#one of the most cringe moments of the entire comic. wait no. i can think of a more cringe Slide Moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ct-multifandom · 3 years

Text

Miracuclass Amogus Cringe

I was going back and forth about making this post, but then I saw @charming-mage ‘s and I was like screw it we’re doing this. This ended up 10x longer than I thought it’d be.

Marinette (crewmate) - tries to organize everyone into a buddy system to corner the impostors, gets frustrated when people agree to her plan and then start running rogue. When discussions start she’s leading the conversation and asking the most questions. She greatly prefers crewmate over impostor because she likes the mystery solving element of discussions.

Marinette (impostor) - whenever she kills someone she goes, “ahhhh” out loud and panics while her avatar sprints away from the body. She likes coming up with convoluted plans, especially when she can communicate with her fellow imp(s), and tries to make it seem like she’s in two places at once wether it be through venting or falsified testimony.

Adrien (crewmate) - he has to unmute and ask how to do like every individual task to the point where he’s been voted out over it before because cmon, you’ve gotta be lying about it at this point, just piece it together and stop unmuting during task time. He makes puns and sings little improvised songs while tasking. When he suspects someone but they don’t get voted out, he offers to tail them at the cost of his own safety. Same with fixing sabotages late-game. To him, getting killed is just part of the game progression, and it’s not a big deal because he trusts his fellow crewmates to avenge him and doesn’t mind ghost-tasking.

Adrien (impostor) - okay maybe he lies about not knowing tasks sometimes. But it also took him a while to learn imp mechanics and he kept asking about them out loud like, “what’s the red square task on the floor? Why’s my name highlighted?” And somehow nobody noticed while his partner(s) were like nggggg Adrien no... At least he’s good at playing innocent/fake-detective-ing in discussions. Whenever he kills someone he makes some stupid one-liner about it out loud.

Alya (crewmate) - we got Sherlock Holmes over here. She overanalyzes every tiny detail and isn’t scared to sacrifice the sus for the greater cause. When she finishes tasks, she likes to hang out by security and snoop in case of the rare satisfaction of catching someone red-handed. If there’s an emergency meeting, it’s probably because she probably saw something. She supports Crewinette’s plans to corner the imps. She thinks tasks wins are boring and that it’s a lot more fun to win through voting correctly. If they task-win or lose she stops before the new game and asks who the imps were and for a recap of their actions.

Alya (impostor) - a force to be reckoned with. She’ll wait for the perfect moment to strike someone, and then cover her tracks, join a group and win herself a strong alibi anyways. Her reputation as a ruthless detective protects her, even when the game is set to show that the ejected person was innocent. She always chooses someone to kill and someone to blame for it, but sometimes she gets carried away and they vote her off for pointing too many fingers.

Nino (crewmate) - he’s just tasking, man. If he gets killed he’s like, “oh mf” and just keeps ghost-tasking. He mostly hangs out during the discussions unless he has something solid to say, only jumping in at the end to confirm, “so we’re voting for _?”. He leads his own little crewmate squad around when he finishes tasks to protect them while they finish theirs.

Nino (impostor) - mostly plays off the strategy of his partner(s). He likes playing the protective team-player type “innocent diversion” role while the partner(s) get to killing, so when discussions start he’s totally in the clear, which gives him an opening to dodge suspicion in the future if he needs to take over killing. He pretends to fix sabotages all the time because people rely on him to do that as a crewmate.

Max (crewmate) - freakishly good at the card scanning task. People always ask for his secret and he’s like? It’s so easy? He has every map memorized to a t so he can point out the contradictions in people’s stories like an ace attorney character. It’s surprisingly really helpful. He’s the opposite of Alya in that he’s a big supporter of the “guys, stop voting off random innocent people, we have like five tasks left. Whoever hasn’t done them, just finish them” strategy.

Max (impostor) - he tries his best to protect his partner(s) in the discussion while laying low himself, and sometimes he gets voted out for it, but if he senses that there’s nothing he can do, he’ll throw them even further under the bus to build credit for himself. He doesn’t like sacrificing innocents as a crewmate, so his defenses are only sus when he’s caught being wrong. He sabotages a lot to control people’s movements and vents liberally unless he committed to a tasking group. That being said, he can go whole rounds without killing out of caution.

Kim (crewmate) - he’s the guy who calls emergency meetings early into the game only to say, “I miss you guys :)” He gets voted out all the time for doing troll-y crap and ignoring Crewinette’s plans. He’s also severely confused by some of the tasks and game mechanics, but fakes it till he makes it, until the discussion where he rarely says anything valuable and just jokes around. Sometimes, though, he’ll offer a tiny offhand detail and everyone’s like Kim, I hate to say it, but you’re a genius or that’s the piece we’ve been missing! And he’s like haha ok. He’s always behind on tasks, sometimes out of laziness, sometimes out of confusion, but he’s one of the people Max is impatiently waiting on.

Kim (impostor) - he gets caught in the act a lot and it’s hilarious, but other times he gets away with everything the entire time, which is kinda scary. He’s weirdly good at introducing so much confusion and derailment to discussions that everyone gets totally lost and doesn’t know what’s going on, allowing him to survive when they could’ve easily figured him out. Unlike Max, he knows literally nothing about the maps and always says he was at the “slidey thing” or whatever and everyone’s like idk wtf the slidey thing is, and if this were anyone else they’d be gone immediately, but it’s Kim so he might actually be telling the truth. He refuses to learn the names of anything because this really helps him out.

Alix (crewmate) - always trying to convince her friends to experiment with ridiculous game settings. Occasionally, she gets to them, and they get games with comically unbalanced imp:crew ratios, awful lighting, an overwhelming load or lack of tasks, or hilariously low cool downs. She revels in the chaos. When she tasks she usually moves from place to place alone but tries to hop in with groups to confirm her movements. She’s pretty good at sussing imps out when they offer enough information, but otherwise she just makes goofy comments with Kim.

Alix (impostor) - not too worried about killing people and venting. She moves fast and dashes from place to place, joining a group on the opposite side of the map from her last body. If anyone says, “I saw someone vent but I didn’t see who” it was probably her. She likes the “stand in a clump and watch the chaos ensue when one person drops” technique as well as the gambling “hope that the UI for the task everyone’s doing covers your killing and venting” strat. Sometimes she’s forced to vent to a dead end and gets caught, and sometimes the big brain detectives catch her, but she’s usually pretty smooth.

Rose (crewmate) - a big fan of hide and seek mode. She likes grouping up for tasks, protecting each other at the cost of efficiency. During discussions, she has a hard time believing anyone’s the impostor, and everyone’s like, Rose, we know there are exactly three of them, you can’t defend every individual person. Whenever she gets killed she is like *gasp* et tu, Brute? No matter who it was.

Rose (impostor) - runs around with her squad when... oops... looks like something got sabotaged! Uh oh, wonder who could’ve done that? She’s in a battle against that task bar more so than the players, and tries to stay away from killing. She emulates crewmate behavior perfectly so no one ever suspects her until really late. If she’s the only imp left and she has to kill, it’s like an Agatha Christie locked room mystery level of drama and betrayal within her squad. But we were all together the whole time... omfg no way... it was one of us.

Juleka (crewmate) - she secretly prefers when everyone tasks alone, but goes with the squad for Rose. She only talks in discussions if she’s 100% sure about something, and she often incomprehensibly mumbles vital evidence. ~10 minutes later when they catch the imp she’s like iItoldyouso and the crew’s like ??? If she gets killed and her tasks are done, she haunts that impostor relentlessly. Sometimes she even organizes ghost brigades in ghost chat and gets everyone to follow them.

Juleka (impostor) - definitely gets a kick out of the kill button. Whenever she takes someone down she’s like heeheehee. If she was peer pressured into a task team again, she’ll anxiously try to slip away unnoticed for a second to catch someone in the hallway outside, but if she’s alone, she’s on a hunt. Nobody is safe. When she defends herself on voice chat she also mumbles incomprehensibly and everyone’s like sure, fair enough.

Mylene (crewmate) - seasoned task group leader. She also sings little task songs like Adrien. She tries to organize people into chatting regular status updates so they can tell if someone goes missing. She reports every body she finds and actively participates in the discussion, but whenever she makes good points, she gets overlooked. Then, the crew’s like Mylene, why didn’t you say anything sooner? And she’s like agjdjdhh Either that or she gets voted off for always reporting and being too eager to discuss on top of it.

Mylene (impostor) - gets her partner(s) inside her team and tries to tag-team anyone passing by, only for all the impostors to have alibis when she reports. If the ratio is right, they can destroy their own group, and then immediately point the finger at whoever is left, which works about half the time. Mylene is a pretty convincing actress, but the high IQ tricks only work a couple times.

Ivan (crewmate) - he’ll take one for the team if he has to, especially in those sabotage cases where you’d have to be isolated and vulnerable. Otherwise he’ll protect his group. He has an “innocent until proven guilty” attitude when he runs into other people on the map, and skips during a lot of the votes.

Ivan (impostor) - we all know he can’t lie to save his life. He usually gets voted out really fast if he kills someone because he gets nervous and starts saying contradictory things when questioned. That being said, he’ll do what he can to keep his partner(s) in the clear. He never vents because the risk is too high for him, instead just running around and saying, “sorry” out loud when he catches a victim.

Nathaniel (crewmate) - he’s the opposite of Adrien in that he’ll do anything to avoid getting killed. He runs around tasking on his own, but he’s usually behind because he’s so focused on avoiding everyone, to Max’s frustration. He also never reports bodies. This causes him to be sus at all times, so he gets voted out a lot. Wild Nath sightings are rare and terrifying because he’s never in the clear and he’s just standing there, menacingly. Imp!Alix sees him as a fun combo of Where’s Waldo and Assassin.

Nathaniel (impostor) - the millisecond that cool down timer runs out, someone is getting killed. Hit and run. He’s good at entering a fairly crowded large space, striking, and staying in everyone’s blind spots while he runs away, especially when the lights are out. He likes venting to isolated areas and killing as many people per round as he can, laughing when someone finally reports and everyone unmutes to go WHAT!? at the number of deaths. He tends to operate separately from his partner(s) unless they have an actual plan.

Chloe (crewmate) - gathers every single person in medbay and makes sure they all watch her scan. Yeah okay, we get, you’re a crewmate. She feels personally offended whenever someone kills her, which is often, since people tend to jokingly target her. During discussions, she accuses anyone and everyone of being sus, even if she just walked past them or saw them tasking alone. She likes stalking people as a ghost and spilling tea in ghost chat.

Chloe (impostor) - reacts similarly to Marinette when she kills. She will throw her partner(s) under the bus if it’s more advantageous in the long run, and she’s great at shifting the blame to innocents. People vote her out a lot anyways, and she says she can’t believe that they even like this stupid little game. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Unless she wins. Then it’s fun.

Sabrina (crewmate) - discussion detective supreme. She keeps track of every piece of evidence and testimony, every detail. She tails the sus at a distance, trying to catch them doing something. Sometimes it gets her targeted, but sometimes she catches them and calls emergency meetings to snitch. Somehow she manages to do this and finish her tasks at the same time.

Sabrina (impostor) - sabotages everything, and tries to get her partner(s) to do it too. Once she won because the crew just didn’t fix O2 in time. She avoids killing Chloe, but feels bad if she has to kill anyone else too. She typically just sticks to making other people seem suspicious, and likes the game mode where you can’t see if you voted correctly or not.

Lila (both) - she rarely joins these games. She isn’t even a member of the chat group they use. They occasionally invite her, and she usually lies about how busy she is, but she accepted a couple times to further her narrative. She pretends to be really bad at being an impostor to establish herself as someone incapable of trickery. Regardless of her role, whenever the body announcement pops up, she goes, “oh nooo, not [victim(s)]... nooo....” and Mari’s like stfu Lila.

Bonus Polaroid kids because,,, they <3

Kagami (crewmate) - hella efficient at tasks. Two discussions in and she’s done. She’s the interrogation specialist who stresses out the imps and crew alike with her barrage of questions. She likes moving either alone or in partners, three people maximum, unless Crewinette needs her, in which case she’ll stick to the plan no matter what.

Kagami (impostor) - you’re walking through the base / there’s no one around and comms are down / out of the corner of your eye you spot her / Kagami Tsurugi. She will have you cornered and you won’t be able to do anything about it. She always has a made up explanation for what she was doing, but sometimes it falls through solely because she’s always acting sus.

Luka (crewmate) - he likes crewmate a lot more than impostor. He’ll tag along with a task group until he’s done, and then he’ll go lurk in the corner and spy on people. He moves along the walls, and a few times this has led to him witnessing murders in the middle of the room while the imp only saw him after it was too late. Cue the mad dash for emergency meeting.

Luka (impostor) - works together with his partner(s) to perform some high level backstabbery. He rarely gets voted out unless he messes up because he builds bonds of trust with like half of the crew while he leads the rest into his partner(s)’ traps. He feels bad about killing sometimes, but he doesn’t mind sabotaging.

Zoe (crewmate) - she finds one or two other people she trusts and follows them around. She uses the logic of “well we could’ve both killed each other by now but we didn’t so they must be safe”. She immediately recounts everything that happened to her that round in discussions, even irrelevant details, just in case they might end up useful, and tends to bandwagon with voting.

Zoe (impostor) - tries to catch people in secluded corners or rooms with closable doors to kill them. She avoids taking risks, but sometimes she reports her own bodies and tries to act all surprised by the discovery. She’s a good actress, but she’s not the best bs artist, although the crew is used to her giving a ton of details right from the start, so they don’t suspect her unless there’s a hole in her story.

Marc (crewmate) - does tasks on his own but makes sure to stop near crowds when he can. Whenever he’s running around alone and sees someone else, he immediately turns around like ohmygodohmygod and anxiously dances around the other person who’s more than likely just another, equally anxious crewmate with places to be. He still gets killed a lot.

Marc (impostor) - he goes full anime villain mode. All according to keikaku. He’s one of those people who disproportionately rolls the impostor role and ends up with it like twice every five games. He plans out every move he’s gonna make, every complex lie and big brain play, and sometimes he gets that glorious evil win, but sometimes his plans are totally sabotaged by stupid things like Kim’s trolling.

58 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, pegging, anal play, rimming, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, jk being a good good boy, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, bath sex, ageplay/DDlg, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, spanking, creampie, aftercare in both cases

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and jk’s ass

DAY EIGHTEEN

All things considered; you were rather lucky to be sharing a room with Yoongi when you wake up that morning.

The second consciousness returns to you, it brings a feeling of nausea so abrupt that you’re careening off the bed and rushing to bed over the toilet without a second’s thought, body running on survival mode.

You’re not sure what wakes Yoongi - the sudden absence of pressure and heat against him, or the sound of you throwing up all the food and alcohol you’d consumed last night – but it takes mere moments before you feel him gently caressing your trembling body, lifting your tangled hair back off your face.

“Just let it out,” he coos softly as you bend over miserably, the sour taste on your tongue making your stomach turn again, “you’ll feel better after, I promise. That’s it.”

The moment you finally have nothing left to empty out, you collapse sideways onto the cool bathroom tile, hand curling over your stomach. Yoongi gets up to flush the toilet and gets out a spare toothbrush from under his sink, pressing it into your hand already prepped with toothpaste. “I’m sorry,” you mumble lowly, nose running slightly as you sniffle. “I think I drank too much. That green apple soju fucking sucks, too.”

The doctor has the good graces to smile at your attempt of lightening the mood, but it’s strained, waiting for you to begin brushing the acrid leftovers from your mouth before speaking. “You’d better have a light breakfast, okay? Some toast and maybe a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach. Can you stand? I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your room while you take a shower here.”

Your heart warms at his endearing bedside manner. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

“It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says with a mock sigh. “Come on; you can wash your hair, too. Feeling nice and clean will help.”

Sniffing one last time, you give him an agreeing nod and hunker up on your knees, before standing. God, but why do you still feel so nauseous? That fucking soju. Yoongi must see the discomfort on your face, because he gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Not to worry, I’m sure I have something here you can take which will make you feel better. You aren’t the first person to not handle their liquor in the villa.”

You give him a questioning frown, your throat feeling raw as you clear it lightly. “What do you mean? Everyone seemed okay yesterday.”

“Hoseok texted me,” Yoongi answers with a shrug. “I didn’t see it ‘til after you fell asleep, but apparently poor Tae was curled up with a hot water bottle last night feeling rather sorry for himself. I think he got a little trigger-happy on his Sprite and soju mixers.”

Your brows furrow in concern, your own condition forgotten. “Is he alright?” You mentally kick yourself for not being more attentive to him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel excluded now that he was voted out.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Hoseokie and Jimin apparently actually spent the night in the bunk room with him, because both refused to leave. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Holy shit,” you muse. “If you weren’t so busy filling me like a cream puff maybe we could’ve witnessed that.”

Yoongi’s mouth gapes at your jibe, and you let out a hiccupping giggle when he rushes you, jabbing at your sides. “You little shit! That’s how you repay me after yesterday?”

You chuckle, feeling significantly more cheerful than when you woke up. “I gotta keep you humble, Doctor Min.”

His shoulders jump with a fond huff. “You’re impossible,” he gives in with a begrudging smile. “Now go; shower! I’ll be back.”

By the time you’re downstairs, enjoying some lightly buttered toast and an aromatic peachy-tasting tea - laughing with Taehyung who has slunk downstairs like a viscous goop, slumped on the table sucking on a vitamin table - any concerns or worries about your brief vomiting spell have entirely left your mind.

Jungkook is antsy.

He cycles madly between intense eye-contact and complete avoidance of your existence, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer in headlights. You imagine it’s because he wants to do his prompt today, and you certainly could dispel the awkward tension by just asking him if he wants to go upstairs or texting him to dig a little, but where would the fun in that be? You much prefer cuddling with Taehyung and a chunky blanket, pretending to watch The Voice of Korea while you really watch Jungkook squirm instead.

Taehyung sighs wistfully as a contestant finishes with a belted high note, all four judges slamming down their buttons and giving the cameras big reactions once they turn and catch a glimpse of the singer. “I wish I could be on the show,” the masseuse says with another slow sigh.

You grin, poking him in the cheek with a single finger. “Is our puppy a good singer, huh? Do you reckon you’d win?”

“What?” Taehyung asks distractedly, his eyes locked to the screen. “No, I wanna sit in those big chairs and spin around. It’d be so fun.”

Your surprised laugh makes Jungkook jump in his seat, even as he sits on the opposite couch to the two of you and glares intensely at the pages of a comic book he’d stolen from someone, spending far too long on one page to actually be reading it.

Hoseok, who sits completely silently next to Jungkook - extremely strange for the normally bubbly man - is even more suspicious. Every few seconds, he shoves his phone under Jungkook’s nose, before pulling it away and typing furiously.

You had no doubt in your mind that he was giving the youngest contestant salacious tips, instructions, or both, judging by the way Jungkook’s cheeks get hotter with every message.

A lazy day after the drunken entertainment from the day before, the four of you had chosen to collapse onto the couch and stay there, flicking between channels as you idly enjoyed each other’s company. Namjoon had texted the groupchat and put a note on his door warning people that he was studying for an exam for a summer course he’d signed up for. This was the first you’d heard of said course, but his messages had contained several exclamation points, so you knew it was serious.

Jimin was also making the most of his privacy. The only glimpse you’d seen of him at all today was while you and Taehyung were cleaning your dishes. He’d rushed down in a fluffy white bathrobe, covering his face with his sleeve, bemoaning the drinking that had done serious damage to his clear skin. When he dropped his sleeve to bundle some ice into a paper towel, it looked fine to you, albeit pinker in the cheeks and forehead than his bare face had been before, but he swore the two of you to silence and determined he was going to lock himself into his room until he no longer looked like “an evil stepmother.”

Jin and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, though most of the house were almost certain they’d become something akin to fuckbuddies considering how often they disappeared together, and how rampant and shameless their sexual tension was whenever they cooked together for the rest of you.

It had taken a while for Taehyung to bounce back from his hangover, Hoseok fussing over him like a child as Tae clung to you for some tactile comfort. Spending a day by yourself hadn’t really been an option when you’d been cuddling with him for hours, but you were far happier spending some quality time with the masseuse.

It takes no more than three new contestants on the TV show to have their moment in front of the judges for Jungkook to break. Hoseok’s given up on the phone messages, instead whispering directly Jungkook’s ear as the boy clutches the open comic book in front of his lap so hard his knuckles go white.

Laughing at the flustered camboy, Hoseok loses all tact and stops damping his voice, his natural level loud enough that you can make it out over the garishly aggressive appliance store advertisement on the TV. “Come on, Kookie, it’ll be great!” he insists, Jungkook cringing at the volume. “Switching things up will help your chances for fan favourite too, and surely you’ve done-”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, comic book still propped up in front of his crotch as his cheeks and neck go bright red. “If you like pegging so much, why don’t you do it, then?” he blurts with a cry, before the realisation of what he said aloud hits him. Choking on air, he just about trips back onto the couch in his haste to leave, stomping upstairs like a wronged teenager.

Everyone goes silent, a cheery female voice announcing that Subway’s quality is higher than ever being the only sound in the room. Mouth open, you blink over to Hoseok. “Should I… go check on him?”

“Uh- Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a slight pained look of guilt flickering across his face before he brightens up. “But it’s dangerous; you should take a strap with you.”

You pause halfway through standing up, Taehyung letting go of you and curling deeper into the pile of blankets. “Have you no shame, Hoseok? You humiliated the poor kid!”

Hoseok grins broadly. “He only reacted that much because he liked the idea,” he protests, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And what about you, princess? Do you like the idea?”

You swallow, straightening up fully. “I haven’t really thought about it until now, I guess,” you offer up slowly. “I’m not- I’m not opposed.” But even as you say that, you begin to picture it. Jungkook on all fours in front of you, or perhaps spread out on his back, brows furrowed in pleasure, clingy and whiny. Though it was certainly new ground to you, most things were these days, and you’ve started craving fresh experiences, feeling more alive and excited about sex than you’ve ever really felt before.

A lightly huffed laugh leaves Hoseok’s lips. “I’d say you’re a little more than ambivalent, judging by that look on your face. Go upstairs now, princess; Jungkook’s ass needs you.”

You scoff, patting Taehyung’s cheek goodbye before leaving the way the maknae left earlier. Upstairs, Jungkook’s door is open the slightest sliver. A shy invitation.

You knock anyway, calling out his name. When his sullen voice invites you in, you slip inside and shut the door behind you. With his head hanging, shoulders slumped, poor Jungkook looks miserable. “Oh, Gukkie, baby, you’re okay,” you soothe, rushing to his side.

Folding his hands cutely over his crotch, he keeps his head down, but nuzzles against your stomach when you pull him into an embrace, running your hands through the long, heavy black locks of his hair. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, lifting a single hand to ball his fist in the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart warms at the little action even as it aches for his sadness. “What are you sorry for? You don’t have to be sorry.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you can just about hear the pout. “Embarrassed,” he explains shortly. “You probably think it’s gross.”

“Of course I don’t,” you deny in a soft yet firm voice, still stroking his hair. “Baby, if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

He looks up suddenly, chin propped up on your stomach. “Really?” he asks in hope, eyes glittering like entire galaxies.

You shrug. “I mean, I haven’t used a strap-on before, so it probably won’t be very good, but I wanna try if it’s something that would make you happy, you know?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts sweetly, before he lets out a dejected breath. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, letting his head drop off you again. “I still feel really embarrassed. Hobi-hyung was te-teasing me so much.”

