destruction in your mind.

The last few weeks have consisted of a constant battering and bruising of your self-worth. But all of it was caused by your own insecure thoughts.

Hyunjin has been nothing but the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, carrying you in his heart so gently as if you are the most precious thing that has ever existed. He has cared for you these past few months of dating in ways nobody else has ever even attempted to care for you.

It’s honestly a picture-perfect relationship in everyone's eyes,

except for yours.

While dating someone who might as well be considered an angel who has fallen from the sky, the floods of insecure thoughts multiplied as the months passed.

He could do better.

They are all looking at you two differently. They think you don’t deserve him.

Why would he pick someone like you?

These thoughts have led to your current predicament in the freezing shower, a useless attempt to bring back any sanity to your discouraged self. You see how this attempt is ultimately futile, and you turn off the water stream, quickly drying off and stepping out of the shower just to plop down on the floor of your bathroom, leaning against the wall.

You haven’t seen nor really talked to Hyunjin in 12 days, an insanely long time considering how often you two would call or have coffee dates together in the early mornings of the day.

He has sent a few questioning messages about where you have been or how you are, to which you would respond with such a false sense of happiness, saying that you were ‘okay, just busy’ in the least amount of words possible.

That was bullshit, and even you knew that, but the thought of facing him now after spending hours lying in bed thinking about how horrible of a partner you are for Hyunjin sounds excruciating.

Avoidance isn’t a forever option, but right now, it’s the option that works best for you.

Until the ringing of your phone begins to sound. The unique chiming is one that you had specifically set for Hyunjin so you would know to always answer that call.

You think you would rather do anything than answer that call right now.

The ringing continues to go on. You are not even making a single movement towards your phone, just letting it ring and ring up on the bathroom countertop.

You close your eyes and rest your head back up against the wall, silently praying for the ringing to finally end so you can go back into your delusional fantasy land where you will never need to talk to Hyunjin.

The phone eventually stops ringing, but it is replaced by an erratic knocking on the front door of your apartment.

You slowly stand up, still wrapped in your towel, and walk towards the front door, carelessly letting the water fall off your body to form a trail following you to the door.

You stand in front of the door, not moving to open it, as you already know who’s behind it.

If you were wrong, then you would have no clue who it-

“Y/n? Are you home?”

Your guess was right. It’s Hyunjin.

You knew that this little game of hide and seek wouldn’t last long considering the type of guy that he is, caring about you so deeply that he would take the subway at 11 pm to make sure you were okay.

Yet, you still don’t open the door. You don’t know what you would say to him.

He still deserves better. Ignoring him is for his own benefit.

“Baby, I know you are there. Please just open the door. I want to see you…”

Shit. You thought you would be stronger than this but the next thing you know you are opening the door at the sound of his pleas.

The sight of him kills you. His face is flushed a deep red and his hair is tousled due to the extremes of the late autumn weather. A quick look to his hands shows a small bouquet of flowers and a small bag from a local bakery, likely containing your favorite pasty that they make.

He quickly throws himself into you, almost dropping what he’d been holding. The hug he envelopes you in makes you feel so incredibly guilty for ignoring him.

“Why are you here?” You ask while moving a little away from the hug to see his face clearly.

“I missed you so much. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lifts his free hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, “I just haven’t seen you in so long so I figured a surprise visit with some of your favorites would help relieve you from some of the stress of your busy schedule.”

Honestly, you wish you would just get swallowed up by the floor right now. Hearing him care so much after you have been lying to him for almost two weeks was a wild punch in the gut for you, the guilt almost unbearable.

And because of this, you move out of Hyunjin’s hold as tears start to stream down your face.

His face morphs into one of confusion and concern as he figured you would be happy to see him rather than sad.

“Hyunjin, i really think you should go home. It’s late,” you say, barely able to say this without your voice entirely failing on you.

“What? Are you okay? I’m not going home,” He steps further into your apartment closing the door behind him and setting his gifts on the floor before approaching you, waiting for you to seek comfort in him as you normally do.

But this time, you don’t move toward him. Rather, you take another step back as you avoid eye contact with him, not being able to deal with the hurt in his eyes. “I’m just not feeling well right now, Hyunjin. Thank you for coming to check up on me, but you should leave.”

“Stop calling me Hyunjin,” he says while walking further toward you so he can lift up your face so you will meet his eyes, “You never call me Hyunjin. Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something, baby?”

God, you wish he wasn’t the absolute sweetest soul in the world. Of course, it wasn’t because of him. He could never do anything wrong to you.