You wince at the way his voice hitches and wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you coo. “I think he was just trying to encourage you. But if he made you uncomfortable, I can go down there right now and-”

As you start to shift away, a hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist, snagging you in place. “No,” Jungkook interrupts quickly, before turning sullen again, lifting up his head so that you can just barely see his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. “Can you just stay with me?”

Reaching forward to cup his cheek and bring his gaze up, you send him your warmest smile. “I’ll stay,” you promise, “want me to help cheer you up? I don’t like seeing my Gukkie so sad.”

His bottom lip quivers as he nods, fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging you back to his side. “Yes, please,” he asks politely, voice still so hesitant as his gaze drops like he’s too shy to meet yours, face pressing into your palm. “Want you to make me feel better.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes dart up, just for a second, and reveal a glimmer that isn’t tears so much as mischief. You realise quickly that perhaps Jungkook is pulling on your heartstrings intentionally, luring you in just like he did the day after the fight, when everyone in the house bent over backwards to give him what he wanted. But you aren’t mad; truth be told, every second that passes, you grow more excited about what’s to come. “Of course I will,” you reply warmly. “Can I give you a kiss, baby?”

One thing you aren’t prepared for as you carefully straddle his lap and press your lips against his is just how differently he kisses when he’s in this submissive frame of mind. You’d associated Jungkook with hunger, fierce passion and need. This Jungkook was needy, but in a very different way. Lips parted, he tilts his chin and lets you take over, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of your shirt, his long hair tickling against your cheeks.

And unlike the more dominant Jungkook that would kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, the camboy now seems impatient, hips shifting under you and whines leaving his throat as he breaks apart, lips swollen. “Will you fuck me, Y/n? I need you.”

Sucking in a breath, you’re nodding before you’ve even really processed his words. “How do I, uh, what should I-”

“The stuff’s in my nightstand drawer,” Jungkook offers up in explanation. The young man bites his lip, looking positively delectable. In a starch-white t-shirt that simultaneously swamps his figure but exposes his delicate collarbones with the v-neck, and his long locks tucked behind his ears, no imagination is required to see how easily he fits into this subby persona. Even as he’s physically much larger than you, and there’s no hiding his thick thighs and broad shoulders, his expression and posture alone convey plenty. “But, um… Could you- could you help prepare me first? I can if you’re uncomfortable, you know. No pressure.”

“I can,” you assure quickly, standing up when he wriggles meaningfully beneath you. “I mean, I want to. Is it, you know…?” You trail off, watching Jungkook scoot himself back so that his feet don’t quite touch the floor. He tilts his head in confusion. “Clean?” you hiss softly, cheeks flaming.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide and mouth parted in a small o. “I- Yeah, it’s, uh, clean, I-”

“Sorry,” you grimace, “that totally ruined the mood, didn’t it? I’m new to this.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Jungkook says with a small voice, fiddling with the loose threads in the rips of his jeans. “I can do it.”

You’re really fucking this up, huh? “No, no, I want to, it’s fine!”

“I swear, I won’t be offended if it weirds you out-”

Without a pause to think, your lips are moving. “Pants off, Gukkie, I’m going to finger you,” you announce in a firm voice, chin jutting forward in your determination.

You hadn’t even intended to use it as power play, more so just insisting what you were okay with, but his reaction is undeniable. Jungkook visibly melts at your command, eyelids fluttering for a moment and shoulders going lax. Even his socked feet turn inwards, the complete posture of submission. The image of it sends heat through you, and you feel alive with it.

“Th-thank you,” Jungkook stutters, chest hitching. “How do you want me?”

Even though you don’t know the least about fingering or prepping, you’re quickly growing addicted to the way he responds to your authority, so you make a split second decision. “All fours, baby. And clothes off for me.”

Jungkook bites down a whine - how you wish he wouldn’t muffle himself - but obeys quickly, stripping all the way down to his socks, toeing them off hastily before getting on his knees. Clearly a position he’s used to, the camboy wastes no time in presenting himself, upper torso flat against the bed and back arched up to expose himself. With a cheek pressed against the mattress to look back at you, his hair slips over and covers his face.

Before he has the chance to huff, you reach forward and tuck it back behind his ear, tapping your finger once on his nose to make him scrunch it, a toothy grin on his face. “Y/n!” he protests with a hiccupy giggle.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help out, baby. Can I ask you a favour?”

Jungkook’s grinning so widely that his eyes crinkle. “You’re the dom, Y/n, you don’t need to ask favours, you know?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” you muse. It’s so easy to forget that the control is yours, especially when you’re a bit out of your depth. Resolving yourself to be more authoritative, you clear your throat and school your expression. “Mouth open, Gukkie.”

Following your command so quickly that there’s an audible sound, Jungkook braces himself up a little with his forearms so that he can face you better with his jaw wide open and tongue lolled out on his bottom lip.

When you place your first two fingers of your dominant hand on that pretty pink tongue, you don’t even have to command him to suck before he’s wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks, blinking up at you for approval.

You try and use the past couple weeks of dirty talk from the guys to inspire you when talking to Jungkook, using your other hand to comb the hair back from his face again. “That’s it, baby,” you croon, “nice and wet; soak them for me. What a good boy.”

Keening under your praise, still bent over on his knees, Jungkook swirls his tongue and salivates over your digits diligently. It feels strange; the hot wet cavern, the muscle covering every inch of your skin. Your stomach flips in arousal when you begin to tug your fingers out and he pulls off them with a pop, drool on his chin and pupils blown wide.

“Alright, Gukkie, stay there,” you indicate, holding your spit-slicked fingers aloft as you get on the bed behind him. Cock dangling hard between his legs, he’s hunkered down, heels pressed against his upper thighs. You could easily reach him from here, but there’s something rising within you, an urge to play with him a little rougher.

He jumps and lets out a surprised cry when you rain down your other palm on his asscheek in a swift spank, head falling back to the mattress.

“Did I say you could lie down? Ass up, Gukkie,” you spit sharply, satisfaction curling around your ribs as he lifts his hips without delay, back arching beautifully to present himself once again. A roughly hand-shaped pink flush on his otherwise unblemished skin makes you bite your lip. “Colour?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, fingers fisting the sheets. You fear the worst for a second, but it seems like it just took him a second to comprehend you, because just as soon as the worry rises, he lets out a cute gasp of realisation and spreads his knees further. “Green, so green.”

“Good boy,” you praise, relief clear in your voice. “A single hair out of position without my permission and there’ll be more where that came from.” Though you secretly admit spanking the responsive boy feels good in some odd way, you’d feel a lot better knowing when he’d intentionally stepped out of line, and so giving him a specific avenue assuages some of your potential guilt over the impact play. He seems to understand too, nodding his head sweetly and visibly flexing this thighs to keep steady.

This isn’t usually an angle you’re used to seeing on a guy, but as you gently circle the tight muscle of his rim, you marvel at how Jungkook still makes it look good. Entirely free of hair, ass, thighs and back thick and sculpted, it’s clear the visual is an important thing, especially in his line of work.

You can feel his body go slightly stiff when he holds his breath, but the slightest pressure makes him tremble, his eyes loosely shut as he focuses on pure sensation. Wary of the spit drying off your fingers too soon, you swiftly but smoothly slide your first finger all the way inside of him. There’s resistance up until the first knuckle as he clenches, but once you reach a certain point it’s like his body is letting you in. So tight that you can feel his walls flex, it’s an odd sensation to get used to, but you know from experience that the first intrusion feels odd to receive, too, and that only building up stimulation helps get past it.

For that reason, you don’t pause much before you begin fucking your one finger into him, using your other hand to grasp the flesh of his ass and part him. “Doing so well, baby,” you compliment when Jungkook lets out a guttural, drawn-out whine. Minutely, you feel his hips rock, seeking stimulation in the right place. You know he’s probably aching for his prostate to be touched, but you haven’t the slightest clue on where to find it.

Instead, your next best option is external. Once you draw your first finger out and start to stretch his rim on two, you reach around and under him, hand wrapping around his cock.

Startled, Jungkook goes iron-tight around your two fingers and cries out. You freeze, worried you’ve done something wrong, but he rocks himself back, burying your fingers deeper inside him.

Even in your uncertainty on how to proceed, you know one thing: he’s actively chosen to move out of place.

This time when you drop his length and come back up to spank him, he moans, face going lax and dopey. “Fu-fuck, please,” he breathes, “I’m sorry, I need more.”

“You need more?” you ask, soothing a palm over the reddened skin. “I didn’t realise you were in any position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungkook swallows heavily. “Please give me more, I can take it, please.”

“That’s more like it,” you state proudly, before cringing at how cheesy the words sound to your own ears. Although taking control is fun, you don’t feel as at ease with a filthy tongue like you were used to the others being. Jungkook however, unable to see your reaction, just makes a needy noise in his throat, hotly anticipating your next move.

As you start to move your fingers again, however, they don’t glide like they did before. Unlike a proper lubricant, his saliva has evaporated away, and the dry friction certainly can’t be pleasant.

He’d said the supplies were in his nightstand, but that’s well out of your arm span, so, thinking quickly and not wanting Jungkook to feel uncomfortable, you pull your fingers out gingerly, bend down and spit directly onto his winking hole, some of it disappearing inside as the rest runs down to his balls.

Since he insisted he could take it, you hook three fingers inside him, his hole stretching around you as he groans. There’s so much pressure on your fingers as you plunge inside, the friction aided by your saliva, and you can feel the way he tries to relax himself, clenching periodically.

As much as the spit helped, you become paranoid that it’ll dry out again as you stretch him on your fingers. Still too far from the lube, the thought occurs to you that you could keep him wetter if you just used your mouth.

The thought isn’t entirely unappealing to you. Sure, he doesn’t have the same nerves that make you feel so good when someone goes down on you, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it, and you’re reassured that he’d cleaned himself.

The second your tongue traces his rim, pressing between the tight ring and your knuckles, Jungkook gasps, before letting out a moan so high and keening that you practically salivate.

With your free hand inching around to grip his thigh and steady yourself, you press your chin between his ass cheeks and lap at him, fingers speeding up now that they’re better lubricated.

His hips won’t stay still, but you can’t blame him. From the constant trail of cries and whimpers, there’s no doubt Jungkook is extremely sensitive. Slowly, the thought of stretching him out for a purpose leaves your mind, and you begin to take your time with him, enjoying the feeling and sound of him falling apart from your touch.

You could get used to this; the meaty thighs trembling, the heaving breaths, the moans of your name on his tongue. At one point, your middle finger grazes a slightly protruding spot inside him, a different texture to the rest of his walls. The second it does, he jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Aha.

“Oh, fuck, feels s-so good, please do that again, fuck,” Jungkook babbles hopelessly. Your grip on his thigh quickly morphs from steadying yourself to holding him steady, as he jerks with every repeated stroke of your finger against his prostate.

Unable to respond verbally, you stiffen your tongue and push it deeper inside him as your fingers speed up, all corkscrewing directly towards that sensitive spot.

So noisy that he buries his own face in the blankets, rocking back desperately onto your face and fingers, Jungkook’s pleading and praises are garbled, one long stream of need until he finally lets out one loud, sharp cry and paints the mattress white.

Lifting yourself up to watch him cum, you speed up your fingers to ride him through it, devouring the sight of his red, untouched cock twitching and shooting ropes of cum as his whole body shudders with it.

There’s the undeniable warmth of pride in your chest at watching him cum so beautifully, at hearing and seeing the pleasure you’ve given him. You’d give anything to make him cum at your hands over and over, and in the back of your mind you marvel at how so many things the guys did to you when they dommed you make sense now.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, chest heaving rhythmically as he catches his breath, going slack. You guide him to roll over onto his back, avoiding the puddle of quickly-cooling cum, and sit beside him brushing back the hair that clings to his sweaty face.

A dopey smile puffing up his cheeks, and eyes hazy, he blinks up at you. “That was so good,” he breathes.

Keeping your voice sweet, you raise a brow. “Do you think we’re done just because you came, Gukkie? I don’t think so.”

His smile falters, eyes regaining some of their clarity. “I- Oh, you didn’t- Do you want me to...?” he trails off, eyes falling down to between your legs, still fully clothed.

Though you’d love for him to make you cum - truth be told, your nerves feel like they’re working doubletime right now, and you know it wouldn’t take much - you shake your head, standing up off the bed. Jungkook whines and sits up slightly as you pull away, but freezes once you begin to undress in front of him.

Unbuttoning your shirt, you feel his eyes follow your movements hungrily. “I never even gave you permission to cum, baby,” you point out. “I also didn’t ask you not to, so I won’t punish you. But you did ask for me to fuck you and make you feel better.” The fabric of your shirt falling to the floor, you leave your bra on and slip off your pants instead. “So I don’t care how sensitive you are or how many times you cum, I’m going to fuck you until you feel so good you cry. Is that understood?”

Where such vulgarity came from you don’t know, but it triggers the right reaction, Jungkook going limp against the bed, grabby hands flexing at the sheets as he nods as quick as he can, one drifting dangerously close to his still half-hard cock. “Please, I wan’ it. Yes.”

“Wait patiently, then,” you command in a cutting tone, discarding your underwear without ceremony, “and no touching.”

He lets out a quiet huff, leg kicking out and hand slipping under his back to stop temptation. You would laugh at the bratty display - or perhaps even punish him for the attitude - but you’re too focused on stepping into the black harness of the strap-on you got from Jungkook’s nightstand, working out how to tighten the straps and sit it right.

It takes you a moment to get right, but it’s surprisingly comfortable once you get it into place - which probably is the point. Though it’s odd feeling weight extending from your pelvis, the dildo is supported by a leather belt-like strap that runs around your waist. Right on the outer line of each hip, adjacent straps run down, under the curve of your ass and connect to the central one that sits between your legs like panties, albeit narrow and stiffer than fabric.

You’d seen ones with a second dildo facing inwards to go inside the wearer as they fucked someone else, but this didn’t have one, so instead your only stimulation was the slight heat when the leather would drag against your swollen clit. Happy to forgo your own pleasure for the sake of pleasuring Jungkook, you reach in the nightstand drawer again to pull out the lube.

Unlike Hoseok’s travel-sized bottle, the base of the drawer is littered with sample size packets of multiple brands. Mixed in with foil condom packets, you spy oil-based lubes, water-based ones, some scented, self-heating, even one that claims to be strawberry flavoured. Reaching for a basic water-based one, you rip it open and use it to slick up the dildo.

Jungkook watches you raptly, hips wiggling against the bed either in impatience or the effort it takes not to touch himself. Hyper-aware of the appendage that dangles in front of you, and how slippery your hands currently are, you imagine hunkering on the bed without using your hands probably isn’t a very sexy look, so instead you stand to the side of the mattress and instruct him to come to you.

He does so with obvious enthusiasm and anticipation. The earlier haze of his orgasm dissipating, his eyes are alert and his lips are stretched in an unconscious grin. Splayed out on his back, legs dangling on either side of your hips, Jungkook looks so content to hand over his dominance to you that your heart swells slightly at the sentiment of it.

Clearly Jungkook isn’t feeling as soft as you. On the contrary, his cock looks so hard it must be physically hurting him, the tip weeping precum onto his belly as he arches his back to entice you. “Please, Y/n,” he whines, hitching a foot up onto the edge of the mattress to bare himself more fully. “Gukkie needs it.”

Though it’s more your own hesitation rather than any desire to make him beg for it, you can’t deny that the sweet entreating voice is music to your ears and core, and pushing aside all worries you find yourself guiding his opposite leg up with a slippery hand, before lining your synthetic cock against Jungkook’s rim.

Immediately, before you even enter him, he keens, and although you can’t literally feel him rocking back towards it, you watch it catch on the muscle and begin to slip inside, and the resistance can be felt as a pressure against your pelvis where the base of the dildo is fastened.

“De-deeper,” Jungkook makes out with a gasp, his fingers reaching up to clutch at your wrist, and you push past the resistance to drive the dildo inside him, slowly but smoothly. His breath hitches, back lifting off the bed as his body tries to process the intrusion, and instinctively - a word you wouldn’t typically associate with domming - you grip onto his waist to hold him still.

Though your palms and fingers are still slick with lube, you manage to keep them steady on his skin by slightly digging your nails in. Jungkook’s mouth parts in a gulped moan, and you feel the pressure in front of your crotch suddenly increase as he stiffens.

“Green?” you check in quickly, so quick to fear the worst.

Jungkook is even quicker to dispel your worries. “Green, fuck, harder, please,” he babbles, shifting as much as he can under you to spread his legs wider in invitation.

You let out a breath of relief but pair it with a snapped thrust to mask it as exertion. Jungkook lets out a cry of pleasure that sounds more like a hiccup, his body rocking on the bed with the force of it.

It’s hard to tell how intense or rough your thrusts are when all you have is his response and the feeling of the leather base pressing against you to go off, so once you start to fuck him in earnest, you’re sure to pay close attention to him.

Not that you’d otherwise be apathetic by any means. Whether his beautiful reactions are a skill learnt from camming or he began camming because of his reactions, you don’t know, but you think watching him like this could never get old.

His hair’s splayed back on the pale grey duvet like a dark halo, red hot streaks highlighting just how long the strands have gotten. His eyes, when he manages to open them, glitter like constellations and plead like puppy eyes. Though he has the bone definition of a god, gravity works against the strong lines and puffs up his cheeks instead, making him look small and sweet.

With lips so pretty and swollen, he pouts and whines and pleads, teeth poking out to nibble at the pinked flesh when the dildo hits his prostate and he muffles a whine.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of time to find a rhythm. Though you’re certainly inexperienced in the art of fucking someone else, it’s really a very natural motion to make your hips rock up against him. Albeit tiring, you find yourself able to pick up the pace until he’s writhing under your hands, his own nails scratching at the meat of his thighs with the restraint it takes not to touch himself.

Taking mercy on the poor thing, you lift one knee up on the bed to give yourself sufficient momentum to drop one of your hands from pinning him down and wrap it instead around his cock, doing your best to time your strokes together.

Jungkook lets out a low keen and goes stiff, back in a violent arch. “Fu-uck,” he cries, and his face would almost look scrunched up in pain if you didn’t know better, the poor camboy overwhelmed by finally being touched there.

“Does that feel good, Gukkie? Am I fucking you good?”

He nods hastily, bottom lip trembling as your thrusts don’t let up for a second. “Suh-so good to Gukkie,” he confirms in a wobbly voice, “please fuck Gukkie harder!”

Quickly tiring, you don’t know if you even can, but you engage your core like it’s a workout and speed up your hips, the insistent rub of the leather over your pussy lips and clit actually beginning to tighten a coil of pleasure low in your belly.

“Yes,” Jungkook wails when he feels the dildo spearing him quicker and quicker. You use your thumb to press at his slit, dripping precum in obscene amounts as he sobs and bucks between your hand and your fake cock.

Once his thighs start to tremble violently and he can’t seem to take in a full breath, you know he’s close. Steeling yourself for the final lap, you ignore the rub of the leather and the pressure of the dildo base against your pelvis, and focus fully on Jungkook and bringing him to a second powerful orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see you cum again,” you request, punctuating it with a squeeze of his cock to make him cry out.

Such a polite boy, he composes himself enough to answer. “Baby’s so close,” he whines. “Gukkie can cum?”

You smile fondly even with gritted teeth from exertion, glad his eyes are scrunched shut with pleasure so he can’t see you melt for him. “Gukkie can cum, baby.”

You make good on your promise for him to feel so good he cries when he reaches that high shortly after receiving permission. Tears spilling over his cheeks, his moan comes out strangled but stuttered and airy at the same time, almost like he’s giggling at the feeling that overcomes him. Barely anything comes out of his cock, already milked from the first orgasm, but his body is wracked with sensation and his lips are stretched in a dopey grin, struggling to catch his breath.

If you were a meaner - or fitter - dom perhaps you’d fuck him past the point of oversensitivity, but as it is, you quite happily come to a stop buried deep inside him, lazily stroking his cock as it softens until he hisses at the contact.

Using the duvet to wipe away the last of the lube and cum off your hands, you lean forward and cup this cheeks to brush the tears away and press a kiss to the button of his nose.

He shivers happily, lashes fluttering, and lets out a hum. “Thank you for taking care of Gukkie,” he whispers, before wincing slightly and correcting- “taking care of me. Sorry, I tend to do that when I’m-”

“You don’t have to explain,” you reply easily, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, tasting the salt of his tears as he giggles again at the tickling feeling. “Did you enjoy it, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathless chuckle, chest still heaving. “Fuck, like you wouldn’t believe,” he jibes, throwing a hand over his eyes and heated cheeks when you pull away. “But really; thank you.”

You slip the dildo out of him carefully, hearing him make a low noise in his throat as his hole flutters, empty. Rubbing his thigh comfortingly with one hand - if you knew one thing from being on the show, it was that you needed to shower Jungkook in aftercare now - you unfasten the strap-on carefully with your other. “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun too.”

The crook of his elbow lifts just slightly to expose the glint of his eyes, disbelieving. “You did?”

You beam warmly. “Definitely. You’re so fun to play with, Gukkie,” you praise, “plus, I feel like getting a new perspective has been really enlightening, you know?”

“Ah,” he muses, “entertaining and educational. I’m glad my ass served you well.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat; the quip a clear sign that Jungkook is returning from that hazy, contented plane of subspace you’ve grown used to. “Better put that on your CV.”

Jungkook sits up, affronted. Two fat drops of cum run down his stomach, quickly drying out once they spread over his skin. “My ass has been listed on my CV as a skill for years, Y/n, I’m not an amateur.”

“Oh, a professional ass man,” you tease, sighing at the release of pressure once the strap-on harness falls off your hips and to the ground, leaving your lower half bare. “Is that why you got on the show, huh?”

The camboy pouts. “I got on for many reasons,” he insists, “I’m very qualified, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you return immediately, and pause. “Fuck. We were meant to be bantering but I’ve just been complimenting you, haven’t I?”

He nods like it was intentional. “Yet another one of my skills.”

“You’re impossible,” you sigh, but even when he convinces you to join him in the shower, the conversation between you flows without a hitch, and your fondness for the boy only grows.

In retrospect, you probably could’ve worked out Namjoon’s prompt based on how he treats you that dinner.

Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but you’re so hungry from earlier that you barely notice the signs. It’s not uncommon for the guys to pile food on your plate, but Namjoon’s repeated insistence of feeding you directly perhaps should’ve been the first flag.

The way he fills your glass of water for you, ruffles your hair, continuously calls you little… Yeah, you blame Yoongi’s delicious fish cutlet and rice meal for not paying enough attention.

Luckily for you - or perhaps for him - an opening appears when you’re cleaning up the table with Taehyung and accidentally fumble a small dish of dipping sauce all over your hands and front.

Immediately, Namjoon as at your side, taking the ceramics out of your hand and tsking gently. “Oh, love, that’s no good,” he coos in a low timbre, “you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”

You could just offer to go rinse your hands off in the sink and change shirts, but you’re wired up from fucking Jungkook without your own release - the camboy was so chipper at dinner that everyone had surely cottoned on - and so a better idea comes to mind. “It’s running down my sleeve,” you offer with a faux pout, “I’ll probably need a shower to get it all off. Care to join me?”

Namjoon’s brows lift as he surreptitiously ensures no one else is in earshot. With a hand on the small of your back, he leans in and presses his lips against your ear. “How about Daddy gives you a bath, baby girl?”

You suck in a breath, nerves alighting. Oh. You can work with this. Straightening up, you latch onto his shirt sleeve near the cuff and soften your eyes. “Only if you take one with me,” you bargain, “I’m only little, Daddy.”

He pulls back quickly, and were it not for the hot flares of lust in his eyes, it would almost seem like he’d been shocked. “Go to your bedroom then, love,” he instructs, “and no running on the stairs.”

Of course you aren’t really an impulsive child but, as it is, his command is actually difficult to follow. The urge to clamber up them as fast as you can, knowing you’re finally going to get fucked good, is hard to suppress.

You manage, however, and soon enough Namjoon’s in the bathroom with you, filling the tub. As you wait, toes wiggling against the cool tile in excitement, he unbuttons his cuff and rolls up the sleeve.

“Okay, clothes off, kitten,” he instructs, hunkering over the edge of the tub to dip a hand in up to the forearm, checking the temperature and stirring up the water, “it’s just about ready.”

You obey, tossing your clothes in a growing pile in the corner. Though it’s no bubble bath, he has drizzled some body wash in to give it a comforting scent, floral and sleepy like ylang ylang. When he pulls his arm out, there’s a ring of suds, and spots of water have already gotten onto his shirt. “You’ve gotta hop in too, Daddy,” you point out, smirking when Namjoon visibly falters at the title.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he confirms, shucking off his shirt and pants, “get in first, kitten, it’s all ready.”

The water is divine, a blooming heat that seeps down to your bones, warming you to the core. You immediately see your skin start to pinken, but the water isn’t unbearably hot, and it’s a pleasant flush.

The heat below contrasts with the cool air on your upper back and shoulders, causing you to shiver, but before you can complain you feel the water level rise, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around you from behind.

As you let him lean you back against his chest, you feel his hardness, but neither of you feel the need to comment on it. This is a porn show, and you’re going to fuck soon, sure, but for now there’s nothing better than a hot bath.

“Give me your hand, let’s clean this sticky sauce up, huh?” It isn’t until Namjoon begins to soap up a loofah and delicately scrub away at the black trails of dipping sauce that have run down your arms that you realise just how fantastic this prompt is. If you played your cards right, Namjoon would take care of you and pamper you all evening, fuck you silly, and then presumably put you to bed like a good Daddy. Holding your hands out obediently, you’re quite content to oblige.

“Sit up, kitten,” the academic commands softly with a press to your shoulder. Once the skin of your arms is unmarred again, Namjoon dips the loofah in the chest-level water, pulls it out dripping suds and water, and laves it over your back, making you sigh at the warmth. “Feels nice, hm?”

Your lips stretch in a lazy smile as you recall asking that very question yourself just earlier today. As much as you had fun domming Jungkook, and wouldn’t be averse to switching things up - quite literally - again, there’s no denying that your soul really sings when you’re the one being taken care of, played with, and pleasured. “Really nice, Daddy.”

The loofah gets dipped again, this time sliding over your chest and stomach. Letting your eyes slip shut at the relaxing treatment, Namjoon’s low timbre washes over you just like the aromatic suds of body wash. “I’m glad,” he coos, “I like taking care of you. You’re too little to do it all yourself, aren’t you? Need Daddy’s help?”

“Too little,” you parrot sleepily, “need Daddy.” With every word, with every touch of his large hands on you, you truly begin to feel little. Curling your toes against the base of the tub, you make a low noise in your throat and lean back against his chest again, head lolling back over his shoulder. “Will you give me a kiss, Daddy?”

He smiles at your entreating plea and wide eyes, eyes like crescent moons as he dips his head and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “All better now?” he checks as he sits the sopping loofah on the side of the bath.

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I’m not all clean yet, Daddy.”

“You aren’t?” he asks with mock surprise, dimple deepening and brows lifting. “Well, that’s no good, is my kitten still dirty somewhere?”

With a single decisive nod, you grab his hand and lead it down until the tips of his fingers brush your folds. “Daddy didn’t clean here, ‘s still dirty.”

You let out a blissful sigh when he cups you, middle finger curling up to barely dip inside you. Namjoon grins. “In here?” Rather than wait for your answer, he smoothly pushes it deeper, massaging at your inner walls. “Alright, kitten, just close your eyes and let Daddy finish cleaning you up.”

A smile graces your lips as your eyes flutter shut again, head comfy in the crook of his neck and shoulder. You could get used to this.

He doesn’t tease you, but nor does he fingerfuck you with intensity or vigor. It’s methodical and diligent, like he really is cleaning you out. One finger quickly becomes two, and his other arm winds around your waist on the other side to roll your sensitive clit, making you moan softly.

Raring to go from unfulfilled pleasure that morning, your nerves go into overdrive, a building wave growing quickly in your belly. When Namjoon adds a third finger, crooking them inside you thoroughly to stroke your g-spot, it takes less than a minute for you to fall apart, thighs clenching tight around his hands.

He works you through it, only stopping when you whimper from oversensitivity, but that doesn’t stop you from whimpering unhappily again when he pulls his fingers out and you’re left empty.

“You’re all clean now, kitten,” Namjoon states, running his palms over your inner thighs to relax them. “Time to get out.”

You sit up suddenly with a pout. “But Daddy!”

Narrowing his brows, you don’t miss the slight twitch of Namjoon’s lips at your sudden outburst. “No buts,” he reproaches, “I don’t want you pruning up.”

You huff, scowling when he deftly tugs out the plug and the water level steadily sinks. “You haven’t even fucked me yet, Da-mmf!”

Namjoon sends you a cutting glare, his strong hand cupped over your mouth. “I should wash your mouth out with soap for using that language, little one,” he warns, “now out of the bath.”

You whine behind his hand, but once he drops it you obey and scramble out of the quickly-draining tub. Your body feels heavier without the buoyancy of water, and you’re dripping onto the bathmat like a drowned rat, but Namjoon pays it no mind, getting out himself with powerful thighs and a heavy cock dangling between them, passing you a towel wordlessly.

You dry yourself off, pout never leaving your face. He’s really just gonna stay hard like that and not fuck you? “Daddy…”

“One more protest and I’m taking you over my knee,” Namjoon says with a sharp tone. “I thought my kitten was better behaved than this.”

You open and close your mouth, unsure how you can get what you want without using vulgar words. Then again, perhaps making him punish you would rile him up enough to fuck you, and you certainly weren’t against some spanking. Sucking a breath in to establish some resolve, you stomp your foot on the bathmat. “You’re so mean, Daddy!”

Namjoon gapes at you, the way you’re bundled in a towel from your chin to your knees, scowling at him. “You want it, don’t you?” he mutters quietly, receiving a small nod in return. Relaxing for a moment, he slips easily back into that position of authority. “That’s it,” he spits, taking you firmly by the wrist and leading you - still naked himself - into your bedroom, “I gave you plenty of warnings but you still won’t listen.”

You squeak as he rips the towel from you and tugs you onto his lap on the edge of the bed. Adjusting you so that your crotch is right above his aching erection, his legs are so long that your toes barely brush on the carpet, all your balance resting on him. This had been the roughest he’d ever been with you, or at least the most domineering, and your mind whirls with how much he’s coming into his element with this prompt.

He gives you no warning before he’s laying his hands on your ass, small pats to warm up the skin before a sudden, stinging strike laces your nerves. You cry out, wriggling in his grip, but he uses one broad hand to link your wrists together in the small of your back, your face pressed onto the mattress as you’re held up fully by him.

He’s carefully merciless, spanking you hard enough that it burns, tears pricking your eyes and lip swollen from when you bite it, but whenever your cries of pain and pleasure turn too much to genuine discomfort, you notice he gives you an extra second of reprieve and swaps out to lighter hits.

“Apologise to Daddy,” he commands gruffly as you sob beneath him, swatting you without pause.

You sniff and swallow before you can compose yourself enough to reply in a wobbly cry, knees buckling and trembling. “Suh-sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry, I learnt my lesson, ple-ease!”

You could cry when you feel his hand land on you one last time, soft and soothing the stinging flesh. Namjoon shifts, and then you feel light kisses being pressed all the way from your reddened ass up your spine, making you shiver. “Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, and gently sits you up, lying you on the mattress.

You hiss when you feel the fabric scratch at your skin, but it’s cool and soothing if you stay still, so you take deep breaths and feel your heart slowly return to normal, Namjoon running his fingers over your now-dry body.

Blinking up at him with what you hope are sweet puppy-dog eyes, you call his name softly to bring his attention to your face. “Are you really not gonna, you know…?”

He grins fondly at your attempt to evade the word fuck, silver hair flopping over his brow as he leans over you. “You took your punishment so well kitten, I think you deserve a reward, hm? Some special time with Daddy?”

You light up, sucking on your lower lip as you spread your legs to bare yourself shamelessly, hooking one foot around his waist so he’s between them. “Extra special time with Daddy,” you insist in a small voice, lip curling now that you’re finally going to get what you want.

With a light laugh, Namjoon centres himself so that he’s facing you head-on, your legs comfortably resting aside his hips. Stroking himself a few times, he taps his hard length against your already-swollen pussy lips. “Relax for me, kitten,” he guides, and you keen as you feel him begin to push inside you.

You try to stop yourself from clenching around him, but it’s been a while since you’ve fucked him, and as usual the biggest cock in the house takes getting used to. “So big, Daddy,” you breathe with a groan, brows pinched together at the stretch.

“You can take it, kitten, you’re doing so well for me,” Namjoon promises, holding you steady and open with a hand hooking your knee up high by his chest.

By the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your still-stinging ass, you feel so deliciously full that you can’t breathe. You lay back, eyes scrunched, and focus entirely on the feeling of his girth stretching you open.

“Feels good?” Namjoon checks in, and you nod, wriggling your hips against him to indicate he can move. “Hold on tight, then.”

Even though it’s barely been a day since you were last fucked, it feels like so much longer, and having Namjoon fill you up over and over is so satisfying on a deep level, that you don’t bother muffling your moans, letting yourself clutch at his arms and enjoy the ride.

While Namjoon certainly isn’t the most lithe or experienced member, his cock is a force of nature in and of itself, and this time, with the heat of desperation and the excitement of your altered dynamic getting to him, he fucks you without holding back.

If he’s like this on his third time, you think, he’ll be a beast before the show ends, but then the head of his cock strikes right against your g-spot, and the thought shatters as a cry is ripped from your throat.

“Oh! Daddy, yes, right there!”

He obliges you by adjusting his hips so that every stroke rubs against you just right, and your mind melts, colours and sounds and sensation blurring together in one full note of all-encompassing pleasure.

You cum without warning, not expecting it yourself, and Namjoon curses lowly in his throat as you clench around him. The orgasm is powerful enough to leave you shuddering hopelessly on the bed before going fully slack, drained.

Warm, fuzzy tingles settle in your fingers and toes and chest in the aftermath as Namjoon fucks you through it, not taking long himself to spill inside you. He drops your leg to the side and leans in, pressing slightly ticklish kisses to your neck and collarbone, hands on either side of your chest to keep his weight off you.

“So good to me,” he breathes out lowly, nuzzling your chin up to give him a better angle to sweetly kiss you on the lips, languid and unhurried as he slowly comes down from his own high.

This time when he pulls out of you and you’re left empty again, you don’t complain, too thoroughly fucked to do anything but let out a contented sigh. Namjoon cleans you up, apologising when oversensitivity makes you twitch at the slightest contact, and then washes up himself.

Just as you feel your mind lifting out of that mental space of feeling little, sitting up a bit on his bed and trying to work out if you’d be able to make it to your dresser to put on some pyjamas, Namjoon returns and does it for you, helping you slip into a baggy t-shirt that you like to use as a nightie.

“Are you going to stay?” you ask softly as he lowers the hem over your head, arms slotting through the holes.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters with an edge of hesitation, scratching lightly at his opposite arm, still naked.

You nod, patting the bed beside you. “If you don’t mind.”

Namjoon gathers his clothes and slips them on, not really appropriate for sleeping. Once he sees your look of confusion, he tilts his head towards your bedroom door. “I’m just going to duck out for some comfier clothes for sleeping, are you going to be alright for a moment?”

By the time he’s come back, you’ve already quickly brushed your teeth - hobbling to and from your bathroom like a newborn deer - and slipped under the covers, getting comfortable. Namjoon returns in grey striped pyjama pants and a white shirt, but he has something in his hands.

“You might think it’s silly,” he offers by way of explanation, the mattress springs squeaking as he gets on beside you, “but I like reading before bed, and I thought maybe you’d find it calming.”

With a dubious smile, you look at the book in his hands. It has the clean edges of a cared-for book, with the creases in the spine of a well-read one. On the cover, golden embossed stars and swooping font read The Little Prince. “You want me to read it?”

Namjoon returns your smile, warm and dimpled. “I want to read to you.”

The two of you cuddle together without words, one of his arms wrapped around your back as you lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Propping the small novel up on his stomach, he peers over your head to read.

“Once when I was six years old,” he begins, “I saw a magnificent picture in a book called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” He pauses, tapping you twice on the crown of your head to indicate you should look. “In the book it said…”

As he recites the novel aloud, you feel more than hear his voice, a low rumble in your ear like a rushing river or a slow-moving thunderstorm. It’s soothing, lulling you into sleep. His voice wraps around every word like a hug, enunciating each syllable with such care and colour and love, and always pausing when there were photos, even when your eyes slip shut and you begin to drift off.

Slowly, everything fades away. All sound is reduced to that regular heartbeat and warm rumble; all sensations are narrowed down to just the heat of his skin where it meets yours, his fingers lazily swirling patterns on your scalp. All thoughts simplify, the last six words in your brain, I could get used to this, before they wink out to nothing at all, and you sleep.

1K notes · View notes

tobealostwanderer · 3 years

Text

Faerie Dust

Oberyn Martell x Faerie!Reader

Cw: Fluff, implied kidnapping, destroying of nature, bit of ooc Oberyn, faerie you is centuries old but no taller than a 11 year old.

Inspired by "The Willow Maid" by Erutan

He had come over a few times. A strange man in too shiny armor. He talked about marrying you. Bedding you. Taking you away from your home in the middle of the dense forest.

Your wings drooped with every day that he visited. He was becoming more violent with every time you told him no. You don't even know his name. He just referenced himself as "The richest Lord in the area". And he always told you how he would take you away, to his castle.

He also always told you things that he thought should impress you, he talked about his riches and how mant maids he had. He wore purple and green clothes to establish his wealth. He brought gifts. He even left you a horse, who you set free after the Lord left for the day.

You were seated on a branch in your willow tree as you heard the clopping of his horse's hoofs. Something felt wrong this time. Like his coming was screaming 'danger'. More than usual. So you unfurled from your position and climbed further up, seeking out the help of your bird and butterfly friends. Giving them a bit of faerie dust in payment, they went and sought out the bigger animals of the forest.

The Lord came into the clearing. A big, shiny ax on his back which immediatly concerned you. He dismounted and faced your willow tree.

"My fair lady! I have come to unbind you from this place so you can finally join me in your true home, in my castle with our bairns running around." The Lord said. A bird flew back to you, chirping it's message. Swallowing your nerves, you spoke louder than you normally did.

"Sir, I ask you to leave this place alone. Leave. Now." You cringed at how unstable your voice was. You looked at the little tit bird worryingly, and you felt it's worry course through the air as well. To comfort it, you gave it a bit more faerie dust. Then it left again.

"My lady. This is not a way of life! So I shall be starting with taking down this tree to symbolise my love for you." The Lord yelled up to you. You shrieked in fear.

"Don't! Don't touch my tree!" He didn't listen and proceeded to hack into the side. The tree moaned in pain and it felt like you were cut down as well. The century long pact you had with your hometree was being taken away harshly.

Pain coursed through your body and you fell off your branch and landed on the floor harshly. The Lord stopped for a bit to look over at you before continuing. You yelled out in pain, yelled for him to stop, yelled for help, as he continued to hack away at the ancient tree.

Suddenly there is a new sound. More clops of horsehooves. Voices. The Lord stopped, turning to his left to see the horses trot into the clearing. You couldn't see who was there from your position on the ground and your willow stood in the way, but you did see the Lord fall on his knees as whoever set foot into the clearing.

"Lord Brynt. A surprise to see you this deep into the forest. What are you doing here?" A deep, manly voice said. It sounded like honey and a sunny evening at the lake closeby your meadow. It drew you in, unlike the squaky and unwelcome voice of Lord Brynt.

"I could ask the same of you, My Prince. But my reasons to be here are private." Brynt said. You quietly sat up, crawling to the back of the tree where Brynt wouldn't see you, but you could spy upon the new people in the meadow.

There were three people. Two in shiny armor, like Brynt's but these had a sun symbol on their chests, unlike Brynt's who just had a blank chestplate. And in the middle, a man in golden robes. His hair was black and short and he had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was most likely the man who spoke, and Brynt called 'Prince'.

"Hmm.. why are you cutting down a tree in the middle of the forest? There are enough trees around. And if you need more wood you know I can work something out with you, hm?" The Prince said, a smirk on his face.

As Brynt looked around in panic, the Prince's eyes found you without moving his face, like he knew you were there. You locked eyes and he winked before setting his eyes back on Lord Brynt.

The man in question was stammering, trying to make up an excuse why he was chopping down a pretty big tree in the middle of the forest. The Prince just held up his hand.

"I think you by now figured out that you are not supposed to be here. You will leave, now, and you will never come back to this meadow. If you do, you and your family will be banished from Dorne. Go back home, Lord Brynt." The Prince said in a loud and firm tone.

The Lord scrambled up and tried to step towards the tree, but one of the guards cut him off by throwing a spear in front of his feet. This spooked him enough to run to his horse and leave the meadow. The Prince waved the guards off, who, after retrieving the spear, both turned around and left the meadow.

The Prince dismounted his horse and slowly stepped towards you, still keeping some distance as you placed your hands firmly on the tree as a barrier. The Prince smiled softly.

"It's okay, little faerie. Remember me? It's Oberyn." He said.

Your mind whirled as memories streamed through your mind. Meeting a young boy who had walked away from his caretaker and ultimately lost his way in the forest. You had helped him find his way back to the edge of the forest but he came back almost daily for a year, until he never came back.

"O-obi?" You whispered softly, your voice trembling as you gazed at him. In your mind, you placed the boy you knew so long ago next to him. The same kind eyes, the same dark and curly hair. The same bright smile and the same crooked nose. Oberyn's smile widened as you stepped out from behind the tree and raced to him, your arms encircling his waist as you held him again for the first time in years.

He had grown taller and since you hadn't grown much, it must be quite comical to watch a child-like creature hug a grown man like the fierceness you did, but you didn't care. You were glad to have your friend back.

Oberyn talked sweet nothings in your ear as he ducked down to hold you closer to him, his entire body enveloping yours. His hands moved comfortingly over your back as you snuggled deeper into his chest. His comforting smell enveloping you like his body and you sighed happily.

"He wanted to take me away... To his castle... He wanted to cut down my willow, Obi... I couldn't do anything" you said after a few moments of standing there. Oberyn held you impossibly closer at that.

"I knew something was wrong. I wouldn't have let anything happen, little fairy. Your bird friends found me patrolling the land and I came as soon as possible. You don't have to fear anything anymore." Oberyn said softly. He slowly knelt down, taking you with him as he positioned you on his lap. Your arms moved to his neck and you snuggled into his shoulder.

"Why didn't you come back earlier?" You then asked. The years that had passed by were lonely without him. And even though you had your animal friends, it was different with Oberyn.

"I wanted to, but my family wouldn't let me. They had me guarded so I couldn't run off into the forest again. I wanted to come back, once I wasn't constantly followed, but I never seemed to have the time. But I am glad I am back now, my faerie." Oberyn answered. You nodded, accepting his answer. Already glad to have him back.

"I need to heal my tree" you eventually mumbled and got up from Oberyn's lap. He sat and watched as you held your hands above the angry ax marks on the tree. You closed your eyes, sending energy through you into the tree to heal it.

It was too much, you knew it, but you needed to keep your home alive. Without this tree you would cease to exist. You would... Fade. Turn into a flower to eventually wilt and die again. But loosing too much energy, like this, wasn't good either, so as the wounds in the tree closed, your head became light and you fell back onto your behind.

Oberyn was quickly at your side with a water canteen. He held it up to you to drink and you gulped it down quickly. You leaned back against your friend as you finished it, gasping for air and still feeling a bit lightheaded.

"I am here now, little faerie. I am not going anywhere. Not today at least" he said with a smile. You smiled back. "Would you... Would you mind if I took someone with me next time? I really want you to meet someone, my faerie"

"Of course, Obi. As long as you trust them. And as long as I can stay here and you visit me." You said with a smile. And with that, you leaned further into him and closed your eyes, turning out the world, safe in the arms of your friend.

Oberyn smiled down at your sleeping form. He leaned against the tree, stroking your hair as he went over every memory he had of you, waiting for you to wake up again. He didn't care how long he would be sitting here for. He was just excited for you meeting Ellaria, and for finally holding you close again. He had missed you immensely and now he wouldn't let you go like that ever again.

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #faerie #faerie reader #game of thrones #the willow maid #erutan #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

54 notes · View notes

inanotherheadspace · 3 years

Text

The Adventures of Team Lune - Chapter One: Home Coming

Summary: A dragon slayer, a demon slayer, and a god slayer walk into a Guild Hall... and all goes to hell

Pairings: Natsu x Fem OC, Gajeel x Fem OC, Gray x Fem OC, Sting x Fem OC, Laxus x Fem OC, Loke x Fem OC

Word Count: 4144

Masterlist - Next Chapter

The guild hall was noisy. Not it's normal noisy, but still overwhelmingly loud. May's footsteps were hurried, the tips of her shoes slapping the concrete lightly. The rain pattering down around her, soaking the tattered fabric of her cloak, along with her ridiculously-long blonde locks. It had been six months. Six months since she left for a quest without notice. The mission was long, at first it had been said that it would take at least two years, but the client had been pleased with her progress; she had done what needed to be done and was released early with full compensation. A small grin lit her features at the hefty sum of a reward, as well as seeing her home once more. Her smile quickly melted to a grimace, as she remembered her cloak being torn to shreds. Now she could only hope that Calypso would be able to fix it, although it seemed completely ruined, and she would have to buy a replica somehow. Her frown remained until she reached the guild's doors. She silently prayed to the God's that Calypso would be there, drinking as she usually was. Or even Astria, maybe Ria would fix it for her. She cringed at the thought, No, definitely not, Ria would probably further ruin it somehow. She then placed her palm flatly against one of the doors, sighing silently as she gave herself a moment. Everything would be normal in there, nothing new. As she inhaled once more, she let her intrusive thoughts clear, pressing the door open and letting herself into the hall; her eyes glued to the floor. She continued letting her feet move her, bit by bit until she let her eyes wander from the wooden planks, searching for Calypso's wine-purple hair. "May! Welcome back!" The old man's voice ringed through her ears, as the guild hall fell eerily silent. Swallowing a deep breath, she offered a small wave heading toward the drunken plumette. The girls tanned forehead rested against a table as she snoozed, Cana sitting beside her with - what May could only assume - was a barrel of booze. Right now, wasn't a time to interact with other comrades, guildmates, or friends. She needed her cloak fixed, and now. May's paler hand reached out to the drunkard's shoulder, gripping it and shaking the body part, leaving the poor girl to wake with a tremor due to the force. “Oi! Five more minutes! I'm fuckin' tired!" May's face twitched at the woman's slurred voice. With a small eye-roll, and the ignorance to those around her thoughts or voices, she placed her other hand atop her other shoulder, shaking with even more force. "What!" Calypso huffed rather loudly, pushing the small girls' hands away as she thrashed in her seat. May's head turned to the side, giving a rather quizzical look as her eyebrow propped up. Her voice was soft and quiet, trying to divert any attention that was placed on her home coming.