“No, it’s not you,” you quickly spill out, not wanting him to delve any deeper down that hole, “but it’s definitely because of me.”

He gives a confused quirk of his eyebrows and a sort of sad look in his eyes, “What do you mean? You haven’t done anything.”

“That’s exactly it, Jinnie. I haven’t done anything. I just don’t understand why you are here to see me when I’m just me. How are you not bored of me yet?” This comes out straggled through your sobs, and you are practically unable to get out the entire thing.

A quick look into his eyes immediately calls out every one of your idiotic insecurities to be horribly wrong as his care for you is reflected back to you.

“What are you even saying, baby?” He starts to tear up at your admission of conscience, feeling horrible himself for not treating you better (as if he wasn’t already treating you like a goddess beforehand). “I will never get bored of you. You are my everything, Y/n. My happiness. My comfort. My love.”

“But Jinnie-“ You try to speak out to stop him from continuing.

“No. There are no ‘buts’ here. I am here for a reason, baby, because I love you so much that I was worried sick that work had been stressing you out too much with how busy you’ve been. I hated thinking about you being miserable, so I came to see you. I missed you, and I wanted to talk to you. I love you, Y/n. Does that really seem like I’m ever going to be bored of you?” Hyunjin proclaims this with his full chest, reaching and holding onto your hands so tightly just to get his point across.

You don’t think you have ever been loved as well as Hyunjin loves you. He truly, unconditionally loves you with everything that he is able to give you.

You shatter the glass pane of insecurities, pushing past those insignificant thoughts to realize that you are more than lucky to have this great of a man here to love you. You run into his arms, holding him in the tightest hug you could give. “I’m so sorry, Jinnie. I love you, too, so so so so much.”

Hyunjin breathes out a deep, relieved sigh as he reciprocates the hug. He knows you have struggled in your past with feeling insecure, but he never thought you would ever feel that way when being with him.

He gives you time to get what you need from this hug until your grip on him loosens a little. He takes the initiative this time and pulls out of the hug, transferring his admiration for you from a hug into a deep kiss that takes you by surprise.

It’s a long kiss, one that you both need. It’s a shared sign of your love for each other as you both sigh into this kiss, revelling in the affection and warmth of the other.

After breaking the kiss when needing to breathe, you and Hyunjin look at each other. This is when you truly realize how enamoured you are with him, which you can see in his eyes is exactly how he’s looking at you, with only pure love.

“Thank you, Hyunjin. You are my prince.”

He laughs airily at this but responds, “Anything for you, my princess.”

You know that these insecurities will eventually come back, but now you know that your prince will come in to swoop you up and take you away from that evil into a land of happiness and love.

a/n : i’m sorry but hyunjin is just so boyfriend-coded that this needed to happen. this song is so good that i just had to use it as inspo. as always, requests are open and lmk how i did! - eb

#Spotify #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz fanfic #straykids fanfic #hyunjin angst #skz angst #hyunjin fluff

[wysteria-bloom]

honkai star rail x f!reader - random prompts

-

characters : caelus, welt, sampo, gepard, dan heng

warnings : none! :) sfw

a/n : im obsessed with this game and its characters!! Huohuo and sampo have my whole heart ❤️❤️ requests are 100% open for hsr, so feel free to suggest whatever ideas you have and i will write them! Be mindful that I am currently moving onto the second story chapter so i wont know stuff about jing yuan or blade!! I'm definitely doing one with the girl characters after this one-

Prompt : ̗̀➛Caelus touching [name]'s face and telling her that her face is really soft.

When talking with Caelus, you typically notice the far-off look he gets in his eyes. It’s as though his mind is in a distant land and yet his physical form is present here, with you.

It was an endearing trait of his, but also irritating. Especially when you’re trying to explain something extremely important to him.

He was definitely an odd one…

I mean, the first time you had met him he was head-first in a trash can searching for… something.

But… his strange quirks are what drew you to him. The times where he seemed emotionless were actually the times where he was the most gentle… and the times where he is the most aggressive he comes across as seemingly unhinged.

You were definitely down bad for this strange raccoon guy whom had a literal nuke within him.

Yeah, if your parents were still around they definitely wouldn’t be proud of your choices.

Sighing at the distant look in his eyes, you clicked your fingers in front of his face, frowning when he didn’t even blink,” Oi- Caelus!” You called out, frown deepening further when he didn’t respond,” Yahoo~? Astral Express to Caelus??”

He didn’t budge.