"Good morning, sunshine.” Calypso's head shot up then, her eyes widening comically. "I need to stop drinking... I'm starting to hallucinate..." The woman muttered, looking back down at the table as May tapped her fingers upon the wood. "Wait- May would never let her cloak get ruined- May!" She jumped from her seat, grabbing the petite girl in front of her and rolling her into a spine-crushing hug. Calypso swung the woman around like a ragdoll, her blonde hair messily waving around.

"Oh, my gods! It's really you! Where the fuck have you been, you stupid brat!"

May's hands found themselves patting her back soothingly, quickly turning into small slaps as she was being crushed to what she presumed was death. "I-...I took!" She squeaked as her lungs were being drained of the air she so desperately needed.

"Huh? You leave for six months! Six goddamn months! Leaving me and Ria to wither here! How could you do that to us! You didn't even leave a note!" Calypso placed the girl on the floor, her hands leaving her weakened body, before they were placed firmly on her shoulders shaking her senseless. Well, at least she can breathe now. "You literally disappeared! We thought you died or something! You're insane!" As Calypso ranted, May found herself chuckling lightly, her cheeks growing warm in embarrassment.

Her fingers found the back of her neck, scratching sheepishly as she averted her gaze. "Well... You see, I um, took a really long mission- I figured you guys wouldn't mind much since I left rent money for about two-years," it seemed Calypso didn't mind the attention being drawn to the two, the thought resonated deeply within May however, leaving her entire body flushing with the warmth of embarrassment- that or it was just her blood circulating properly now.

By now, most of the guild's attention was on the two, truly unbeknownst to them. "Uh... Calypso by the way... Could you, y'know, possibly fix this?" The girl muttered, still blatantly upset about her cloak as she untied it from her pale neck. She folded the fabric strands- more like strings now as she handed the delicate piece to her friend.

"I bet you cried for hours over this, huh?" The shit-eating grin Calypso sported as the words left her lips made May fill with murderous intent. Her emerald eyes glinting with what seemed to be pure remorse. As soon as the tension was heavy, another familiar female presence was felt beside the two; before two arms shot out, palms placed sternly on each of their shoulders. The body moving between the two.

"C'mon May! You just got back, no need to go killing each other, yeah? And you-" Astria's palm moved from Calypso's shoulder, raising upward and slicing into her hair in a chop-like motion. Calypso groaned from the impact, raising her hands to rub her temples. "Don't go provoking her." Calypso nodded sheepishly, before turning her attention back to May, "But seriously, we thought you fell off the place of the planet or something. Don't go worrying us like that again." May gave a curt nod, offering nothing but a small pout-like smile. The flimsy fabric that rested in Calypso's hands was placed onto the wooden table as she let out a small sigh. "I missed you, you dumb brat."

"Me too!" Astria let a small pout form across her face. "Do you know how many times I wanted to spar with you! And you weren't even here! That's so mean! Not even a note!? Seriously!" The smaller girl was hysterical by now, as she turned to May raising and slapping her fists against the other's chest comically. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Before the punches could begin to get more forceful, May's hands grasped at Ria's wrists, pinning them in front of her own chest.

"I get it, okay? But now isn't the time! The cloak is ruined! Like completely ruined!" The tears welling up in May's eyes seemed to glimmer under the hall's lighting, giving Astria a key to back-off for now, as May's pout deepened; Astria's formed as well.

"I'm sure Caly can fix it..." She carefully lied, her teeth grinding together as she neared closer and wrapped her thin arms around her friend, gently patting her back to try soothing her. From afar, most of the guild mates found themselves amused by the interaction, silently chuckling as small smiles graced their faces, others weren't so silent- talking quietly amongst each other at the comrade they hadn't seen quite often but still found themselves missing. However, there were a few who had no idea who the girl was, thinking she was a new guild member who was very much to their disliking, overreacting over an article of clothing. But one of the latter were not new whatsoever, standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest as his brows furrowed.

He stepped forward, stalking silently toward the girls. Calypso stared at her two friends, feeling complete as Team Lune was finally together once more, her feeling of half-emptiness now long-gone, fleeting as if it were nothing but an empty premonition. The three S-Class mages stood silently as May tried to keep herself from unraveling into silent sobs. Astria couldn't help but be amused, still feeling sorry for her dear friend, but finding her attachment to a simple article of clothing comical.

The man however, seemed very annoyed with the upset woman. As he neared the three, his pink hair flopping with each footstep, he felt the incline to slap her. "Are you serious right now? You're upset over a cloak you bought? While your friends and the guild have been here waiting for you to finally return?" His tone was harsh, piercing May's demeanor with poisonous irritation.

"Natsu..." Astria looked up from her friend, shaking her head no softly, as to not disturb May's panic.

"I'd understand if maybe a parent gave it to her or a friend or something, but seriously? Over clothing?" The oblivious boy seemed to have chosen ignorance that day, as Astria's eyes widened in reaction to his outburst. She could only imagine the anger beginning to dwell within May, as the other girl's body began to tremble slightly. "It's kind of," he seemed to search for the word as May unwrapped herself from her friend, pushing her away gently as her tears remained in the brim of her eyes, “...childish?”

"I'm sure you'd know all about that, because of Igneel's scarf, huh?" She peeped, feeling herself become even smaller in front of Natsu. The two girls backed a bit; knowing there wasn't any way this would end in a positive outcome.

"Watch your mouth, Dragneel." The girl stood, unwavering as her arm stuck out in front of her with her small palm facing openly toward him. "Or so help me, I will kill you right here."

"Hey, hey! He has a point! You're a part of Fairy Tail! How could you hurt your own friend?" A blonde girl asked, stepping closer with concerned eyes. "Can you even call yourself a part of this guild- no, this family if you really want to hurt one of us?" The girls question turned into a shout, allowing May the time to shift her attention to her with a quirked brow. May's head tilted to the side, before turning back to Natsu, seemingly completely unbothered by her questions. This only enraged the blonde. The girl took a few steps closer, before letting impudent words roll of her tongue. "I won't let you hurt him! You can't storm in here like that! You're not a part of this family!" The girl's words left May's ears ringing obnoxiously, as she fully turned to face her.

Her face was stern, unwavering and stone cold compared to hers, who was now on the verge of tears as Natsu remained in the air due to whatever magic the mage was using. "Natsu, could you keep your girlfriend on a leash?"

"Lucy," Laxus's voice warned calmly as he stood up, offering the other blonde a small shake of his head. "I'd stay out of it."

Lucy, as May learned had now turned to Laxus offering him a helpless look as her frown deepened before walking backwards and toward the scarlet haired woman, a woman May was highly fond of. Erza however, seemed completely unbothered toward the situation, simply shrugging to Gray as they stood by Happy, an exceed May had learned to love when hanging out with Astria and her company. However, three new faces stood beside the two she had known so well, a pale and pretty bluenette and a rather burly man whose hair raggedly grew beneath his shoulders. The man's attention seemed to drift from the soon to be brawl to the plum haired mage standing beside her and Astria. May's attention turned back to Natsu who only stared back in exasperation as adrenaline pumped through his veins like poison. He couldn't stay here, not like this. Not helpless. He hated that feeling.

Unbeknownst to the other guild members, besides the likes of Laxus and the Master, May hadn't harmed Natsu. She simply - yet complexly - made it seem that way. Natsu however, was also oblivious to this fact. The impact had been made using her magic, shattering some of the sheetrock which covered the wall's interior, milliseconds before she had moved Natsu swiftly, holding him in the air with an invisible force, and against the wall's rubble.

"May, you can stop now," Makarov turned his face to the blonde, offering a curt nod and a small smile. "Welcome back, my child." The girl nodded, letting Natsu fall to his feet as she left her arm drop- relinquishing her magic into nothing-ness.

"I'm home, Gramps." She shot him a warm smile, which allowed the pinkette dragon slayer to run up to her, uninterrupted. However, the woman wasn't oblivious, rather the opposite. As he neared her, fist clenched and ready to brawl- she swiftly ducked, grabbing his fist and enveloping it in her palm. Successfully stopping his attack. At what could be assumed was the speed of light, May disappeared from everyone watching's line of sight, reappearing behind Natsu, her whisper left his blood cold as he shivered from the close-proximity and her words brushing his neck as a shiver ran down his spine, clawing at it. "Boo." Before she stepped back completely, and once again appeared beside her infamous team. "I really don't feel like fighting when my cloak is... ruined." She pouted once more, sheepishly letting her arms fall behind her back and holding her small hands together.

"You started it!"

"No, you did!"

"You did!"

"Natsu.." Astria peeped, looking between the two as they bickered.

"You started!"

"No, you!"

"Natsu..."

"Stop bluffing! You were bitching over a cloak!" At this, May's eyes turned to slits. A soul piercing glare fell across her features.

"You brought up-"

"Natsu! You started it! Just calm down both of you, yeah?" Astria hurriedly looked between the two. Not even twenty-four hours into May's home coming and she already had to mediate fights. The girl sighed in defeat, waving her hand to the two. May let out a simple huff, crossing her arms under her chest as her face turned into a pout, Natsu mirroring her actions as they both turned their heads to opposite sides.

"She didn't even really hit you." Calypso noted, swirling her finger in the air.

"I know! And that pissed me off!" Natsu huffed, making Laxus let out a simple and low chuckle as he now neared the two.

"If she did, you'd probably be actually dead." Laxus smirked to Natsu as he stood beside May, letting his palm rub into the top of her head. "Welcome back, kid."

"Oh, what a warm welcome." May chuckled, waving his hand away as she turned back to Calypso whom had already begun drinking with Cana again. "I'm guessing that cloak will never be fixed."

"You don't need a shitty piece of fabric to be a mage, y'know." His deep voice was smooth, less gruff than usual as he offered a small grin, now facing Natsu.

"But I really liked that one."

"You'll get over it. I still don't know why you love them so much." Erza stated, smiling toward the group in front of her, shaking her head slightly in amusement.

"It's practically a part of her being now," Astria stated, offering a small smile to Natsu who was still pouting in annoyance. "Y'know Natsu, we can spar later so you can get over your little temper tantrum." His face sparked up at her words, nodding furiously to her before grabbing her wrist and tugging her quickly toward the door.

"No time to waste then! I'm fired up!" At his words, May couldn't help but let out a silent sigh, a small shake of her head following. After watching her two old friends leave through the guild doors, one by force and one thoroughly adrenaline pumped, she turned back to Laxus.

"So, what'd I miss?" She asked hesitantly, looking toward the new members wearily. Before the others could respond, Calypso's voice rang through the guild loud and clear.

"Lucy, dear-" she started as Cana poured her another glass, "make sure you know all the information before you come after someone. I'd hate to see you hurt because you started something out of ignorance." Calypso's grassy eyes flickered menacingly to meet Lucy's. "If you dare say anything like that to one of the members of my team – I'd have to kill you. Understood?”

The blonde’s eyes widened innocently, and she fervently nodded her head. Calypso sighed, breaking through the deathly silent guild. “What the fuck is everyone pouting over – our May has returned relatively unscathed. We should be drinking! Be merry or whatever!” A loud cheer rang through the hall, returning it to its normal volume.

“Well- somehow, Caly has become the peacekeeper in the guild. We’ve gotten a few new members too – all shitty brats if you ask me.” Laxus grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The troublemaking brats are just as loud as usual. They cause even more issues now since they’re all on the same team too.” May chuckled as she looked around the guild. Her eyes stopped at Calypso and Cana’s table – sitting next to Calypso was the male with long, scraggly black hair that reached below his shoulders. She recognized him from earlier when he was standing beside the pretty bluenette.

“So, the blonde who barks a lot is Lucy, is her skill good? I could use a new sparring partner.”

“Nope, all she has going for her is her body. Some of her stupid keys have merit.”

“And she’s on a team with Gray, Erza, and Natsu?”

“Natsu brought her into the guild no less.”

“Poor Ria...” May mumbled as her heart ached with the thought of her teammate made roommate’s lifelong friend. “Who’s the dude with Caly and Cana?”

“Gajeel, he’s an iron dragon slayer from Phantom Lord. He shouldn’t be here if you ask me, fucker attacked our guild and still fucking got in. Gramps let two of those assholes in.” “Now, now Laxus, there’s no need to go slandering people just because you can’t see eye to eye with them.” The small grin May offered, reminded him too much of Mirajane for his liking; instead of calming down, he graced her with a short eyeroll. “Sounds like the kinda guy she likes to hang around. Who’s the other one from Phantom Lord?” Her eyebrow quirked in amusement. He offered a short scoff, tilting his head in the direction of the bluenette from earlier.

“Her names Juvia, she’s obsessed with Gray,” He offered a small shrug, earning a light smack to his chest from his petite friend.

“And her magic?”

“Water.” May nodded, soaking in the information of her new comrades. People she’d eventually have to fight besides, it was becoming apparent that it was not going to be easy.

“And you said Lucy uses keys?” Laxus nodded to her question, raising his own blonde brow as she patted her pockets for something, before pulling out a thin and bright silver key. “Like this?” His head tilted comically as he stared between May and the key.

“Since when do you use celestial magic?” May then mirrored his action.

“I don’t, but the quest I was on had a lot of rewards, y’know? This was one of them.” The girl simply shrugged, continuing to observe the key. “I’m not really into holder-type magic.”

“Doesn’t yours have some similarities though?” The shorter blonde let out a snort at his words.

“Don’t talk about things that you have no idea about, Dreyar.” His face fell into an arrogant smirk, as his hand rose to grab the key to inspect it himself.

"For something so small, it’s kind of heavy, no? Are you going to keep it?” He questioned as he continued to fiddle with the key.

“Holder-type magic tends to be heavier, since not all of the magic is stored within the user’s body. That and the key seems to be pure silver. To answer your other question, I usually would give it to someone in the guild that would use this kind of magic.” The blonde let out a sigh as she snatched the key back from Laxus. “But because of how nasty that girl was to me, I’ll keep it for now.” He clutched his sides as he let out a deep laugh.

“Aww does the little princess hate being disrespected?” Laxus mocked as May stared daggers into his soul. She took a small step back from him, letting out a short huff as she folded her arms underneath her chest.

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” He offered a small snicker in return before patting her head once more.

"Hey, hey weren’t you the one who said not to dislike others because of their differences? Some shit like that, huh?” She let out another short huff, before walking toward one of the two who had come from Phantom Lord, to properly introduce herself, Laxus hot on her heels. As she neared the girl, she wearily glanced toward her, seemingly nervous for some reason.

"Hi, I’m May, it’s nice to meet you. Welcome to the guild.”

“May, she’s been here for a few months now.” At Laxus’s words her cheeks flared up, the warmth casting a dark pink shade to arise to her cheeks.

"I was just trying to introduce myself Laxus!” At her outburst, the blonde man did nothing but snicker at her misfortune of coming home on the one day he was around the guild. Truth be told, it had been a while since he had been around. For the past few days, he had felt an inclination to hang around, sensing something out of the ordinary; he just couldn’t figure out what. Seeing May now, hadn’t been what he was expecting. Sure, he hadn’t seen May in a while. A little over six months to be exact.

He couldn’t exactly be furious with her considering he had gone away sporadically on missions with his team without notice as well. But looking at the girl by his side now, he knew she must’ve seen and raised hell on whatever mission she was out doing. There was no way she was still the same brat from before. Sure, she had grown; but he had seen her at least regularly, so it wasn’t that. He let his gaze wander down, finding his eyes glued to her paler, bared shoulders. That had been the most skin she had shown in a few years. Cloaks really had been a part of her being. It felt weird to see her this way, her pink halter top only granting so much coverage. “You might’ve had a point. With the whole being a cry baby over a cloak. It’s like you’re naked without it.” The guy scoffed, suppressing his own amused chuckle with the ball of his fist. “It really is weird.”

“Hey, don’t call me naked!” The girls scold came out in a shriek, her voice catching the attention of more than half the guild for the umpteenth time that day. A voice cut through, following May’s; “Yeah, no Laxus is right, you’re in the nude right now, May.” The blonde girl twitched at the statement, slowly turning toward the voice’s owner; blood turning cold in her veins in pure rage at Calypso’s words.

“Fix my cape, you damn drunk!” The words came out in a squeak, in a rather unintimidating manner as it usually would be. Truth be told, May had crossed the line of embarrassment long ago; her cheeks remaining a deep shade of vermillion.

The plumette cackled at her friend, waving her hand haphazardly. “After this drink, dear.”

May inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she let her breath out. If anyone needed a drink, it was her. Her feet worked faster than her brain as she stormed up to Calypso, her dainty fingers gripping the woman’s blushing ear, causing an even deeper color to surface as she pulled her up from her seat next to the iron dragon slayer. The small girl began to drag the woman out of the guild, by the tips of her ears, much to the guild members’ amusement.

36 notes · View notes

allandoflimbo · 4 years

Text

Ashens (Part 3)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 3,036

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Full Masterpage

Month: February

Year: 2021

It had been three years since you saw your parents being murdered in your living room and since the civil war started.

Society had fallen.

First, it was the fight for the cure, then it was the fight for protection. Next, came the riots, the fight for food, and eventually, it all became a survival of the fittest.

Electricity and communication were no more. You don’t even remember the last time you saw a working TV. Family was no more. Violence and dishonesty were now the brutal answer.

These days, protection came in the form of clothing you owned and how much you had of it. After it became apparent that this virus was actually a bacteria born and flesh-eating disease, everyone did what they could to try and keep their skin protected as much as possible. It ate through the skin and took over your body like a plague. Heavy clothing equaled less chance of being infected. It didn’t take very long for clothing stores to be looted along with the grocery and drug stores.

Eventually, you’d have to make use of any clothing you found on dead bodies that were killed by assassination and not by the virus itself. You couldn’t risk that.

But even that was rare to come by. Everyone jumped at the opportunity of a clothed dead corpse. Whether it was for the scarf, the pants, shoes, or socks.

During the riots, most of the homes had all been destroyed either by fire or vandalism. Some tainted by dead bodies; murder scenes. Some eaten by the virus. You didn’t want to live in a home that was infected. Destroyed homes were ruined by the winter’s harsh snowstorms and the summer’s heavy rainfall. Because of their collapsed ceilings mixed in with the weather, it all eventually began to mold and collapse.

Life was no more, happiness and serenity were gone, except for in The Capitol.

No one could get inside The Wall. You heard rumors that it was guarded by heavy military and machine guns, and all of Hydra.

The Capitol was a place where your parents had planned for every single one of you to make use of to help you survive and live a happy life. It was supposed to be a safe haven, not this.

It was now the place that had been savagely stolen by Hydra and the evil rich. The migration into The Capitol had happened very soon after your parent’s death. The rich, elite, privileged, and only some certain politicians, were taken in.

The other politicians, you heard in rumors, had either killed themselves or were killed by other government officials, just like your parents had been. You heard rumors that this had been an undercover mission for years. They all knew how to take over the moment it was necessary.

Even the doctors and scientists had been taken with them. And you wondered if it was at their own will. Meanwhile, everyone else - people like you and Will and simple middle-class families with children - were forced to fight each other to stay alive.

A bloodbath.

The first few months you and Will had refused to fight anyone for food. That wasn’t in your moral plans. But it had eventually come a day when neither of you had eaten in three days, and the only thing left, in a dirty store off Route 95, was a loaf of bread. You, Will, and this random girl all argued until you eventually agreed on splitting it into three pieces.

The girl had been chewing her piece, devouring like she hadn’t eaten in days when her eyes landed on the tattoo on your neck, and immediately you knew she knew who you were. Her eyes grew dark and she jumped at the chance to attack you when Will came from behind, hitting her on the back of the head with a heavy bucket, making her pass out.

You knew that no one really knew what happened to your family. They all think it was your parent’s intentions for all of these horrible things to have happened. They blame you and your family for this. This only made you want to avenge your parents even more and even Will knew. This life wasn’t what they wanted, and it’s not what you wanted either.

You had been sitting one night, in the middle of a forest in Connecticut around a blazing fire, eating a fish you had just caught with your handmade spear. It had fed you both for many months. Will smiled over the fire at you, licking the meat off the bone clean.

“We’ll get there, Y/N.”

You stared at the fire in a daze. You hadn’t lost hope. Or at least you don’t think you did. Your feet had been bare for weeks and they were starting to chafe and bleed.

You wouldn’t admit it, but part of you did lose a little hope. You feared the first snowfall of the year. It was almost comical to you how your last worry at the moment was frostbite.

You took a deep breath, enjoying the taste of the Tilapia. You wrapped your heavy scarf over your shoulders.

“I know, I’m just tired. I wish I had more strength, I wish we had more strength. There’s two of us and thousands of them, Will.”

It was the first sign of doubt you had shown in months, and it surprised Will slightly.

“I know, but we can do it. I know we can.” he licked his fingers clean and then laid down on the wet and cold grass, his hands behind his head.

Could you do it? You weren’t sure anymore. You knew you wanted to kill Hydra and you wanted to overtake The Capitol. But were you two really capable of doing that? Have you two been delusional this entire time?

“Its been three years. Three years.” You said softly. Exhausted.

“True, but we’re young. And we’re smart. We have an advantage they don’t. That.” He bent one of his legs and stared up at the scars, a small smile tainting his lips, “We could always call The Avengers.”

You scoffed, running your hands through your hair as you threw the bare spine into the fire. You were a bit sad you finished it, your tummy still turning in hunger.

“What Avengers? Hydra destroyed their home, everything. They tried to fight and they lost. Worst than when Thanos beat them. And to make matters worse, this is a virus, it’s not something they can necessarily control. They’ve become overpowered, even the damn Avengers are overpowered now by Hydra. This is like a horror movie that will never end. It’s time we face the facts.”

Will smirked.

“I don’t know if I buy it. You mean to tell me even Bruce fucking Banner couldn’t break that damn wall?”

You gave him a glare.

“I don’t think the goal here is to break The Wall. If anything that would ruin the purpose, don’t you think?” you picked up a small and harmless rock and threw it at his chest, making him cringe, “dipshit.”

Will continued to stare up at the stars. The night was midnight black, and now since there was no longer any electricity, you could even see the milky-way.

“I don’t see this ending badly.”

You wish you had his good heart and good soul. You furrow your brows at him.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“This whole thing. We’ll fix it, I know we will. I don’t know how, but it will happen. I’m sure of it.”

You consider his words and nod. You slowly take your time to get up and walk over to where he is. You pull your heavy apocalyptic-style hood over your head and scooch over closer to him. You cross your own arms behind your head, also looking up at the stars. They looked beautiful, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel even a little bit serene. This is why you enjoyed Will. He was your best friend and your guardian angel.

“You really think so?” You ask.

Will turned his head over and looked at you. You did the same thing, staring back into his eyes.

You were suddenly afraid; afraid of losing your friend. What would you do without a good soul like him to keep you sane and strong?

“I do.” There was no trace of doubt in his voice.

Still, you tried to believe him, you really did.

You and Will began to fend for survival. You often thought of killing your parent’s murderer when you would both be laying under a tree in the cold of the night trying to fall asleep. You would never forget that face. You and Will would both alternate between being watchmen to guard your food and weapons. You mostly used the weapons just for hunting, but you never knew what could happen. Still, you remained alert and vigilant.

You both never ventured too much into the city, trying to stay on the outskirts as much as you possibly could. But one day you had cut your hand while trying to spear more seafood in a riverbed, and the cut ended up being deeper than you could manage. Not only did you fear it to get in the way of your hunting, but you also didn’t want your blood seeping in through your clothing, making it more versatile to the virus.

You both found a looted, but in not-too-bad-of-a-condition, dollar store just off the freeway. You both climbed over some of the abandoned cars, making sure to look in each one just in case there was something worth taking.

You got to the entrance of the store, and Will told you he would be outside waiting and keeping guard while you looked for some bandages.

The store was almost completely empty, yet you found your way into the med isle, stepping over fallen light fixtures and useless items like beanie babies and dusted up Happy Birthday cards. You were rummaging through some boxes when you heard it.

A scream.

Will.

Your heart jumped into your throat and you acted on autopilot. You didn’t second guess, you ran through the doors and over the fallen cable wires without hesitation. Your eyes searched the eery and abandoned parking lot. You didn’t see him and you screamed Will’s name over and over again, running around the deserted parking lot. You knew it was dangerous, but you had to find him. You heard a groan and you quickly saw him lying against the curb off to the side of the highway, his arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

You feared the worst.

“No, no,” you repeated to yourself. You tried to be careful to not slip on the black ice beneath your leather boots.

You ran towards his fallen body and the first thing you say was how pale he was. His face was emotionless. Most likely shock. You crouched down next to him and you pulled his arm away from his chest. You saw a knife sticking out from his upper abdomen and blood.

A lot of blood.

He was panting and it didn’t take you long to look up across the street. There was a man faced down into the pavement. You swallowed thickly, knowing there was a fight and Will had gotten hurt.

“He saw you and he kept saying he wanted your coat, he was a loon and he had a machete, and he — and he—” Will panted.

“Shhh, shhh.” You hugged him tightly to your body as you rocked him back and forth.

“I wanted to protect you.” “I know, Will. I know.” You cried, closing your eyes tightly together and holding him closer.

He barely coughed out, his eyes rolling back.

“It hurts.” He cried.

You saw heavy tears cloud your vision and you felt a sense of impending doom.

“I got you, Will, I got you.” You don’t know if you were speaking to him or yourself.

He stretched his arm up and grabbed yours, pulling your embrace tighter around his body.

“We’ll get them, Y/N. We’ll avenge your parents, I promise. I’m too strong for this.” He squeaked, “I won’t die.” He said through clenched teeth.

Tears ran down your face as you watched him grab his own open abdomen.

“You are, Will. You are so strong.” Your face tilted to the side as more sobs racked through your body, “Please, don’t leave me. I can’t be alone. I can’t do this alone.”

You felt his nimble fingers dig into your elbow, smearing you with his blood.

“I’m so sorry.” He whimpered, some blood escaping his lips this time.

“Please, please.” You cried over and over again, holding him tighter to your chest.

It didn’t take much longer for you to feel him go limp in your arms. Your body shook with your cries when you repeated it back to yourself: Will was dead.

You didn’t allow yourself to cry for too long. You wanted to but you knew you needed to keep moving, and being this exposed could only cost you your life.

You quickly found a nice area, the nicest you could possibly find in an arena of death, and you carefully laid Will’s body down. Ironically, it was in a field of dead daisies. You delicately draped his arms over his chest and you whispered your goodbyes to him. You took a moment to cherish who he was. He was a lonely son of a construction worker and an accountant. His bother died two years ago after being infected. He had been in pain for a long time, but he had a good heart, and he strived to stay at your side to help you. You let your tears fall on your hands as you held his for just a few more minutes.

No more than a half-hour later after finding some bandages, you were back in the woods, continuing your journey south. You pulled out the compass that Will had given you, just to be sure. It was close to dusk when you heard the sound of a river running down below. Your stomach grumbled, suddenly feeling very hungry again. You had been out of luck today, finding not even one squirrel or deer. Not even a bird.

You hadn’t eaten since that morning when you and Will had split a couple of spare pumpkin seeds. Your chest tightened at the thought of him again. You felt awful for just leaving him in the field like that. You knew someone would find him soon and take the clothing off his body to keep for their own. But you had no choice. And there was no time for a proper burial, at least not in the middle of a city like that.

You continued your walk more and more, the boots that you had stolen off a girl’s body, squishing in the mood and dirt beneath your feet. You were thankful it hadn’t snowed yet this year. The cold was already unbearable as it was, if there was snow it would only make your journey worst. You couldn’t take it for granted.

You don’t know how much farther you walked since you had no watch. No one had watches anymore. Time didn’t exist anymore. But, it would help in order for you to estimate your location and how far you had left in your journey. You were guessing, realistically, it had been about an hour, judging by how much darker the sky now was.

You knew you needed to find a corner to settle in and build a fire. You needed a place to sleep for the night. Food would have to wait until tomorrow, you would go to sleep hungry again.

You take a deep breath and rest your hand on a large tree. You were extremely fatigued, in desperate need of water. You had been dehydrated for a while. You knew your canteen was running low so you had to savor as much as you could.

You took necessary sips here and there.

You drift your eyes over the horizon and through the broken branches until your gaze lands of a patch of grass that looked decent enough for a rest stop. You would lay your dirty rag you call a blanket there and get some rest.

You slowly started your walk, tucking your canteen back into your bag.

You heard owls in the sky around you and you grew worried as you began to realize that with Will now gone you were truly alone. There was no way you could avenge your parents alone. You couldn’t go into The Capitol alone.

You had no chance.

Your hands grew clammy and you started feeling worried sick, your mind now in overdrive.

You were screwed. You were all alone and screwed and there was no chance in hell you were going to come out of this alive. Suddenly, you find yourself angry at Will. Angry for lying to you and saying that everything would be okay.

How could he say that? How could he lie to make you believe it was true? You wouldn’t be capable of doing this alone? Even the Avengers couldn’t do this, even the Earth’s mightiest heroes could not win against Hydra, yet here you were trying to overthrow an entire city filled with them?

You remember the people talking about how their compound had been bombed and destroyed. They didn’t have a home anymore. They had three missions where they tried to overthrow it and failed miserably. It pained you to see that your parents hope for the future had become a living hell of blood and war. How could Will have so much faith in you? You remember the feel of his limp body in your arms and your sadness is unbearable.

More tears found your eyes and you rubbed your wet nose over the back of your sleeve. Something heavy caught the tip of your boot, and with a shriek you found yourself tumbling down and down.

Then, everything went dark.

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader series #ashens chapter 3

183 notes · View notes

jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

The Art of Observation

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K (sorry again!) Warning: None Author’s Note: The coffee house scene from book 1, chapter 7 from Ethan’s POV.

Catch up here.

_______ A rational man would keep his distance.

But Ethan discovers, with some dismay, that he is nothing close to a rational man because he finds himself in her presence again. This time in line at his favorite coffee house and at his own invitation.

“What's your poison?” he asks, unsure of what else to say as they wait.

Lilac looks up at him, quirking her lips in thought, the gesture entirely too lovely.

“Surprise me,” she tells him at last, breaking him from his wandering thoughts. “I trust you.”

His chest swells at the words and he clings to them for a second longer. The smiling barista waits patiently and Ethan schools his features with practiced expertise.

“I’ll have the Vienna and she’ll have…” He glances down at her smiling yet intrigued face as he considers what to order for her. In the span of a second, he recalls the cloud of misery swirling over him that morning as he marched towards Naveen’s room, feeling as helpless as ever. Until she found him, kind eyes piercing him completely as she said, “I wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“...the espresso Romano.”

Lilac’s brows furrow with curiosity but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she hurries to dig her credit card out of her purse. “I’ll pay.”

With a shake of his head, he places a hand over hers, gently pushing it back.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, shaking his head again when she opens her mouth to argue. The barista smiles fondly at them, her bespectacled eyes falling on their joined hands. Abruptly, Ethan jerks it away, feeling his neck flare with heat.

“I know how much interns get paid,” he adds quickly, inwardly grimacing as soon as the words leave him. His addled, panicked mind blurted them out in a misplaced effort to appear nonchalant. God, why was he such an imbecile around her?

After he pays, he leads her to his usual table by the window. Lilac settles in her seat with an easy comfort that he almost envies.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asks, glancing around appreciatively.

“Fairly often. Sometimes I need a moment where nobody needs anything from me. No one here recognizes me, no one cares who I am.” He vaguely gestures toward the many patrons around them. Many of them rush out in a hurry, caffeinated drink clutched in hand. Others occupy the bar stools or tables, too engrossed in newspapers or screens to pay them any mind. The only eyes on Ethan are a pair of striking green ones, watching him with silent admiration.

He ignores the pleasant swoop of his stomach. “Thirty minutes with a good roast and a new book works wonders. I didn’t bring a book, however, so I suppose you’ll have to entertain me.”

He meets her eyes in the charged silence. Lilac's lips begin to lift in a smile, a sure sign she is accepting the challenge. Just then, however, the friendly barista arrives with their drinks. Lilac observes the curly lemon twist adorning hers with amusement.

“Lemon, huh?”

“Espresso Romano is a double espresso with sugar and Meyer lemon, both squeezed into the brew and rubbed on the rim. It brightens the espresso and cuts the edge off the bitterness.” Once again, his mind travels to the icy dread in his stomach earlier as he walked down the construction zone towards Naveen, almost too afraid to face him. Before he can dwell on it, Lilac's gentle smile captures his attention, as incandescent as the beams of the sun burning through fog. “Try it.”

Keeping true to her declaration of trusting him, she takes a sip. Her eyes light up as the flavor hits her tongue. “Hey, not bad! Certainly an interesting mix of flavors.”

The reaction is entirely too pleasing to Ethan, so much so that he rants, “Just don’t ask for it in Rome. It’s a misnomer, and they won’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethan stops with a private cringe at the senseless rambling. Bravely, he adds, “But I thought you might like it.”

Her eyes light up with interest.

“What made you think that?”

The question is entirely too coquettish to be innocent.

“Simple observation.”

“So what, you’re studying me?”

A swift flush travels from his neck to his ears.

“I study everyone, Rookie. I observe everyone. As should you,” he deflects. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I most enjoy coming here. The clientele can be… intriguing at times.”

To his surprise, she wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“No way, I like to tune out the whole world,” she explains. “If I have a good book, I’d rather be curled up on the couch with a blanket. I don’t want any distractions at all.”

Ethan smiles at the impassioned declaration, realizing it coincides with everything he has learned about her.

“I suppose that’s fair. I mostly read historical nonfiction in what little spare time I have.” Lilac matches his smile with one of her own, perhaps knowing that much about him, too. “Being out in the world adds to the experience for me. Everything around us is part of the same fabric.”

What was he talking about? Ethan couldn't sound more like an arrogant ass if he tried.

He rushes on, “But the art of observation...it’s critical to our work as diagnosticians. You’ve already begun to understand that.” Ethan glances around the tiny but crowded shop until his eyes fall on a man around his same age. “For example… that man there, the one reading a book. He’s deeply troubled. Something’s gnawing at him.”

Lilac follows his line of sight. “How can you tell?”

“He hasn’t turned a page the entire time we’ve been here.”

Lilac stares at the man a bit longer to verify his claim. When the man continues to glance at the same page, she allows an impressed nod.

Ethan doesn’t have time to feel smug because as her eyes fall back on his, she fixes him with a very sharp and serious expression. Green eyes study him astutely, almost as if they can see right through him and conclude that something is gnawing at him, too. Could she read the anguish at failing his friend, weighing heavy in his chest? The grave set of her mouth as she studies him tells him that she might, despite his masterful efforts at keeping his emotions hidden. The beat of his heart spikes up as he remains motionless, transfixed.

Hastily, he tears his eyes away from hers, making himself busy with drinking from his mug.

“You give it a shot,” he prompts quietly, desperate to change the subject.

Lilac blinks but recovers by straightening in her seat. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear as glances around. Ethan's eyes linger on the small tress she missed, falling weightlessly against her cheek. He has the wild urge to sweep it away, his calloused fingers lingering against the freckles that taunt him so often.

He is pulled from that silly fantasy by her imperceptible nod towards the entrance. A blonde woman, looking to be a few years younger than Lilac, rushes into the store, hand nervously tugging at her coat. Her hair sticks wildly in all directions, the back of it reassembling a nest of some sort.

“I think she got laid last night,” Lilac says casually.

Ethan's mug freezes halfway to his mouth. He is grateful for that or half of his drink would be sprayed all over the grinning young doctor before him.

“Come again?”

“That’s totally sex hair,” she explains wisely. At his aghast expression, she laughs and adds, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Their eyes fall on the woman now waiting for her order by the pick-up counter.

“Besides, that look on her face?” Lilac continues wickedly. “Pure satisfaction.”

Ethan's eyes fly back to hers. “What makes you so sure?”

“I know it well.”

Throat dry, he struggles to keep his thoughts decent with herculean effort. He wavers for a second, wondering briefly what a satisfied Lilac might look like, breathless, cheeks flushed, and looking at him through heavy lids.

Mercifully, Lilac is no mind reader, no matter how well she proves to read him. Her attention is on the woman, now making a beeline towards the exit with her coffee. They catch an undeniable glimpse of a sequined dress under her coat. No doubt worn to a nightclub the night before and worn again this morning in her haste to leave her lover's bed.

“Okay, you win that one.”

She brings her mug to her lips but the victorious smile is still evident in her eyes. The chime of the entrance door bell rings loudly over the acoustic cover of a Michael Jackson song playing through the speakers. Bearclaw Man strolls in and lines up at the counter.

An idea strikes as Ethan suppresses a euphoric grin.

“Try to top this,” he tells her. “Based on how he carries himself, I bet that gentleman is going to order two venti macchiatos, one with almond milk, one coconut. And, hmm…” He feigns deep thought. “Let’s say a bearclaw. To-go.”

As if on cue, Bearclaw recites Ethan's words verbatim to the barista. He couldn't have done it better if Ethan had paid him.

Lilac's mouth falls open comically. “What?! There’s no way you predicted that!” She turns to Ethan, at once sensing his stifled laughter. “That’s total B.S.! You cheated somehow.”

He stops fighting back and allows a deep, genuine bout of laughter, his shoulders feeling lighter somehow. “Indeed. That man comes in with the same order nearly every day I’m here.”

“So you were just trying to impress me.”

Busted.

“Hardly,” he lies shamelessly. “I’m trying to impress upon you the importance of observation and memory. My point stands. Observation is key. The subtle signals, the hidden details...all the secrets in plain view.” His attention is entirely on her, all pretense and humor gone from his face. She is watching him just as attentively. “Everyone throws a curtain over their lives, hopes it will smooth out the edges and hide the flaws...but the truth always shines through.” As he speaks, his words begin to lose steam, an earth shattering realization beginning to stir him as he looks at her. “Always.”

Neither of them breaks eye contact, maintaining the spell—the illusion of being the only two in that shop, mere feet apart.

“You just have to learn to look for the light,” he finishes quietly.

As he watches her, he can see a silent realization dawn on her face. Her eyes widen slightly with a multitude of emotion before she hurriedly casts her eyes away.

“Everyone?” she asks with pause. She seems to be mustering up the courage to meet his eyes again and when she does, she says, “You’re right. I know I always try to seem more together than I feel. If people knew what was going on inside… well, let’s just say it’s good they don’t.”

The finality in her words feels forced to Ethan, as though there is so much more she is not saying.

“Precisely. If you’re self-aware about it, at least that brings you one step closer to some sort of truth.”

It's as if the words are spoken by someone else. They echo in his mind as he finally acknowledges the inexplicable, maddening feeling that constantly pulls him towards her. At long last, he accepts it, recognizing he lost that battle a very long time ago.

Lilac takes another drink of her espresso as patrons mill about them, uncaring that the world had entirely shifted on its axis mere seconds ago.

“Alright,” she says after a moment, plastering a cheerful smile on her face. “Let’s up the ante. What do you see when you observe me?”

Ethan drinks the last dregs of his coffee as he thinks, studying her over the rim of his cup. The first memory that finds him is the night Dolores died and Lilac staying by his side like no one ever had before.

“You’re too selfless,” he says. “You care more about your patients than about yourself. One day, that’s going to get you in trouble.”

A heavy silence ensues in which he swears he can see brief shock cross her face.

“So how’d I do?”

Her answer is in the form of a courageous smile that doesn't entirely reach her eyes. “You’re way off the mark.” The taunt is almost credible but Ethan knows better. “Swing and a miss. Sorry, you’re completely wrong.”

He humors her with a chuckle. Kindly, he says, “I’m not sure I am.”

Very subtly, she straightens in her seat saying nothing.

“Now do me.”

This makes her almost choke on her espresso. After fighting back a small cough, that cheeky smirk makes a reappearance, much to Ethan's utter confusion.

Whatever that was about, Lilac doesn't explain. She instead scrutinizes Ethan thoughtfully, lush bottom lip caught in a bite. He's not certain what will kill him first, the sight of it or the anticipation of her response.

“You’re lonely,” she concludes.

“I am not lonely,” he returns at once. “I’m desperate for any moment to myself.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she deflects, waving a hand. “You could go read in your office on a break. But instead you come here to people-watch.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but the truth of her words catch up to him. Solitude had always been a rare gift for Ethan, particularly when so many people had demands on his time. He had always relished a drink in silence or the comfort of a book. He had never needed or craved companionship until… until the people he loved the most left his life forever— his mother, Dolores, and now Naveen.

Ethan meets her expectant gaze.

“Did you feel this way before Dr. Banerji retired?” she asks kindly.

Stomach clenching tightly at the question, Ethan stares at those knowing green eyes for a long moment.

“Well? Am I right or what?”

“As usual, Rookie, you’re only half-right. And in medicine, that counts for nothing.”

Lilac looks wholly unconvinced. When she opens her mouth, Ethan is certain it is to continue arguing the point. Mercifully, his pager interrupts.

“Come on, then. My pager is buzzing. We should be getting back.”

As they trek through the crowded streets of Boston, Ethan glances down at her, unable to suppress the half smile she inspires. She had definitely been wrong in her assessment of his loneliness because at that moment, as she smiles brightly back at him, he does not feel so lonely anymore.

_______

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! A bit shout out to @thegreentwin, @aestheticartwriting, @apphia12, @chasingrobbie, @vallerwhoas, @mvalentine for the title ideas!

_______

tags:

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing

250 notes · View notes

marshmellowedhues · 3 years

Text

The Couples' Discount

The thing is, Annabeth knows Percy.

Annabeth knows Percy from middle school, where he would shyly ask her for a spare pencil every day, his big green eyes flitting from the floor to her face and back to the floor, and his face as red as a tomato.

Annabeth knows Percy from high school junior year, where every lab session involved Percy running late into class from swim team practice, a ball of inexhaustible energy: his legs continuously bouncing under the table as he leaned over to ask her what the atomic mass of carbon was for the third time that day.

Annabeth also knows Percy from across the hall at a freshman party in college, where her friend Jason and his friend Piper first locked eyes with each other and subsequently became inseparable.

Suffice to say, Annabeth is familiar with who Percy is. She just doesn’t think this level of familiarity is enough for her to engage in a conversation with him for five minutes, let alone share waffles with him for one hour.

Yet Percy is standing right in front of her, hands gripping the straps of his backpack as he waits for her response.

“You want us to go to Sveltes’ for waffles?” Annabeth’s right hand comes up to massage her temples as her laptop rests on her left arm.

“Blue ice cream waffles, Annabeth,” Percy emphasises. “Please?”

Anyone who knows Percy knows how much he likes his food blue - blue shakes, blue cakes, blue toppings and blue ice cream… Annabeth once saw his eyes light up when their high school Chemistry teacher told them they were making blue copper sulfate crystals. If Annabeth hadn’t kept an eye on Percy, she was pretty sure Percy would have tried his luck and eaten the crystals.

Annabeth steels herself and avoids Percy’s wide baby seal eyes (no, they’re not adorable at all, shut up) before replying, “No.”

Annabeth turns on her heels and walks down the courtyard as Percy chases after her, whisper-yelling, “But if they think we’re a couple, we can get the couples’ discount!”

Annabeth stops short, and Percy almost bumps into her from the momentum.

“What?”

Percy laughs shakily, before biting his lips, the blush surging from the base of his neck to his cheeks. There goes the tomato, Annabeth thinks with an odd sense of satisfaction. Percy opens his mouth and blurts out his words at the speed of a freight train.

“Yesterday was Valentines’ Day, and Sveltes’ has this wicked two-for-one ice cream waffles deal for couples which ends today, so the only way I can get these waffles is if you agree to…” Percy trails off, his lips pursed.

“Agree to what?”

Percy lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug as his face lifts with a timid half-smile. “Be my girlfriend for one hour?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t you ask anyone else? Piper?”

“Piper works there. Besides, Jason will kill me.”

Annabeth huffs. “Reyna?”

“Reyna will kill me.”

Annabeth snaps her fingers. “Hazel.”

Percy glances back at her, horrified. “I am not going in there looking like a pedophile.”

“We’re seventeen, Percy,” Annabeth grits out.

“She’s fourteen!”

Annabeth throws her hands up. “It’s a three-year difference.”

“That’s still illegal!”

“For what? Getting waffles?”

Annabeth glares at Percy for a few seconds, before Percy sighs in defeat.

“I just really want those waffles, Annabeth.” Percy mutters, training his eyes on the floor.

It makes total sense if she just walks away right now. He asked for something she doesn’t really want to give, and her homework awaits in her dorm. Though that isn’t due till next week, and today is only Tuesday… but she has stuff to do. Kind of.

Annabeth doesn’t know what went through her mind - given her final decision, probably nothing sane - but she hears herself say, “Fine. I’m free after classes at four.”

Percy looks up at her, his green eyes unfairly bright and filled with such a child-like hopefulness she almost felt the urge to slap him and stomp off in both embarrassment and confusion. He grabs both her hands in excitement. “Thank you so much, Annabeth. You will not regret this. I’ll treat you to that strawberry milkshake you like.”

“How do you know I like strawberry milkshake?”

For a moment, Percy’s eyes widens before he rushes out, “You told me sophomore year, okay, see you later, Annabeth!”

He turns and runs down the courtyard, leaving Annabeth to over analyse her very perplexing thoughts alone.

Despite Percy’s reassurances, Annabeth finds herself regretting her decision as Percy pulls the door of the cafe open for her. Annabeth steps in cautiously, cursing herself as she finds the place filled with couples. Maybe if she covered her face by resting her hand against the crown of her head, she could get away this entire hour without making eye contact with anyone she knew.

Luckily for them, they find a seat fairly quickly, and Annabeth busies herself with looking at the menu. She thinks there is a possibility they can just eat their waffles and leave without anyone noticing them, when a bright, excited voice calls out, “Percy!”

Before she could hide her face, Piper, decked in her Sveltes’ waitress uniform, walks towards them, her braided brown locks framing her face as her kaleidoscopic eyes shine in elation.