Biting your lip in frustration you went to pinch his cheeks but you were found frozen in shock when Caelus had, in fact, beaten you to it. His fingers were rough from how much he’s been swinging that destructive bat around but they had a comforting warmth surrounding them, and when mixed with the blush on your cheeks you felt as though your face could be considered a heat hazard at this point.

He pinched at your cheeks with a concentrated expression, fingers rubbing your skin gently like he was testing the feeling of it, deciding whether he liked it or not.

It was weird.

He was weird.

But fuck, was it adorable to you.

A hum slipped through his lips and he stopped pinching your cheeks, seemingly deciding on something as he just sort of cupped your face gently in his hands instead.

You blinked up at him in embarrassment and utter confusion,”… You gonna explain what’s going on in that strange head of yours orr…?”

A small smile curled onto his lips as his amber eyes swirled with affection and warmth,” Your skin is very soft… I like it.” He complimented bluntly, his thumbs caressing your cheeks to further emphasise his point.

You were silent for a long moment before furrowing your brows,” I-I… thank you??”

“No problem.”

Prompt : ̗̀➛Welt using [Name]'s lap as a pillow.

It had been a long day seemingly, and Welt felt as though he just wanted to collapse into a black hole.

Maybe even one of his own.

March was a lovely girl but her social personality was tiring… and she clashes too much with Dan Heng. It was like babysitting rowdy siblings.

When he had made it into the Astral Express with an exhausted cloud hanging over him, you noticed it almost immediately. You could pick it out from a crowd of people.

When he saw you his tired gaze seem to soften a little, an ounce of tenderness within them,”… We are never having kids.”

You let out a laugh as he made his way over to you, his head hanging ever so slightly,” Guessing the youngsters were a little too much for you?” You cooed out gently, watching his stiff movements with pity,” oh, dear… surely they weren’t that bad?”

“No, no… they were that bad.” He corrected as he sat down next to her huffing slightly,” I feel drained.”

“Hmm… thats the joy of children.” You teased lightly, gazing softly into his honey-coloured eyes as you pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose for him,” Do you want to sleep in my room for a while?”

“…” He watched her, studying your expression and feeling his admiration and love for you slowly consuming him.

Perhaps his exhaustive state was affecting his ability to think logically.

Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to beleive -

But when he found himself moving to lay his head in your lap, he felt as though nothing else in the world mattered to him except for how you make him feel.

You blinked in surprise for a moment at his actions, your hands frozen in the air before you slowly began to card your fingers through his hair. Smiling down at him in amusement you raised a brow,” Is my lap comfortable, love?”

“Well… I’m not uncomfortable.” He answered ambiguously, closing his weary eyes.

I chuckled lightly at that response, continuing to scratch at his scalp gently with my comforting fingers. He hummed in approval,” That’s nice…”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm…”

I sighed a little,” You can’t fall asleep on my lap, Welt.”

“ I disagree… I think this is a perfectly optimal place for me to rest.”

“My legs will die.”

“… a small price to pay.”

Sighing once more, a weak smile curled onto your lips as you took his glasses off for him, setting them to the side,” Alright, alright… Sweet dreams, love.”

There was a small curve to his lips at these words as he began to drift off.

Prompt : ̗̀➛Sampo teaching [Name] how to kiss

“Oh~? Well if it isn’t one of my dearest friends! [name], what brings you to the underground, huh?” Sampo cooed out with his usual easy-going smile on his lips, the sight of you filling his heart with genuine joy.

You blink up at him blankly before humming,” I came to speak with you, actually.” You answered honestly, arms crossing over his chest.

His placed a hand where his heart would be, a fake-shocked look on his face,” Moi?? Why, what a wonderful surprise!” He leaned down a little so he was looking eye-to-eye with you,” My heart swoons at the fact you think about me, doll! How endearing of you~”

You click your tongue, eyes narrowing up at him,” Don’t get too cocky, moron. I came down to make a purchase, not to see you personally.”

He ignored the disappointment he felt as he deflated slightly,” Ehhh? A purchase?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow,” I’m afraid I don;t have many valuable relics in stock at the moment—“

“I want to buy… a-advice.”

“Ehhhhh??” He was even more confused,” I understand I’m a veteran in this business and everything, but you don’t need to buy advice from me, doll. I can just give it to ya.”

You frowned a little at his response and just decided to rip the bandage off, eyebrows furrowing in determination,” Sampo… I want advice on how to kiss somebody.” You stated bluntly and full of purpose.