“And Annabeth’s here too,” Piper grins, then turns to Percy. “I thought you’d never work up the nerve to ask her out!”

Percy’s eyes widen comically. If Annabeth hadn’t felt her heart jump, she would have laughed at how quickly his neck turned red, along with his ears.

“To get the discount.” He blurts out, nodding meaningfully at Annabeth. She tilts her head to the side and raises one of her eyebrows challengingly, settling into a smirk. Percy’s face turns a darker shade of red as both his hands reach out to cup the back of his neck.

“Right, to get the discount,” Piper scoffs. “If that were the case, why did you call me last night--”

“I want the two blue ice-cream waffles and a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and cinnamon in a large venti cup, please, now!” Percy almost yells.

Annabeth was about to shush him when she heard him recite her usual order. Piper nods and rolls her eyes, muttering something about “that ungrateful little idiot who asked me what he should wear today”.

“You know my order?” Annabeth asks as Percy breathes a sigh of relief. His head snaps up as he stutters, “I-I have a good memory.”

“Do you remember the atomic mass of carbon?”

He scoffs. “Of course, it’s 16.”

“That’s oxygen.”

Percy winces as Annabeth smirks. “So, you’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Chase,” Percy shoots back. “I really just couldn’t find anyone else.”

Percy launches into a commentary about how waffles are just the best thing the world has ever created, don’t you agree? That quickly turned into an explanation of why he liked blue food so much.

“I placed last for my first swimming competition and my terrible stepfather laughed at me and said I was useless and it would be impossible for me to ever get an Olympic medal,” He shares with an easy smile, hands fiddling the napkin on the table. “So my mother baked a blue cake and told me nothing was impossible as long as I tried my best. A few years later, she divorced my stepfather and we never looked back.”

“That’s very inspirational.”

“I know, I should become a motivational speaker.” Percy replies sardonically.

Annabeth snorts. Conversations with Percy have always been easy, even during high school. Lab sessions were always filled with bad Percy jokes, the kind that out of anyone else’s mouth would have made her cringe and roll her eyes, but she found hilarious when Percy said it.

The good thing about Percy is, he never took himself or anyone else too seriously. He was genuine and self-deprecating, and never really dwelled on one problem for too long. But when he was really passionate about something, he could go on and on about it, and Annabeth finds that he makes even the most confusing marine biology concepts sound understandable.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing on earth to hear him talk about marine biology everyday, Annabeth thinks.

Percy stops short in his ramblings, and a nervous hand comes up to palm his neck. A nervous tick, Annabeth thinks. Cute. Then she feels like plunging her head into the confectionary’s refrigerator because what in the world was that about?

She jolts back to reality when Percy chuckles. “I think I’m talking too much about my major. How about yours? How’s architecture going?”

“Marine biology’s interesting, especially when you explain it.” Annabeth reassures him. “Right now, we’re covering Greco-Roman architecture, and it’s the best thing in the world.”

Percy grins and nods at her to continue. So she launches into an explanation of Doric and Ionic columns and gushes a bit too enthusiastically about the wonders of the Roman aqueducts. Percy listens attentively and asks questions appropriately, and Annabeth thinks that it would be easy to go on more waffle dates with him in the future.

The waffles and milkshake arrive before she can entertain that terrifying thought. Percy oohs and ahhs at the blue ice cream waffles and she laughs at the number of photos he takes of his waffles.

Annabeth is digging into her waffles when a low, hearty voice asks, “Percy?”

Percy’s face brightens as a tall, burly boy stops at their table. “Beckendorf, what are you doing here?”

“Getting waffles with his girlfriend,” Another sweeter voice replies teasingly. “And who’s this, Percy?”

Annabeth glances up to see a petite girl in a pastel pink summer dress with her hands tucked around the arm of a muscular boy in a football jersey and shorts. The girl looks vaguely familiar, and judging by the way her eyes narrow at Annabeth in recognition, they definitely know each other.

“Aren’t you from my psych class? Annabeth, right?” The girl asks.

Annabeth panics slightly, racking her brain for a name. “Silena Beauregard?”

“Yep, and this is my boyfriend.” Silena smiles. “I didn’t know you guys were a thing.”

Annabeth starts, “We’re n--”

“Yeah, we, um, you know,” Percy fumbles with a smile. “We are a thing.”

Annabeth frowns at Percy, who glances at her with pleading eyes.

“How did you guys meet?” The boyfriend - Beckendorf, Annabeth recalls Percy saying - asks.

Before Annabeth could glare at Percy, he replies, “Oh, we actually grew up together, attended the same middle and high school. And as it turns out, the same college too.”

Percy grins as Annabeth forces out a short laugh. Silena cooes at them and turns to Beckendorf, “That is so sweet. When did you guys fall in love?”

Percy chokes on his cup of water, a sure blush forming at his neck. Annabeth maintains her smile as her mind runs a mile a minute while Percy stutters out, “Uh, um, you know, like normal people --”

“Two months ago,” Annabeth interjects. Percy looks back at her, confused. “We were having a double date with our friends,” Annabeth shrugs convincingly. “He was really easy to talk to, and I thought he was really sweet.”

Percy gazes at her, bewildered and with a little bit of wonderment in his eyes that she didn’t understand. What she said was true, Piper and Jason had forced them to a double date, simply because, in their words, they were “the two luckiest people with two of the loneliest friends”.

Annabeth and Percy had protested, but she had to admit that the night had been much more bearable with both of them commenting on the ostentatious fashion choices of some of the diners. Without him, Annabeth would have been stuck watching Jason and Piper hold hands from across the table and gaze into each others’ eyes every few seconds.

Silena grins. “And how about you, Percy?”

Percy blinks and bits his lip. “She makes me happy.” His eyes flit nervously from Annabeth’s face back to the couple.

Percy laughs subduedly as Annabeth clenches her jaw. This was getting too real too fast. Percy’s unexpectedly sweet confession threw her off guard and a strange silence descended upon them.

Silena breaks it, “Well, I’ve never seen you this way before, Percy. It’s a cute look on you.”

Beckendorf nudges her and signals to his watch. She sighs. “Sorry, we have to go now, but we’re actually having a small sorority party this week,” Silena turns to look at Annabeth. “We would love it if both of you could join us.”

“We’ll try our best,” Annabeth replies.

Silena and Beckendorf share a smile, before turning to leave the cafe.

When the couple were out of earshot, Annabeth hissed at Percy, “What was that all about? You could have just told them we weren’t a couple.”

“In case there were Sveltes’ waitresses nearby,” Percy says in a matter-of-fact manner. “If they catch us, this whole meal isn't going to be worth it.”

Before she could protest that very obvious excuse, he stuffs a large chunk of waffles into his mouth and points to his mouth. Annabeth narrows her eyes at him, and for some reason, Percy glances down at his food with a shy, lopsided grin.

After the meal, Percy respectfully insists on walking her back to her dorm on the account of her agreeing to get waffles with him.

And when that didn’t work out, he brought out the big guns. “Annabeth, please, what would my mother say if I let you walk home at this time of the night?”

She snorts. “You would be the type to be a mommy’s boy.”

Percy’s eyes crinkle. “I take pride in being a mommy’s boy.”

The easygoing banter starts again, and Annabeth occasionally catches Percy glancing at her for too long, each time his soft smile causing a lump in her throat and a distinct feeling of warmth on her cheeks.

It isn’t until they are nearing her dorm building when Percy starts talking less, his feet awkwardly shuffling.

“So,” he looks down as he lightly kicks the fallen leaves in front of him. “I had a great time today.”

She smirks. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Annabeth,” Percy blurts out, his hands coming up to stop her from leaving, before he thought better and pulled back, hands coming to rest near his body as he fiddled restlessly with his fingers.

She turns back around to face him. “I… I wanted to say that…” Percy closes his mouth, then opens it again, but no sound comes out.

He laughs nervously. Although she knows what he’s trying to do, this knowledge does nothing to quell the warm feeling in her stomach.

“I mean, since middle school, I kind of…” Percy raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “No, I…”

Annabeth almost wants to help him when his eyes catch hers.

“... So, I know this really nice pancakes place just down the street, I might need your help again because I think there’s a couples’ discount there too--”

“Percy, just ask me out.” Annabeth interrupts, exasperated.

“I want to do this properly.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles at him. “Great, we’ll be here all night then.”

#first fic #fluff #definitely fluff #i hope it's cute and brings some joy #the word svelte just came into my mind don't ask me why #pjo #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth

16 notes · View notes

vvatchword · 2 years

Text

yonder cringe

Back when I was 11, I had to bring up a VHS tape to school. There was a science program at the end that pertained to something we were learning. So I get up at the front of the classroom and stick the tape in the player and fast-forward. An episode of 1987 TMNT is playing. Season 10, the first episode, as I recall. God I loved that shit

Well, I wasn’t thinking about it at all. I was thinking about how far away the science episode is. And suddenly I hear this low titter bubble up into laughter across the classroom.

I turn around and I’m honestly confused. Did someone tell a joke? What did I miss?

I lock eyes with one of the kids in the front row: Gabriel Ramirez. Infamous in sixth grade for sticking his hand in his pocket in history class to play ball. But anyway, Gabe was like, “Who watches Ninja Turtles?”

The following thoughts ran through my mind in this order:

Wait a minute. I’m not supposed to like TMNT?

TMNT is shameful because it’s for babby?

But I am not babby and I love it.

In fact, I know it is not for babby! (I had been accidentally given the trade paperbacks of the original comics, which are full of death and murder.)

These people don’t know what they’re talking about.

Should I not love TMNT? Is something wrong with me?

I don’t want to not love it.

Should I not love TMNT for my classmates?

LOL NO these people suck

Y’all can fuck right off.

I then proceeded to be the most badass that I have probably ever been: while standing at the front of a classroom of my peers, I stared at them without speaking or blinking while their laughter got awkward and petered off.

“Anyway, here’s my fucking Beakman episode u fuckers,” I thought. “Go to hell.” Except it was in a surge of feeling because I was a strait-laced appropriate West Texas evangelical and didn’t swear at the time.

Besides the most salient point (we were all ten and eleven. WHAT OTHER AGE IS MORE APPROPRIATE FOR 87 TMNT), this remains both one of the coolest and most sobering moments of my life. On one hand, and perhaps most importantly: it showed that I didn’t give a single goddamn fuck whether other people like what I like. It’s pointless to even worry about that shit. For that brief second where I wondered whether or not I should conform, I realized that these people impacted my life in absolutely NO WAY. They didn’t come home with me. Which stands in direct contrast to Ninja Turtles, who made me giddy with happiness every day. So, like, why should I give that up for these people who give me nothing and for whom I feel absolutely nothing?

Unfortunately, I also learned that you can’t show people the shit you love. Middle school was the beginning of this unfortunate period I’d like to call, “In which Rachel realizes she’s not on the same wavelength as literally anyone else at any point ever.” I have lost every single popularity contest I have ever been in, and the weird things I like and the weird ways I talk and present are part of the Why.

Why even start, I thought at some point in sixth grade, and I haven’t tried ever since.

As an example: while I was working as a checker at Wal-Mart, I was serving a scuzzy guy in a wifebeater, and after I greeted him, he asked me, “Why are you talking like that?” I still have no idea what I said that was weird and I was deeply concerned afterward, like: how am I presenting to other people that makes me so goddamn odd? And I get worse the younger I am, which makes Past-Me a little terrifying to ponder.

Well, this entire concept came up during therapy, and the outcome was hilarious. Where other people might find it difficult to talk about their sexuality or whatever, I have a lot of difficulty talking about TMNT, writing, art, and especially the subjects of that writing and art. It’s more embarrassing for me to bring those subjects up to strangers—including to my therapist, who knows more about me right now than anybody.

It was a shocking realization, to be honest. I have always thought that I was honest and open to an almost inappropriate level. But I realized then that, no, I definitely shield certain parts of me, and jealously. For example, I don’t tell people IRL that I write, and I don’t WANT to. Like, deeply. I feel slightly panicky if it ever comes up, even if it’s on-topic. I also don’t want strangers in my personal space—deeply, reflexively. This also explains one oddity that I’ve often wondered about: whenever I got a cubicle of my own, I never put personal things in it, only work things.

I’m protective. I need to protect my Happy Places because people don’t LIKE my Happy Places. They don’t LIKE what makes me happy. There’s also a fear that they’re going to look down on me afterward, and that’s something that I think rankles more than anything. Like, you thought I was fine until you saw I liked this piece of media, and now I’m NOT okay…? What the fuck is wrong with you? (And from that moment on, our relationship is always going to be awkward, like they’re holding me at arm’s length while being Nice, and I know that every discussion about me starts off as: “She’s nice, BUT…”)

And you can know in your mind the whole time that there’s nothing really wrong with you, not really. So you like some weird piece of media not everyone else does. It doesn’t hurt anyone. Who cares? Well, I do. And for good reason. There’s social blowback that makes life uncomfortable. What I like is just not socially acceptable, at least not in the ways that I like it. So I just don’t talk about it and it’s safe. It’s fine.

Therapist had a good point, though. If I want to pursue a romantic/platonic relationship with real live people, there’s something toxic there that needs to be undone—the way I hold people at arm’s length because I feel I can’t trust them—and at some point I’ve got to lower the shields. I do tend to drop person-to-person relationships pretty fast, probably for that reason.

She’s aiming at the following concept: that I need to be able to feel like I can communicate honestly with other people, with whom I feel both no connection and yet need. This might be genuinely painful tbh. To take Being Cringe, which I am, inherently.

RIP me

#storysnob

1 note · View note

midnightseonghwa · 4 years

Text

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐦𝐠

✕ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mingi x Reader ft. Jongho

✕ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Odd Fluff

✕ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8k+

✕ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Strong language

✕ 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited

✕ 𝐀/𝐍: I came up with this while I was studying about the role of bacteria in manufacturing cheese and yogurt so...it’s basically just word vomit...

✕ 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: here

"Mingi~" you sang and prodded the sleeping boy's cheek. The boy groaned and turned around to face his back towards you.

"Leave me," he said and pulled the blankets up over his face.

"Let's go out," you whispered and slowly peeled the cover off him.

"What time is it?" He asked and you glanced at the clock, giggling a little when you realised how late it truly was.

"It's...three in the morning," you said and Mingi groaned even louder, his hair sticking up in all different directions as he reached over but this time, he pulled your figure close to him so that you were almost lying over him.

"Uhm, Mingi," you whispered as a small blush set over your cheeks, the closeness making you blushy for no reason at all. You and Mingi were known as the over-affectionate couple so this shyness in you was new.

"What, shy all of a sudden?" He smirked, his voice low and dripping in sleepiness.

"Shut up and get ready," you said and smacked his arms, throwing a t-shirt at his face and walking out the room to put on your shoes.

"Where are we headed to at this late hour, my love?" Mingi said as he approached from the room, all dressed up in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The very ones that always made you weak in the knees and slightly more blushy than usual.

"I'm craving," you trailed off and unlocked the car as both of you got in.

"Jongho," Mingi and you said at the same time which caused you both to laugh and lean in to kiss each other.

"Great minds think alike, baby," he smirked and put his hand on your thigh as he drove down the road, yellow street lights illuminating the dark asphalt.

The silence between you two was rather comforting. It always was. There was never a reason for you to be shy around Mingi and every action of yours whether it be intentional or not was accepted by him.

You played with his long fingers that were curled around your thigh as the low hum of some old rock played on the radio, lulling you into a sleepy state.

"Anything, in particular, my princess is craving right now?" His deep voice lulled you out of the slightly sleepy state you had been pushed into and you giggled lightly, bringing his hand up to your mouth and kissing all five fingers lightly.

"Milkshake, fries, apple pie and oh!" you rattled and looked at him with almost comically wide eyes.

"Flake chocolate with ice cream," you said almost groaning at the taste of it. You could just imagine it.

"Only you can eat that crap. Who even eats apple pies nowadays?" He mused and you pouted. Mingi had always made fun of your love for your local diner's apple pies. But what could you do? Say it was unconventional...but you loved them.

"Just drive," you said and tapped his cheeks, him pressing a quick kiss to your wrist before focusing on the road. Getting comfortable, you pressed your head to the window, knowing it was going take another few minutes before you got to your destination.

The stars were splayed against the sky, all over the dark expanse of the dark universe. Your eyes drifted over the Mingi whose eyes were still on the road, shifting over to you briefly before smiling at you.

You could've sworn that at that moment, Mingi's smile twinkled much brighter than any of the stars that you could see above you.

"You know," Mingi's voice reached your ears and you hummed in reply.

"If you were planning to fall asleep, we could've just done that at home, with you tucked away in my arms. Instead of me driving ten minutes to feed you and you're going to fall asleep on me."

You gave an airy laugh at his words. Maybe the coffee you had drunk was finally wearing off but Mingi didn't have to know that.

"I'm not going to fall asleep. Just need some food for energy," you said and gave him a lopsided smile as he pinched your thighs, you jolting a little at the sensation.

"Sure, my love. I'll believe you."

Mingi parked the car as you were jumping in your seat. Being out at late hours, let alone past midnight was something your parents have never allowed you to do but Mingi was not your parents and nor were you his child.

"Let's go, baby," he said and held his hand out for you.

The parking lot was quite empty, but what had you expected at half-past three in the morning.

The diner itself was rather crowded. Everyone from insomniacs to rebellious teenagers crowded the booths as you and Mingi made your way to the one you always sat at, under the large pink neon sign that said 'love'.

"Ah, if it isn't Mingi and (y/n)," a friendly voice greeted you and you looked up to see Mingi's friend Jongho with his bright red hair being illuminated under the pink fluorescent lighting.

"Jongho! We were missing you late at night. Came just to see you," You gushed and gave the boy a bright smile which he returned.

"You mean you miss the food I give you for free."

"No..." you trailed off and pouted when Jongho gave you a shit-eating grin. Ah shit, the boy had caught you there.

"Full shift?" Mingi asked and the boy just nodded, tapping his pen against his spiral notepad lazily.

Your eyes gazed the menu before Jongho coughed and pulled your attention.

"Honestly (Y/n)," he said and pulled the menu from your grip causing Mingi to laugh a little.

"You always pretend to be interested in other things we have on the menu but always order the same thing," he groaned and started listing off the items as if he had read your mind.

"Two chocolate milkshakes, extra-large fries, two apple pies, one ice-cream topped with flake chocolate and for you," he said and eyed Mingi as if reading him.

Mingi opened his mouth to speak before Jongho interrupted him.

"Pizza pock- ah wait, cheese burger, got it," he started but immediately changed his mind when he saw Mingi's little cringe.

"It'll be ready in a few," Jongho said and walked to the kitchen area.

"It's to-go, Jjong," you shouted and the boy gave you a thumbs up.

While waiting for the food, Mingi and you chatted about the most insignificant things in life. It was fun to just get lost in his deep-set eyes that would never fail to keep you entertained for the rest of your life.

"Here you go," Jongho came back and put two white paper bags on your table, folded at the top.

"Be careful, this one has the milkshakes," he gestured to one of the bags and checked once just to make sure.

"I threw in an extra side of onion rings for free," he said and you smiled at the red-head.

The younger knew just how to please you.

"I can always count on you Jjong," you said and pressed a kiss to his cheek while Mingi paid for the food.

"Now, if you're done sucking up to my baby just to get some attention, can we leave?" Mingi interrupted and gave Jongho a small smirk. The younger male just blushed and pretended to hear another customer calling for him.

Getting into the car once again, Mingi set the paper bags on your lap as he started the car. You peeked inside, grabbing a fry and popping it in your mouth.

"At this rate, you'll finish before we get there," he said and you gave him a coy smile.

"Just one more for good measure," you said and pressed another one to your mouth then rolling the top of the bag down to seal it.

The ride to your and Mingi's special spot was shorter than the ride to the diner.

"No matter how many times I come to this place with you, it never gets old," you whisper, tucking your hand into your boyfriend's larger ones. The warmth radiating from his calloused hands spread through your entire body, getting rid of the slight midnight chill.

"It never does," he whispered and lifted you to perch you on the hood of the car.

"Here," he said and passed you a milkshake while you passed him his burger.

Mingi took a bite from the burger before reaching over for the sides. You sat happily munching on milkshake covered fries, the slight echoing of cicadas being drowned out by the rustling of wrappers and food.

"Mingi," you whispered and gazed out to the place in front of you. The wooden fence slightly creaked as you hopped off the hood of the car and leaned against it.

Mingi had finished his burger already and had moved onto the slice of pie. No matter how much he ridiculed you for it, there was no denying that even he couldn't resist it from time to time.

Today was just one of those days.

You leaned further into your boyfriend. His arms wrapped tightly over your shoulders and the smell coming from his t-shirt could have been enough to put you to sleep right there. It was so comforting.

"Mingi," you whispered once more and the male hummed in response, too engaged in eating his dessert.

"Say ah baby," he said and pushed a pie covered fork towards your lips.

You chewed and swallowed before turning to face your boyfriend.

"You know I love you right?" You said and looked towards the night sky that was now beginning to change into a light white pink-ish hue. The stars were invisible at the horizon and were slowly disappearing over your head as well.

"It looks like the sun is about to rise," Mingi whispered back to you and you checked your phone.

It was almost half-past six.

"It's beautiful," you said and breathed in the morning fresh air.

"Not as beautiful as you," Mingi said and you laughed at his words.

"That's so cheesy," you said and threw a fry at him, which he caught in his mouth.

"Only because I love you," he said and leaned in to press a kiss to your lips.

His lips moulded against yours and you could taste the remaining cinnamon from the pie on his lips. Stretching your hands above your head, you grabbed his head to pull closer so that your noses were clashing with each other as well.

You were the first to pull away, your chest heaving up and down to catch your breath as Mingi rested his forehead against yours.

"Where are the onion rings?" You asked and Mingi gave an airy laugh, pecking your nose.

"Jongho lied to us," he said and squished your cheeks when you gasped loudly and tried to move away from him to check the paper bag.

"That little shit. I'm going to fry him in batter."

68 notes · View notes

lnarizakis · 4 years

Text

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ COACHES DON’T PLAY

MONTHLY NEWSLETTER #3 ; DAILY BULLETIN

HOT OFF THE PRESS ! Thanks for reading our online daily bulletin! Here you can read everything that has happened this past week, along with anything going on today. Not what you’re looking for? Please view the masterlist [here]!

EXTRA ! miya osamu x fem! reader. 1.1k words. original characters.

HOT TOPIC ! Yesterday, (L/N) (Y/N) published her monthly advice column for “Dating-san Helps Inarizaki High!” The lucky recipient is none other than Miya Atsumu, whose letter was sent on behalf of Miya Osamu. Uh oh! What’s the quieter one to say about this?

“What is this…?”

Osamu shoved the newspaper into Atsumu’s face. The blond comically mumbled, trying to get words out and explaining his reasoning behind sending a letter to (Y/N). Osamu drew the newspaper away from his brother, and all of Atsumu’s classmates watched in amusement at the sight in front of them.

He stood tall in front of Atsumu, sitting at his desk and waiting for class to start. Osamu was doing the same, just a few minutes ago in his own classroom, until Suna told him to read the newspaper column that their entire classroom was buzzing about. When he did, flushed-face Osamu rushed out of the classroom and into the one next door to shout at Atsumu for God-knows-what. Osamu’s looming figure intimidated everyone around them but the blond stayed smug, with a smirk plastered on his face as he stared menacingly up into his brother’s eyes. There was some sort of staring contest going on as Osamu tried with everything he had in him to maintain his composure before he would [REDACTED].