His eyebrows raised at that answer…’ Who is she prepping to kiss, I wonder?… lucky guy/girl.’ His heart felt like it was breaking.

“Huh? Why do you need to learn a skill like that?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively,” You planning on fooling around with someone, [name]? How scandalous—“

“No.” You interrupted instantly, bitting your lip to keep yourself from spilling information.

“What makes you think I would be good at kissing?”

“…. Do I really have to answe that?…”

“Yes, please.”

“No… you’d have to pay me if you want to hear that kind of praise from me.”

“Hmmm… I dunno…”

Her eyebrows furrowed,”… I will pay you handsomely if you teach me.”

He bursts into laughter as he pet her head affectionately before stopping himself,” There’s no need to pay me, doll, really!” Then he gave her a cocky smirk,” A chance to kiss you is payment enough~!”

You waved your hand dismissively,” Yeah, yeah, whatever you want… now teach me.” You seemed fairly eager.

Sampo is utterly amused at this, he shakes his head and gives an amused sigh. “Oh, this should be fun.” He says, his smirk turns into a smile. “Okay, come here. Let me show you.” He says and he pulls you close.

He puts his hand behind your head and he kisses you gently. Not too soft, and not too aggressive. You lean into the kiss almost immediately, shutting your eyes as you basked in the feeling of his lips against yours.

Sampo pulls away after a few moments and he’s blushing hard, his eyes locked on yours. “See? How’s that for a lesson?” He asks, his breath a little heavy but he smirks like he’s already planning something to do to you next. He was completely mesmerised by you.

“Hmm… I think I need another demonstration, I didn’t quite understand…” You mumbled, eyelashed fluttering up at him innocently.

Surprised and very eager at this response, he raised a brow and smirks. “You’re asking for more?” He asks. He shakes his head. “Okay then, have it your way..” he says and he pulls you in again. He kisses you a bit harder this time, his arm coming around you.

“Mphm!…” you were surprised by how much more aggressive this kiss was but you were able to adapt to it instantly, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck to pull him closer to you as you took complete control over the kiss.

Sampo is caught off guard by this, his eyes widening in surprise but he keeps kissing you, matching your intensity. One of his hands grabs your waist, the other hand running through your hair. He’s enjoying every second of this. “Mmm…” he says, between kisses.

Then, you pulled away, breathing heavily as you stared up at him with a hazy look in your eyes,” How was that?…”

Sampo’s chest is heaving, his heart is racing. He looks down at you, a big grin on his face. “I think that was perfect,” he says and his breath is shaky. “You’re a natural..” he adds with a smile, his eyes glowing,” In fact… I think you could teach me a few things… how about another try?”

“Sound good.”

Prompt : ̗̀➛[Name] catches a cold so Gepard makes sure all her needs are met like an overbearing mother.

A groan left your lips as you stared up at your ceiling hazily, your nose felt entirely blocked and your face was burning hot.

You were definitely sick. From what? You do not know.

But what you are aware of us how much of an overbearing boyfriend Gepard can be when you're sick like this.

You watched in amusement as he ran around your shared bedroom like a headless chicken, fixing the pillows beneath your head for about the hundredth time that day.

"Gepard... The damn pillows are fine, leave 'em alone." You mumbled, your voice was hoarse and scratchy. You just didn't sound well at all.

Gepard pauses in the middle of fluffing up your pillows to peer down at you for a moment," do you have to be so cranky whenever you get sick?" He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, but in spite of that, he was still fussing over you, pulling the throw blanket over you and turning the humidifier to full blast.

"I'm only cranky when you start acting like my mom. I've already got one, I don't need two." You watched as he opened the window to let fresh air into the room, and you would be lying if you said it didn't feel nice to have cool breeze hitting your face.

Your response makes his cheeks puff out in kick annoyance, letting out a dramatic sigh," so your mother is the only one who is allowed to care for you?" He settles himself into the comfy rocking chair next to your bed as he looked over you with a tender smile on his lips," I bet you're not even aware of how cute you look while you're sick." He observes.

You huffed, letting out your millionth sniffle that day," yeah, yeah... Only you would find me cute with snot running from my nose." You teased, still finding his compliments charming however.

He smirks and makes a clicking noise at you in response," I think your snotty nose and feverish flush brings out your eyes." There's that charm of his again before his smirk settled into a warm smile," how do you feel, anyway?" There was worry lacing his words.

He reminded you of a cute dog... His caring loyal attitude never ceases to make you fall in love with him even more.