The grey-haired twin sighed, admitting defeat that his secret was out for the entire school to read about. Glancing at the clock, he left the classroom. On the way out, he heard whispers and mentions of Asai’s name, taunting him as he walked away. He entered his classroom again, sighing as he sat down next to (Y/N), who was mindlessly scrolling through something on her phone. The girl turned to him, a little bit flustered as she knew of the recent events that took place just seconds before he sat down.

“I wish I could have rejected the letter,” she stated. Osamu turned to her, so that they made eye contact. Though he didn’t outrightly show it, there was a glint of embarrassment in his eyes. (Y/N) frowned, and turned back to her phone. “Asai-senpai won’t allow me to reject letters, so--”

“The advice helped,” Osamu said, interrupting (Y/N). Her hands grew clammy around her phone, so she gently set it down and subtly wiped her hands on her skirt. She asked him for confirmation and he gave her a nod with a small smile on his face. Osamu motioned to the floor, where his book bag and two neatly wrapped bentos lay beside one another.

“I’m going to confess to her today,” Osamu started, “It’s so that all the attention’ll be off of me.” He spoke quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t draw more attention to himself. (Y/N) swallowed. She could feel her hands grow clammy again, so she clasped her hands into fists, and began playing with her fingers. With a disheartened smile on her face, she nodded, and wished him luck. A few seconds later, the bell rang and the two of them faced forward for class to start.

✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

The bell rang again, signalling the end of the school day. In his seat, Osamu stretched out his arms, groaning as he did so. (Y/N) watched him, slightly smirking at his comical expression. The smirk slowly disappeared, though, as her eyes trailed down towards the floor, where the two bento boxes lay side by side. Her heart dropped in her chest, knowing that in less than an hour Osamu would either possibly be dating her editor or have his heart broken. Fixing her hair a little bit, she turned towards Osamu to give him a few last words of encouragement. The two made eye contact, and he smiled.

“Are you ready?” was all she could ask him. He gave her a single nod as he fixed his tie. Osamu then crouched down to place the two bentos on his desk, brushing off any non-existent dust or crumbs off of the cloth.

“I think so,” he said some moments later, after an awkward silence sprang up between the two of them. (Y/N) nodded, and their short conversation (if one could even call that a conversation) ended as soon as she got up to leave the classroom. She fixed her skirt, picked up her book bag leaning against her desk, and headed for the door.

(Y/N) was still a fair distance away from the door before Osamu called out to her, thanking her again for the advice, even if he didn’t really ask for it. She turned around, and gave him a prompt “you’re welcome.” (Y/N) then turned away and walked out of the classroom, leaving Osamu alone to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

Osamu thought he was readier than he’d ever been. He brushed his gray hair back with his fingers, picking at it to make sure he had no stray hairs. He would have tied then re-tied the cloth knots of the bentos, but that would prove to him he was more nervous for confession and the fear of getting rejected than he was spontaneously shoving his feelings away. Which he was―Osamu was shoving his feelings away for the sole reason of putting volleyball first in his high school career. He didn’t really mind doing so, as he figured he should make the most of playing volleyball before quitting after his third year.

He grabbed his bag and the two bentos on his desk and made his way out of the classroom. Earlier today he had written a letter for Asai that he placed in her shoe locker. In the letter, he wanted her to meet him by the small, secluded garden of the campus. The garden’s scenery dripped with the need to be used as the number-one confession spot of the school, and every student utilized it. When Asai had read the letter (and let’s not forget how she shared it with her editor friends in the club room before school started), she visibly cringed as she imagined how cliche and how cheesy the entire confession would go.

HOT TOPIC ! Thanks for picking up the latest issue of the weekly newsletter! These newsletters include information on everything you’ve missed this past week. We’ve got some great things in store for you to read today, and that includes the follow-up letter from the one-and-only Miya Osamu (2-1)! If you didn’t know, his twin brother Miya Atsumu (2-2) sent a letter to the Dating-san Helps Inarizaki High! column to stop Osamu from his mind wandering and getting distracted during practice.

Dear Dating-san,

My name is Miya Osamu and I am your classmate. Apparently I’m supposed to write a follow-up letter to you after a week of receiving your advice. She accepted my confession and now we are dating. Thanks for helping me out.

From, Miya Osamu of Class 2-1.

taglist: send an ask to be added ! [ @lcaita @reogou @alienvarmint @annalyn-annalyn @kunimwuah @akaarin @wansseul @anime-simp @dorkyama ]

94 notes · View notes

deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 3 years

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU :)

Chapter 11 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

Happiness Feels a Lot Like Sorrow

Present

Dean was doing his best to uphold his end of the scotch-induced bargain of Monday night. At the very least, he told himself, it would make the next week more bearable, with Cas lingering in his apartment at all hours.

He’d still been making himself busy. He spent twelve hours at the shop on both Tuesday and Wednesday, trying to catch up on the work he’d missed while he’d been out. Bobby had saddled him with the worst of the lot; Honda Odysseys and GMC Yukons that needed tire rotations or oil changes before enormous families made their Christmas treks. He’d started on Cas’s car, but hadn’t gotten much further than getting the old timing belt off.

By the end of his shift on Wednesday, he was exhausted. It felt good, though, being back in the shop, music accompanying him (at a decidedly lower volume than normal), his hands constantly occupied, mind numb from the easy work.

As he drove home from work, a sign in a shopping center caught his eye. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling into the parking lot of a local bookstore. He turned off the Impala’s engine and walked into the store, not entirely sure what he was looking for.

It was by impulse, really, that he picked up a copy of The Great Gatsby. It was a special edition, with extra content bound up at the end. He remembered Cas saying something about that book once. It seemed like a reasonable gift.

Dean almost put the book back on the shelf three separate times before forcing himself to the checkout counter. He paid for the book in a hurry, tossing it into the back seat when he reached the car. Stupid, he thought to himself. He wasn’t even one-hundred-percent sure that Cas still liked that book. He supposed, if he chickened out, he could just give it to Sam, instead.

When Dean arrived at the apartment, Sam announced that he was picking up Taco Bell for dinner. Dean and Cas replied “crunchwrap” at the same time when Sam asked them what they wanted. He raised his eyebrows and the synchronicity, but didn’t say anything, just made a note in his phone. Cas went bright red. Dean stared resolutely at the ground.

Cas was sitting in the armchair with a book as Dean sunk into the couch, exhausted from two long days in a row. The history channel on. Dean wrinkled his nose and punched in the numbers for the Food Network.

“You watch the history channel? By choice?” Dean asked, feigning disgust.

Cas smirked as he closed his book. “I wasn’t really watching it,” he said, “But on occasion, I do like to listen to the conspiracy theorists on Ancient Aliens.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s what you and Sam do all day? Nerd out over crazy historians?”

“Mostly,” Cas said sarcastically. Dean snorted.

“You sure you don’t want Sam or I to drive you home for Christmas?” Dean said. He’d made the offer the day before, but Cas had refused.

Cas sighed. “I’m sure. I appreciate the gesture, but Christmas with my family is the last disaster I want to saddle with myself after…” He waved his hand generally.

Dean nodded. “You still talk to any of ‘em? Your family.”

“Occasionally,” Cas said. “My father called yesterday to ask your same question. I suspect he suddenly feels quite guilty about his treatment of me, considering accountants make quite a bit more than small-town preachers.”

“He’s worried about his retirement fund?”

“Most likely. I do still talk to Anna, though, on a regular basis.”

Dean felt a memory pull at his brain. “She’s the, uh, the therapist, right?”

Cas smiled to himself. “Indeed.”

“I’m assuming you’re spending Christmas at Bobby’s?” Cas asked after a beat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “The usual thing. It’s always a good time.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “I’m glad.”

Dean drummed his fingers against the side of the couch. “You know,” he started, and he was already regretting it, “Sam wants you to come. To Bobby’s. For Christmas.” He cringed. The words sounded lame, like he’d made the whole thing up.

“He does?” Cas asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, but I told him it’d probably be weird, you know,” Dean said with a shrug. “Big crowds aren’t your thing, and all.”

Cas eyed him. “Why didn’t he ask me himself?” He wondered. “We spend a lot of time together.”

Dean stared at the TV. “I dunno, that’s on him.”

Dean could still feel Cas’s eyes on him. “Is this your way of inviting me to spend Christmas with you?” He asked.

Dean nearly fell off the couch. “What? No,” he rushed out. “I mean, it’s not… Not with me. With everyone. I dunno, if you’re gonna be here anyway…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Christmas alone is kinda shitty. Especially in this shithole,” he added as he gestured at his apartment. “You can come if you want,” he said finally. “Everyone would probably be happy to see you.”

Cas was staring at him, staring through him, like he always did. Dean turned his attention back to the cooking show playing on the television.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Nothing,” Cas said, tilting his head. “Déjà vu.”

Dean’s chest tightened at that. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “What d’ya say?”

“Okay,” Cas said eventually. “I’ll come, unless that would make you uncomfortable.”

Dean’s head snapped up. After everything, he hadn’t really expected Cas to say yes. “Uh, no, man, like I said on Monday. New start.”

“Right,” Cas said slowly. “And you don’t think we should talk about why we need a ‘new start’, as you say?”

Dean glowered at the TV. “Nope,” he said. Did he always have to make everything difficult? It had been three years, and Dean truly wanted nothing more than to forget about all of it. He didn’t want closure, he didn’t need closure. Neither of them did, seeing as Cas would go back to his glamorous life in less than a week, anyway.

He could feel Cas’s eyes on the back of his head, but he ignored them. “If that’s what you want,” Cas said, his voice resigned.

Dean sat up, then, finally facing Cas. “Don’t you?” He asked, unsure if that was a question he was ready to hear answered.

“I suppose, in a way,” Cas said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

It was Cas, now, who looked away. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Nothing important, anyway.”

Dean wanted to pry, but knew he would be a hypocrite if he did. He got up and moved to the kitchen for a glass of water. He brought a second one to the living room for Cas, who uttered his thanks.

“You ever finish that thing you were working on in college?” Dean asked.

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were on a clean slate. ‘Forgetting about everything.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, that doesn’t count.”

Cas took a sip of his water. “If you’re referring to the pages that are sitting in your bedroom at the moment —” Dean winced “— then no.”

Dean shot him a confused look. “Why not?”

“I… Lost the inspiration,” Cas said carefully.

“Oh.”

Cas regarded him thoughtfully. “You ask me a lot of questions,” he said. “Am I allowed to do the same?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Dean grumbled.

Cas gave him a sideways grin. “I mean, will you become willfully taciturn if I ask you questions about yourself?”

Dean was ruffled at being called out so bluntly. “No promises,” he muttered.

“What has your life looked like the past three years?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not real interesting,” he said. “Working for Bobby during the days, bartending at nights. Saving up money for Sam’s college. Living here.” He shrugged. “Pretty normal, I guess.”

“Do you still bartend?” Cas asked.

“Nah, I quit that when Sam got his scholarship,” Dean replied. “I make enough at the shop to cover what that money won’t.”

Cas smiled. “That’s quite impressive.”

“I’m just a mechanic.”

“I meant paying for Sam’s college.”

Dean felt heat crawl up his neck. “Not a big deal,” he said.

“I would have thought you were on your way to settling down,” Cas said slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “But that doesn’t appear to be the case.”

“No,” Dean said, and this conversation was getting dangerously close to acknowledgement of their history. Dean didn’t dare look at Cas. The fact that he thought, after everything, that Dean would be anywhere close to “in a relationship” was downright comical.

Dean, too, chose his words carefully. “I could say the same about you,” he said. “Unless there’s some guy waiting for you in KC,” he added, realizing he couldn’t possibly know otherwise. “Which, if there is, he’s kind of a dick for not —”

“There’s not,” Cas interrupted.

And that was surprising.

Dean hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he had fully expected Cas to be halfway down the road to marriage by now. The fact that he wasn’t erupted feelings that Dean wasn’t entirely ready to face.

“How’s the eye?” He asked, changing the subject.

Cas put three fingers up to the bruise, which was looking less black and more like splotches of blue and green. “Better,” he said decidedly.

“Good,” Dean replied.

They stopped talking, each turning their attention to the program playing on the TV. Dean had a brief moment of disassociation, watching the scene from somewhere beyond himself. It was strange, he thought, to be sitting in his living room with Castiel Novak, two twenty-somethings living vastly different versions of the same life. Inexplicably, he felt the same thing he’d felt when he was eighteen, lying in the dark, talking to Cas across the room. He felt known, he felt seen, like each and every part of him was open for voyeuristic display. It was nothing Cas had said, nothing he had done, it was just him. The way he pushed and pushed against Dean’s shoddy walls while somehow managing to meet him in the middle, every time.

Dean was grateful for the distraction of food when Sam returned. Dean was quiet during dinner, finding comfort in an observatory role. He wondered at Sam and Cas’s closeness, after only a few days spent holed up together. He rolled his eyes when the two of them began communicating in sign language, because of course Cas knew sign language. When Cas’s eyes flicked to Dean after Sam signed something, and the two of them laughed, Dean huffed and gathered the trash to take it out.

It was a frigid night, his breath visible in the low gleam of the floodlights. He tossed the bag over the side of the dumpster and paused. He dug in his pocket, and, finding both his lighter and a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and leaned against the dumpster.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood there, taking long drags until the end of the cigarette burned his fingers, and then just standing, staring into the parking lot.

“Dean?” A gruff voice called, and he turned to find Cas standing across from him, a tan trench coat thrown haphazardly over his black t-shirt and jeans. He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. “What are you doing?”

Dean dug the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket in answer. “Smoke,” he said.

Cas gave a short nod and made his way over to the dumpster. He leaned against it, next to Dean, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. Dean gave him a sidelong glance, but Cas was looking straight ahead, deep in thought.

“You and Sam seem to be getting along,” Dean said, his voice gruff.

“Your brother is extraordinarily kind,” Cas said in reply, not bothering to look at Dean. “He talks about you often,” he added.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well,” he said, but didn’t complete the thought. He hadn’t bothered to throw on a jacket, and he shivered as the wind blew straight through his thin flannel. Cas was standing close, their elbows almost touching, and Dean could have been eighteen again. He could feel it, somewhere deep in his stomach, that same bundle of nerves and excitement that had always come when Cas was just a little too close. He almost shut his eyes against the strength of it, but he willed it away, looking at Cas instead.

Cas still wore that intent expression on his face as he stared off into the distance. “Hey,” Dean said, elbowing him in the arm. “You creating world peace over there or something?”

The ghost of a smile. “No,” Cas said. “I’m just thinking.”

That was vague. Dean raised an eyebrow. “’Bout what?”

Cas side-eyed him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a motion with his hand that said, go on.

“It’s just strange,” Cas started, wrapping the coat tighter around himself, “That I should end up stranded here, in Lawrence, of all places.”

Dean resisted the urge to pull out another cigarette before continuing this conversation. “I guess,” he said.

“Stranger still that your shop should be the one closest to me at the time.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it’s kinda weird,” he said. “I never expected… Well, that’s why I hit my head, anyway.”

Cas whipped his head around to look at Dean in confusion. “What?”

And, yeah, this was embarrassing, but Dean couldn’t exactly stop now. He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I heard you talking to Bobby,” he explained, “I just kinda… Well, I was pretty friggin’ shocked to hear you, of all people.”

Cas stared at him. “Oh,” was all he said.

“So thanks for this,” Dean said, aiming for levity as he pointed to the soon-to-be scar on his forehead. He smirked.

Cas faced forward again. “I didn’t mean to shock you,” he said. “Actually, I had no idea it was you under that truck.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What, even after you talked to Bobby, you didn’t figure it out?”

Cas shrugged. “The life I always pictured you might be living was very different than the one you live.”

Dean immediately felt defensive. “Okay, asshole, my life is —”

“I didn’t say ‘better’,” Cas interrupted. “Just different.”

That shut Dean up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway, “What did you picture? For me?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Nothing very specific. I suppose a girlfriend, a good job, doing something you like, in a place that you liked. You used to speak so fondly of Texas, I thought maybe you’d moved there. You told me, once, that you had thought about engineering. I usually pictured you like that, an office job. A stable life.”

Dean was watching Cas paint that picture. An office job, coming home to some faceless girl and planning his life around the possibility of an okay-marriage and two-and-a-half kids, waking up at forty and wondering what exact point in his life had lead him down this road. It looked wildly unsatisfying from where he stood.

He just made a grunt of understanding. “Well, you were way off, pal,” he said.

Another small smile, like it had almost been contained. “Apparently,” Cas said.

“You know,” Dean said, uncomfortable with the attention placed on him, “You didn’t turn out how I thought either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well after… You know, I read that thing you wrote. And it was good, Cas, it was damn good.” Something lodged itself uncomfortably in the back of his throat as he recalled the nights he spent wondering where Cas had been, what he’d been doing. He coughed. “I guess I just expected that, by now, you’d have published it. Made a shit-ton of money and bought a douchebag-sized house in, like, Ohio, or something.”

“You make it sound like it’s disappointing that that isn’t the case,” Cas said, and, though he was giving Dean a smirk, his eyes looked sad. Dean felt a pang in his chest at having caused unintentional pain.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Not… I dunno, I guess… I thought that writing stuff made you happy. And…” And you deserve to be happy, even without me. Dean had the words, they were right there, but he couldn’t say them, couldn’t take that first step in bridging the now-unacknowledged divide between them. “Well, it’s not like I pictured you depressed or anything,” he said instead.

Cas turned to look at him. “Are you happy, Dean?”

The gravity of the question, the look in Cas’s eyes, curious and almost pleading, sucked the air right out of Dean’s lungs. And there was something screaming at the back of his brain, that no, he wasn’t, that he hadn’t been, that he could never be, because the one key ingredient to that happiness was —

“Yeah,” Dean replied in a small voice. “I guess so.”

Cas stared at him for a moment longer, still searching, before dropping his head and turning away.

“Are you?” Dean asked, almost defiantly, as if the question had been a test that now he was forcing Cas to take.

“I’m very fortunate,” Cas said carefully. “If I am unhappy, it is of my own doing.”

And that totally wasn’t an answer, but Dean let it slide. It was cold, and his back hurt, and he was tired from a long day at work. Silently, he pushed off the dumpster and began to make his way back to the apartment. Cas joined him, settling into a comfortable gait by his side. The air was languid between them, like it was too heavy to move.

Dean let both of them back inside and Cas excused himself to take a shower. Sam was watching something on TV and raised his eyebrows at Dean’s re-entrance. Dean just ignored him, settling onto the couch, thinking about fate and happiness and whether or not the two might be connected.

---------------

taglist! let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers @fortiusnitius

#supernatural #deancas #destiel #destiel fic

16 notes · View notes

whocalledhimannux · 4 years

Text

now that I’ve had some time to reflect on Return of the Thief, I have some more thoughts that are... slightly more critical, in both the thinking-deeply and not-entirely-praiseworthy ways. I’m not going to tag this post because I don’t want to harsh anyone’s buzz, but I’ll just say return of the thief spoilers and rott spoilers right now, and hopefully the blacklist will catch those, and if not the rest of the post is going under a cut

okay so like first off, I want to say that I still think this was a very well-written book and it’s very satisfying from a character standpoint. there are so many great interactions, indications of growth, etc, and the layered writing of the first person POV is, as always, stunning. my main character complaint is not enough Costis and Kamet (or Costis/Kamet)--but even that, upon reflection, I think is colored slightly by my anticipation for a blatant Comet moment. When you’re waiting for a big payoff, and the story isn’t designed to have that, it’ll feel like a bit of a letdown. But from a different perspective, the ending of TaT can be a perfectly satisfying narrative ending, establishing that Costis and Kamet’s storylines are now thoroughly and primarily wrapped up in each other; their contributions to the wider plot from thereon out are mostly incidental, because sailing off to be together is their bigger ending.

side note: a character development I actually loved was us seeing Eugenides teetering dangerously close to a breaking point and being pulled back. I think...... from what I have seen of the fandom in general--bearing in mind I was never a part of Sounis and have dipped in and out of the discord without being majorly involved--based on my general impression of the tumblr fandom, I think there is a tendency among QT fans to let the Thief characterization of Gen affect our reading of him in later books. I think there’s sort of an assumption that he’s everybody’s favorite and that his choices are, by default, correct and sympathetic, even as the series progresses and he makes more, increasingly difficult and sometimes pragmatic or even cruel decisions. and I think RotT really, really challenges that kind of view. Eugenides is under immense strain in this book, and several times he lashes out in ways that are indefensible. Sometimes, even if he’s not being cruel to others, he’s being risky to the point of masochism, and the revelations about his backstory also suggest that quirky innocent Gen of The Thief is also not all he seemed to be.

and I think that was resolved in a very enjoyable and narratively satisfying way. The threats to the Braels had a real edge to them. God!Eugenides was terrifying, in a noticeable step up from the ways regular!Eugenides is terrifying, and it felt like payoff for the increasing role of the gods in Eugenides’s storyline up until now. And I really appreciated the subtleties of Sejanus saying that he won’t tell Eugenides the conspirators because it will damage him in the longrun, and the way Eugenides ultimately decides to forgive and trust Pheris and Sejanus anyway--those scenes, imo, were great followups to the scenes in QoA, KoA, and ACoK that discussed how rulers can maintain their moral center in difficult situations.

but... the Medes. plot-wise, I’m struggling with the conclusion to this storyline.

I made a different post already about What the Fuck is going on with the secretary of the archives, because it totally feels like shit is missing there, and to some extent I’m okay with that? it felt to me like a stylistic choice--like, Pheris the historian is writing specifically about the Mede invasion, so maybe the full story of Baron Orutus, and Relius, wasn’t actually resolved til years later and he thought it was an overlapping but ultimately separate story. fine. I actually did kind of like the parts where that was done more blatantly, like his comment that two of the queen’s attendants became famous later on for unrelated reasons. it helped with the framing of the story.

but I don’t feel that way about the Medes plot. For one thing, we’ve spent a couple of books now harping on the fact that Ghusnavidas (sp? I’m tired and my book is too far away to check, y’all know who I mean) is dying and that the primary threat is going to come from Nahuseresh’s brother, Naheelid. Costis made a point of saying last book that if the Little Peninsula could hold out for a year against Naheelid, not only would they win but the entire empire might be in danger of collapsing.

So... they spent ~a few months fighting a single army at a single battle site, with the Big Threat Guy not even present, and that’s it? everybody goes home and the Medes aren’t a threat anymore? it’s not even clear to me how many troops the Medes lost--their principal losses were in the form of Bu-seneth, Nahuseresh, and Baron Erondites, who, yeah, were key officers, but if the Medes lost, saying, 30% of their troops or less, what’s to stop Naheelid from hiring more soldiers and better officers and coming back in a year? it totally makes sense to me that an army that saw Eugenides call down lightning is willing to pack it up early, but inevitably that’s going to be dismissed as rumor and distortion so idk how it’s supposed to be a lasting deterrent. it may not be super realistic, because the downfall of empires takes time, but I think a bunch of us were expecting that the Mede Empire would, at the very least, but conclusively beaten by the end of the book, and I don’t think we got that.

Also, speaking of Big Bads: Nahuseresh. Oof.