Smiling up at him, you raise a brow," I feel like shit," you stated bluntly before your eyes softened," but you're making the experience more bearable."

Gepard chuckles and strokes through your hair, ruffled up in a way that was adorable to his eyes." I'm sorry you feel so awful." He murmurs," are you hungry?" He asks.

"no... I'm good for now," you looked down at the swathes of blankets covering you and opened them up, patting the spot next to you encouragingly," I think taking a nap with my wonderful boyfriend would instantly cure my fever." You grinned up at him innocently.

Gepard blushed, your expression and the invitation being far too inviting for him to resist," Of course..." He murmurs as he slowly, but carefully climbs up on the bed before nestling against you until he's under the covers.

His arms are wrapped around your body and he's pressed all the way up against you, like your very own heated pillow," is that all better for now?"

Instantly leaning into him warm and comforting touch, you nodded with a peaceful smile on your lips as you buried your face into his chest,” for sure…” you hummed out, already feeling yourself getting sleepy. Your arms wrap around his waist comfortably as you sigh in his smell of cinnamon,” Thank you… for taking care of me.”

Gepard holds back a groan of pleasure as you tuck yourself so close against him, your warm body just that much more appealing with your feverish flush. The moment your head rests against his chest, his arms instantly tighten around you, and he's holding himself perfectly still. He's not letting you go.

He kisses behind your ear, the tender gesture causing him to blush. "It's nothing," He hums, nuzzling into your neck. "It's my duty."

“I suppose it is,” you giggled out, leaning into the tender kisses he was giving you,” You’re like a knight in shining armour…” you hummed sleepily.

His fingers are gently stroking through your hair, the caress almost enough to lull you to sleep. The tender kisses he's pressing into your neck help, but not nearly as much as the loving expression on his face, one that's a picture of pure content. He nuzzles into you, as if to mark you as his, but mostly because he doesn't want anything separating the two of you.

"And you are my damsel," He whispers.

“Your princess,”you reiterated, blinking up at him tiredly.

"My princess." He echoes.

Gepard's arms are as warm and as comforting as they are tight around you. Your head is pressed right against his chest, his voice just an ear-hugging whisper in your ear.

"My precious and beloved princess." He purrs gently.

You slowly drifted off to sleep at his words, his warm and soft voice lulling you to sleep like the lullaby of a siren.

or maybe it was the fever that made you so sleepy.

Gepard holds you against him, nuzzling into your shoulder as he's content to watch over your peaceful sleep.

His fingers trace circles into your hair, and the warmth of his body, especially as the blankets he's pulling up to you trap the heat, are just perfect for helping you recover comfortably.

All this fuss over a simple cold. He'll make sure you're treated like royalty.

Prompt : ̗̀➛Dan Heng doesn't like talking on the phone, but [Name] always calls him instead of texting. [Name] admits that it's because she wants to hear Dan Heng's voice.

Den Heng let out a sigh the second his phone started ringing, he almost immediately knew who it was.

Nobody else called him. Not even March!

Why did you have to be different?

Dan Heng answered his phone with a sigh,"Yes, [name]? What is it?"

There was silence before your light voice graced his ears," Hey there~! Long time no talk, buddy." God, he could hear the shit eating grin in your voice.

That stupid grin.

That stupidly charming grin.

"... I hate you, you know that?" Dan Heng murmured and shook his head with frustration as he rubbed his eyes,"What is it you need now? Money? Food? What have you done this time? Are you in trouble again?" He hissed quietly.

"You don't hate me! Den Heng, where are your manners?" You gasped out, acting as though you were offended by his words when you were only growing more amused.

This is usually how your interactions went. You being irritating and him being irritable. Himeko and Welt can't count how many times you both have had your little spouts.

You were like a married couple, honestly. Disgustingly cute.

"And I don't need any of those things! I'm on the straight and narrow," But then you paused then there was a chuckle," For now."

A small smile spread on Dan Heng's face as he heard your laughter. Thank god he wasn't talking to you in person he'd look like an idiot.

"... you're certainly not on the straight and narrow if you're telling me 'for now'..." He leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, "So what is it you need, then, if it's not money, food, or my help when you've definitely gotten yourself into trouble again?" He asked.

"Welllll..." you dragged your words out, almost as though you were delaying something. But then there was a click of your tongue and-," I just like hearing your voice. Is that so bad?"

You said this so casually. Like it wasn't meant to make Dan Heng have a heart attack.