I know part of the point of TaT was that Nahuseresh’s situation was becoming kind of sad and pathetic but... I think he went downhill too quickly in this book. and tbh I think part of it is the fact that we’re getting this from Pheris’s POV, and Pheris for one doesn’t have a whole lot of close contact with Nahuseresh in this book, and for another didn’t have any contact with him prior to this. His little “I will be king of Attolia!” outburst honestly made me cringe a little bit, and while I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of Nahuseresh being killed by an anonymous soldier--it has a very “reality ensues, war isn’t a series of epic meaningful confrontations” feel to it--I do object to the fact that Eugenides spent a significant amount of time in KoA and ACoK nursing a grudge against Nahuseresh and then barely got to do anything with it. and a lot of what he did get to do, the reader barely sees.

I think there were ways to make Nahuseresh’s actions in this novel a bit more satisfying without fundamentally changing them. for example, bringing in more commentary from people who knew him before. if there was a passage where Eugenides looked at Nahuseresh and realized that his beard was raggedy, and he looked thinner, and there was a manic light in his eye and he just seemed pretty pathetic and honestly more comical than the villain Gen’s been building up in his head for years--I think that would go a long way towards establishing tone. it would feel more like the anticlimax is intentional and be more about Eugenides’s own character growth, whereas now it just feel like... Pheris doesn’t have a whole lot of personal stake in this conflict even though the reader has been waiting for it for so long.

(although I do find it interesting on a narrative level in contrast with Sejanus, who seems disproportionately important in this book imo--from my perspective, the threat of Nahuseresh has been a constant behind-the-scenes presence for the last four books and Sejanus stopped being important after KoA. and I get why the opposite would be true for Pheris, but I still... want more.)

anyway, I just feel like the villains in this book are a little--warped, somehow. like the huge enormous threat of the series up until this point actually isn’t all that bad and can be wrapped up in relatively little time. it’s a weird sensation for me wherein I’m glad where everyone ended up and I enjoyed the experience of getting to that end, but like... it just feels a little off. slightly anticlimactic. I mean, for a lot of us this series is All About the characters and from that perspective I’m mostly satisfied, but I feel like in previous books the plot has come together SO well that my expectations were really high, and this resolution didn’t really meet them.

and damn does it feel strange to be writing this. feels like I just cobbled together a few of my hottest and most controversial takes and like I need to throw in about twenty more disclaimers about how much I love the books overall, but I’ll resist.

32 notes · View notes

nightcoremoon · 3 years

Text

so for the first time I saw batman: the killing joke.

...

it was okay I guess. but massively overrated. I expected some fucking masterpiece of cinema but instead it was just two unrelated short films that were more style and flash than substance.

so first off, barbara's storyline was mediocre. franz wasn't a compelling villain; just a creep, and a trust fund brat. oh wow he's a mafia kid who stole his family's fortune by hacking. if it was the falcone family I'd have cared more but it wasn't so it's just some faceless deathfodder rando. who gives a shit. the whole situation was just a vehicle to shove batman's dick into babs. which kinda fucks over bruce's character here and judging by the timeline kinda makes him a bit of a groomer, yikes. bruce and gordon have known each other since bruce was a young boy and we know that bruce is way older than babs so yeah bruce totally knew her from birth until present day, he literally utilized an active power dynamic to police her crimefighting activities, and he should have fucking known better and stopped her when she kissed him because it would (and did) compromise their professional dynamic, but hey, batdick. and at least barbara recognized that she was behaving emotionally rather than logically when it came to bruce and paris and took the high road out. that would be a serviceable standalone episode to write her on a bus in a serialization but THIS IS A MOVIE. so for a waste of an already short runtime it's like having an appetizer before your meal but instead of something like a crab cake before stuffed flounder, you get greasy onion petals that are more fried batter than onion before getting a well done cheeseburger that's just a glorified hockey puck on a sponge with a kraft single on top. the animation and vocal delivery were excellent of course, not gonna disparage that aspect, so it was well made, but the writing was just not very good. a polished turd. quantic dream must have developed it then because it feels like I watched a david cage production.

so in a 78 minute movie, five of which were the credits, we had a half hour Disney/Pixar short except those bring joy and this brought boring. also there were a lot of shots of her ass tits and underwear that were obnoxiously male-gazey and there was a token gay for the sole purpose of dangling a carrot on a stick for the queers. look kids, warner brothers and dc comics cares about the lgbts! give us money! a waste of time before the real reason why anyone came to see the movie that literally only exists to pad out the runtime to make it a feature length (even though paying a full ticket would've been a total ripoff because, again, IT WAS ONLY 78. even 9 was 81 minutes long and that had an amazing storyline so I forgave it, but 78 minutes? ugh.

also, GOTHAM RAGE??? CRINGE. SO CRINGE.

alright now for the joker segment.

*ahem*

what the fuck? that sucked! *throws tomato*

mark hamill and the joker's lines and the art and the cinematography and the choreography was all good and the plot was cohesive. I get it.

but holy shit was the writing weak as fuck.

okay so some rando breaks the J-ster out of Arkham (already unlikely but ugh whatever), he didn't turn a trick or recruit or anything, he just went to purchase a carnival. or, steal one. but wait, he DID recruit, but he went to get all of the stereotypical Circus Freak™ stereotypes. little people, fat lady, bearded lady, wolf man, strongman, diaper man (wait, what?), and the two headed woman. I guess if you don't really think about why all of them were super readily available in the outskirts between arkham and gotham [i just realized they both end with -am] then it makes enough sense. and then literally right after that HE RECRUITS SOME GUYS TO HELP HIM KIDNAP GORDON. and then strips and photographs barbara. um. ew. you can tell the writer and director were men. Alan Moore is constantly molesting women in his comics and this one trick pony should be put down already. but whatever. the plot is weak and it only gets saved by the flashback sequences.

oh.

oh no.

they're not that great.

he's a failed unfunny comedian who just wants some money to move his wife to a better house so he turns to thievery with the mob. OR YOU COULD JUST STOP GOING TO THE BAR AND BLOWING IT ALL ON BOOZE. I mean the cops knew where to find him after all so clearly he's a repeat customer (or moore is a bad plot writer who relies on convenience and shut the fuck up and don't critically analyze it). alright so he gets wrapped up in the mob to perform a heist on a playing card factory. GET IT, BECAUSE HE'S THE JOKER??? and he uses the moniker of the red hood to retain his anonymity. I expected the mobsters to be working for francisco but no the paris storyline was only cooked up screenplay for passing the runtime so why would they do something clever and interesting and make the film cohesive? that'd be really stupid to make the movie feel more like one movie and not two short films. at least when grindhouse & planet terror did it they advertised themselves as an anthology film. whatever. he falls in the vat of acid which melts the red hood to his face and I gotta say that's actually a pretty good idea to get his face white and his hair green and his lips red. I like that part. oh wait I forgot about the most important part! his wife gets shoved in the refrigerator. OH WOW THAT'S JUST SO COMPELLING AND ORIGINAL, TOTALLY NOT SOMETHING THAT ALREADY HAPPENED TO GREEN LANTERN. TWICE. although she wasn't literally shoved into a literal refrigerator like alex was. rip in frozen pieces you absolute legend of a trope namer. alright, so... so the joker is sad because his wife died. you know, the wife we saw for two minutes and knew the moment we saw her drenched in sepia she was gonna die. and she died offscreen. kyle's gf died and he was fine. gordon's wife died and he was fine. batman's parents both died and he was fine. oh boo hoo someone I love died! fuck off. I am so goddamn sick of people trying to justify their evil with "I was sad once". it's a stupid trope and it's not compelling. the only valid version is doctor doofenshmirtz' evil(er) version in the PF movie because it's hilarious that it's because of a toy train because that's the emotional depth that fridgewomen is treated with in all of these storylines. but at least batman said so. oh yeah, I almost totally forgot, batman's in this movie.

batman punches people and nonlethally takes them out. by suffocating them and letting them get stabbed and throwing them into pits of spikes and HEY WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND! okay let's just ignore that bit and hope that the little people squeezed between the gaps in the spikes and the strongman could breathe in the face mask and the two headed women had KO gas and the fat lady was fat enough that the knives only stabbed her cellulite. it wouldn't be the biggest reach one would have to make in watching this fucking disaster of a plot mess.

now I did like that it was actually batman, and by that I mean he gave a shit about the insane because he recognizes that mental illness is not a cause of dangerous or criminal behavior, just a potential exacerbating factor if it wasn't treated. yeah he brutalized mobsters and crime lords but they were mostly in self defense while gathering intel. he politely asked sal maroni and the sex workers for information and they gave it to him without violence- he manhandled maroni but only after he reached into his pocket for a cigar which could've been a gun. also batman says sex work should be decriminalized if only by not ratting them out to the cops. he was a genuinely good person in the second half of the movie. too bad it was ruined by the shitty first half that made him a borderline groomer.

joker's song was... bad. mark hamill performed his ass off but the song wasn't that good. it just tried to be willy wonka if he was a voyeuristic monster. oh yeah have the only girl character be paralyzed stripped and photographed only to give her father ManPain™. again... the fuck? joker and batman were both gross but, again. male writers. if it was a one-off I could drop a thermian argument because, alright one and done makes sense, especially 1988 standards. but it saturated and soured the entire goddamn movie because of abhorrent pacing decisions. so you're goddamn right I'm gonna bring it up twice! joker was a creep, his plan was dumb, nolan and burton and lord/miller and even ayer had better motivations. YES I AM SAYING THAT JARED LETO'S JOKER HAD BETTER WRITING THAN MARK HAMILL'S JOKER. not nearly to the level of ledger nicholson or galifanakis but hamill didn't have a lot to work with here and I maintain that his performance was amazing; honestly I like his the best out of all of them but just... not here. but I think I can cut some slack to firelord ozai and luke skywalker even if he just phoned it in here which he didn't. writing was just weak. and that's all there is to it. don't anon me and threaten to remove my bones ok?

alright so batman and joker fought and joker got the upper hand and was gonna kill him but it was a prop gun. haha. they had a heart to heart and batman tells joker that he wants to help him get better, even after joker killed robin and molested barbara and traumatized gordon and did countless other travesties, he still said he would help. but joker said no, and told a joke that was good enough to make batman laugh. and then the credits rolled.

...

what a completely pointless and empty ending. oh it's deep and meaningful and poignant? ok sure, I guess, movie, but you didn't earn that. shyamalan did the same thing a dozen times. that doesn't make him any less of a shit writer.

I can understand the concept of batman laughing at joker's joke, humanizing him.

I get it. I see what they tried to do. I respect it.

but this movie was massively overhyped and overrated and I expected it to be so much better than it was. but overall to me it was just another batman cartoon to throw on top of the pile. maybe it was influential to graphic novels. maybe it shaped batman into what he is today. it published right as tim burton's movie and I can respect its place in the pantheon of comic history. but sometimes things that are classic...

aren't that great.

citizen kane, casablanca, the maltese falcon, the treasure of the sierra madre, gone with the wind, singing in the rain, all of them are classic and legendary pieces of art. but they're just not that good, interesting, appealing, watchable, or FUN. they were good at the time- I mean come on we all know them today- but on going back you'd have to really appreciate the finer details to still love the movies today. and this belongs there, in the vault, to be appreciated from afar. influential if dated.

but god am I still disappointed nonetheless.

TL;DR

it was just okay. had some good ideas, had some really bad ideas, had some ugly stuff. overall mediocre. first half 5/10, second half 7/10, overall 6/10.

4 notes · View notes

iwantitiwriteit · 4 years

Text

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 3

The Secret Session

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: There’s a secret audience member at your acoustic show.

Warnings: Profanity

Notes: Before you dive in, get in the zone with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Full of acoustic jams by a couple of my favorite artists. Read the previous part here.

The calm before the storm. That’s what the time before a performance is like for you. You politely demand minimal talking of anyone in the room, unable to help getting lost in thought before a show, often reflecting on the last couple years. Today is no different.

Honey, your song is on the radio!

Oh ‘cos you’re ‘famous’ now, you think you’re hot shit?

It’s not like you don’t have the money.

5 weeks at number 1 and counting!

I can’t believe how naive you’re being.

I can’t believe how jealous you’re being.

And the award goes to…

You won!

I thought you’d be happy for me.

I can’t do this anymore...

“So… that hangover of yours must be serious.”

You bring your eyesight from its fixed spot on the floor in front of you to look at Jimi. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear me say ‘pancakes’.”

You whip your head around like a madwoman. “Pancakes?! Where?”

“Down girl. There are none. You fiend.”

“Then why mention it? Getting my hopes up like that…”

“‘Cos they’d go reeeealllly good with this obviously expensive, gourmet coffee someone named ‘CE’ sent you.”

“What?” You rush over to Jimi’s side and take the note from her hand.

“Mmhmm... cryptic ass note too. But I’m gonna guess not to you.”

Roses are red, coffee is brown. Boston’s known for tea parties, and I for putting my foot in my mouth. Forgive me? -CE

‘Brown’ and ‘mouth’? What a way with words, this guy. He really went through the trouble, though…

“Wanna tell me what you got up to last night? As your manager, I should know.” Jimi tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at you.

You cringed at the thought of recounting last night’s events. “Not really.” Throwing the note over your shoulder, you began inspecting the extravagant bouquet. “And I’m not hungover by the way. Just feeling— ugh, you know how I get before shows.”

“Nuh uh, sis. Now I’m pulling best friend rank. Hungover or not, you crept ya ass back into the hotel room close to 3 am KNOWING you had a show the next day, get sent coffee and flowers with cheesy apology notes by obviously rich randos, and on TOP OF IT ALL, are about to be away from me for what? 3 months?”

“4 months,” you reluctantly corrected her.

“4 MONTHS! And you REALLY THINK you’re not about to tell me what the hell happened last night? What do you think this is— Pretty Little Liars? Bitch, spill.” Jimi’s right… manager AND best friend. She deserves the tea… Why’d I give her this much power?

“Well…” Jimi takes a seat as you pace around, beginning to tell her about meeting Chris the night before.

“Chris Evans, Chris Evans? Like Chris motherfucking Evans?”

“Girl, yes!” you confirm.

You tell her about your stupid, potentially offensive joke.

“Ooooff. I’m not surprised, though, that’s on brand for you.”

“Ugh, I know— hey!”

You tell her how Anthony and Scott were obviously trying to set you up, and how Anthony was not helping the awkwardness you already established.

“Why, though??”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

You tell her how things eventually turned around, you and Chris caught a little vibe, and that you were so sure he was flirting with you. How genuine he seemed, and how dreamy his eyes were, and—

“Wait a min—”

“Let me finish!”

Finally, you told her how you’d accidentally read Anthony’s text chain with Chris, and saw what Chris really thought of you.

“Well, damn.”

“I’m saying!” You breathe out exasperatedly as you sit down in front Jimi, leaning your head on her knee.“It's not that I thought we’d ride off into the sunset together or anything, but I just thought I’d read him as genuine. I don’t know… with all that’s happened the last few months, my judgment could really use a win.”

“Oh honey, I know. But what did I tell you? You—”

“We’re ready for you!” Saved by the stage manager.

“Looks like your stern talking to is gonna have to wait until after the meet and greet.”

“Immediately after. Have fun out there hun. Snatch some wigs!”

——————————————————————————

You didn’t see it, but last night Chris saw you enter the party. His breath hitched at the sight of you, dressed in all white, hair like a kinky-curly halo around your head. An actual angel. Somewhat dressed down from the other ladies in the party, but clearly confident and comfortable in your own skin, made you stand out to him. His mesmerization was interrupted by voices calling out in the distance. It was a couple of the younger actor boys, and he watched you chat with them.

Chris looked away when his phone dinged indicating he received a text. It was from Mackie, asking if he was ok. Can I catch a break? He exchanged texts, but wanted to return his gaze so badly to the sneakered beauty that caught his eye. When he looked up, you were gone, and he panicked a little. He finally found you outside on the rooftop patio, dancing provocatively… with Scott?

Chris made his way over to you, Scott, and Mackie. He admired the way you talked expressively about who-knows-what, but your animated faces amused him. When he got to you all, introductions were made; you’re an actress, soon making your film debut alongside his brother and friend. He tries to make small talk with you, but somehow finds himself being joked on for his own film debut, and he’s slightly returned to his sullen mood. I’m not in the mood for this. It’s always too good to be true, huh?

Alone with you at the bar, though, something happens, you change his mind— or rather confirm and further his initial intrigue. The two of you talk, laugh, and dance with each other for the better part of the evening, often catching yourselves gazing smittenly at the beautiful stranger opposite of you. He thinks that you're funny, smart, and confidently awkward. Chris appreciates your realness and was never more glad he came out despite his previously funky mood.

Unfourtunately, there was another change, a sour one. You’d seen Chris’ blind judgments of you. FuuuuUUUUUUcccckkk. He’d sent those texts before he’d even met you, ignorant to you being the musician that his brother and friend were trying to set him up with— they’d done a good job of making sure of that after he expressed his disinterest. But you didn’t know that, and believed that what he texted was truly what he thought of you after enjoying each other’s company all night.

Chris was embarrassed to say the least. He went to the bathroom to hide his shame. I finally, FINALLY hit it off with someone, and possibly blew it because I just HAD to choose this ONE time to be colorful in my word choice. I gotta make this right.

As quickly as he could, he’d gotten together a demonstration of remorse: a beautiful bouquet of roses and some gourmet coffee, a call back to the quips you shared last night, sent to your green room. He wasn’t sure what to say on the note, but remembering how much of a jokester you are, he went the cheesy, comical route, and prayed it went over well. Chris could’ve left it at that, but no, my curiosity had to get the best of me.

Just like you hadn’t seen him watching you last night, you hadn’t seen him watching you today. Today, however, he’s not the only one watching you. This isn’t qualified as stalking, is it? God, I hope not. Appropriately anxious and tucked in the furthest corner of the small, but packed venue, clad in a baseball cap, hoodie, and sunglasses, Chris heavily reconsidered his spur of the moment decision of coming to see your acoustic performance. Any chance of leaving was now gone as the lights dimmed and the presenter came on stage.

“In the last 2 years following the release of her debut album, today’s artist has taken music by storm! She’s had a #1 song in the country for 10 consecutive weeks— graced the covers of Rolling Stone and Vogue— top-billed major music festivals like Lollapalooza and Coachella. She’s even cleaned up at the Grammys this year and then gave the most talked about performance.” Damn… do I really live under a rock? “iHeartRadio, give a warm welcome to…”

Applause erupted as you joined your band on stage, taking your spot behind the microphone. You greeted the crowd with a shy smile and introduced the first song. “This… is ‘Stroke’.” The crowd erupts again around Chris, all in on what’s in store, leaving him the only one in the room unsure of what to expect.

Chris is mesmerized by your voice and amused by your quirky dance moves. But he feels conflicted, knowing that similar moves were done with him last night on the dance floor. When you danced together, it had felt like the two of you were in your own little world, but seeing you onstage sharing some of that with an entire audience made him feel a little… insignificant.

Your lyrics are smart, raw and moving and the instrumentation is captivating even in its stripped back state. Chris doesn’t think he’s ever heard music like yours before. He’s surprised by the subtly aggressive and sexual nature of it, considering how awkward and goofy and cute you were with him. However, he loves watching your outright confidence, your assertiveness, in action on stage. Wow, she’s fucking amazing!

“... thank y’all! Um… this next one is a cover of a song I’m sure you know and love.” The guitarist starts the iconic riff of Aaliyah’s ‘Are You That Somebody?’. Chris is taken back to hearing this song at many parties in his younger years where he mindlessly *and drunkenly* danced to the upbeat production. But hearing you sing it today, a little slower and a lot more vulnerable, the lyrics hit him differently.

“Oh boy, see I’m trusting you with my heart, my soul

I probably shouldn’t let you but if I

If I let you know

You can’t tell nobody, I’m talkin’ ‘bout nobody

I hope you’re responsible

Boy I gotta watch my back, 'Cause I’m not just anybody”

He’s reminded of your comments last night.

“Don’t you ever feel like you can’t tell people’s intentions? Like, you can’t tell if someone wants to be around you for you or… for what they think they’ll get in return. It’s just easier to stay in your own, comfortable bubble sometimes. I don’t know…”

She probably thinks I was trying to take advantage of her. God, I’m so stupid sometimes!

At the end of the set, there’s a round of deserving applause and cheers for you, and you beam at the crowd, thanking them. Chris can’t help but feel strangely proud of you; he barely knows you, but can tell you love what you do and give your all to it. He admires that.

When the lights come up and the presenter joins you on stage, Chris takes that opportunity to slip out early so as not to be caught in the rush of everyone leaving, risking him getting recognized. He gets his phone out to let his driver know he’s coming down and to meet him around the corner, hoping this will keep them from tipping off paparazzi. He then opens his music app to download all your music. It’s official: I’m a fan.

——————————————————————————

“Alright everybody, if you have tickets for the meet and greet… “ the presenter gives announcements as you leave the stage. Being the attentive performer you are, you noticed a tall, enigmatic audience member leave early. Normally you would’ve gently called them out, but something stopped you. A familiarity of the figure, the stature, the walk.

Your breath catches in your throat at the thought of who it could be. You start towards the green room to prepare for the meet and greet, although your swirling thoughts cause you to make little to no strides in that direction. What if it is Chris? Why would he come today? Was he really sorry? Or was he just bored and looking for a good laugh?

Adrenaline rushes you and you head in the direction of where the figure had gone. You scan the room and spot them, stomp up behind them, ready to have some words.

“Hey! HEY!” You reach and yank their hoodie off, “WHAT’D YOU THINK OF THE show…” your voice trails off at the sight of a toupee hanging in the pulled down hood, and the figure turns around. Shit.

“¡¿Qué mierda estás haciendo?!” The Spanish speaking stranger is loud, bald, and clearly pissed.

“Lo siento,” you offer with a sheepish smile and shrug, then turn on your heels and scurry off, slightly embarrassed by the scene you’d caused.

“What the hell was that?” Jimi asked with wide eyes. “Not what I meant when I said ‘snatch some wigs’!”

“I thought that was Chris…”

“You thought an extremely famous, A-list actor, who barely flirted with you last night, and clearly doesn’t think very highly of you, risked pestering paps and mobbing fans to go out of his way to come to your set today?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“And if it was? What were you gonna do?”

“I… didn’t think that far.”

“You didn’t think at all. Listen, I get that you’re hurt—“

“I’m not hurt! Ok… That’s not me. I don’t get hurt.”

Jimi sighs, softening her eyes and speaks at you with tough love and concern. “Whatever it is you’re feeling, you can’t let him or any other industry guy get in your head like this. Your career’s finally taking off like you wanted, and your personal life is less in shambles than it was a while ago. If you want everything to continue going in the right direction, you gotta get focused! You’ve got a movie role to slay! And many more amazing opportunities waiting for you after that because you made it all happen. I want you to remember that this next chapter is about focusing on what’s right for you, professionally and personally. Do NOT bring in the bullshit from the last chapter.”

It’s your turn to sigh. “But, I—“

“Aht-aht! No excuses. Are we clear?” You simply nod because there’s not much you can say. All you can do is mentally make a promise to yourself to not let any guy get you besides yourself, that you will be willing and ready for great things to happen to you. Jimi’s right… again! Dammit, I hate when she’s right.

Part 4

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #slow burn series #chris evans one shot #chris evans series

97 notes · View notes