Dan Heng hesitated and coughed awkwardly as he was taken aback by the sudden shift in what he thought to be a light exchange between him and you. He put his phone close to his ear, his eyes wide with surprise.

“... I-I don’t know what to say.” He said honestly but then he deadpanned,“I was about to tell you that you’re a brat to tease, but I had no idea this was going in this direction.”

"I'm not a brat, am I?" You chuckled out, there was a somberness to your tone," I dunno, you're just easy to talk to."

He heard your clothing shuffle, you must have shrugged.

"But I can tell I'm annoying you, so if you want I can just start messaging from now o-"

Dan Heng was quick to interrupt.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Dan Heng said quickly, waving his hand in front of him as if he could see you through the phone.

“You call me whenever you want to talk. It’s just— your timing—” He ran his hand through his hair again,“I thought this was going to be another prank call.”

He heard silence and then your breathy chuckle," You're so cute when you're flustered, Dan Heng." You hummed out teasingly.

Dan Heng’s face turned a bright shade of red and his cheeks warmed in a way only you had ever managed to achieve for him.

He couldn’t find the words to respond and sat there for a moment until he let out a quiet sigh.

“I wish you weren’t so… so… so…” He said, looking around his room as if to search for a synonym. He sighed again and gave up.

“I take it back... you're annoying.”

"Cute."

He heard the creaking of a chair," I'd like to take you out to dinner." You admitted rather bluntly, though there was a gentle tone to your voice.

"If you'd let me," you then added on as an after-thought.

Dan Heng’s face turned a deeper shade of red and his jaw dropped from sheer surprise.

“…W-what?” He asked you, and for someone who wasn’t known for stuttering, he was doing a whole lot of it.

Once or twice you'd joked to him about it, but in all honesty, there were so many times he wanted to ask you out but never did.

“I-… I would love to go to dinner with you." I said. But then realisation struck him and he cleared his throat," But..." He trailed off.

"Buuuut?...." You repeated, sounding a little nervous.

He frowned at himself for making you anxious,“There’s always ‘buts’ with me, it’s never just a clean cut ‘yes’.”

He looked up at the ceiling and let his head drop back down, growing more emotionally exhausted by the second, “In my defense, ‘you’ and ‘me dating’ are things that have never went together in the same sentence in my head.”

"Dan Heng! So mean." You whined out but you began laughing afterwards," You sure about that, though?" There was a teasing lilt to your voice," I see you and I together a lot.

“Well—” Dan Heng paused briefly and cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowed cutely. Was he really about to confess this to you? Over the phone at that as well.

“…I have actually imagined a few times…”

He looked up at the ceiling again, his expression turning slightly red and he shut his eyes tightly, cringing at his own words.

“…it’s nothing I can say I ever thought would happen for real. But here we are…”

"Ah, I see..." you sounded almost touched,"... Well, how do you feel?" You asked, genuinely wanting him to express himself.

“How do I feel—?” The question caught Dan Heng off guard. As if he had a lot of thoughts going through his head at once.

“I-I feel—”

He was silent, trying to find the words. He couldn’t find the right words.

“I’ll be honest,” He said quietly, staring at nothing as he held his phone to his ear, “I feel a little scared.”

"Yeah?" She breathed out.

"Yeah," He repeated in the same tone,"...If you and I actually… you know… went on a date..." Dan Heng cleared his throat again, and again, trying to find the words," And you started to know more about me… who I truly am... will you still look at me the way you do now?"

He paused.

"Will you still like me? Or will you end up being disappointed?" He finally spoke in a whisper.

"I... I don't think I could ever be disappointed," you admitted genuinely, a gentle smile to your voice," I know you're closed off for your own reasons... but that makes me more drawn to you."

You sounded so enamoured. Affectionate. He's never heard you speak like this before.

"I want to shoulder your burdens alongside you," you stated simply," No matter what those burdens are. I need to make the weight holding you down lighter... that's my genuine feelings."

“…” In all his years of knowing you, he never thought he’d hear those words in your lifetimes.

The silence grew before Dan Heng spoke again, his voice still a soft whisper but now one of resolve and strength.

“...Okay then.” A small smile twitched onto his lips," Message me the details when you have it figured out."

"Nah, I'll just call you." You confirmed with a clear sound of giddiness within your voice.

Den Heng finally let a soft breathy laugh fall from his lips, his resolve evidently broken,"... I know you will."

#hsr #hsr x reader #sampo x reader #gepard x reader #welt x reader #dan heng x reader #caelus x reader

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

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