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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

Someone hurts Y/N at work; and Harry’s owner of the company.

Angry young man CEO!H very protective of his lovie :)))))))))))))

It was Tuesday. Tiring Tuesday is what Y/N calls them to be because they lurk in the middle of week and drags you after a Monday. Today, it’s the worst fucking Tuesday since the day she started working at this company.

Harry offered her. More to say tried to convince her with his sweet puppy tactics, tried to lure her in with his seductive begging and would mumble the same thing in her sweaty neck while balls deep in her, “Please sweet toots ... promise I wouldn’t be there to take ye' interview, please work in my company.” He squished her sides in desperation. Y/N whined, mind too occupied in the way he’s leaking into her, the head of his cock angled to rub at her spongy wall making her hug herself into him.

“I could be a very hard boss in my office, ‘s all ‘m saying.” He wiggled his brows at her playfully, hissing when his double joke earned him a tight fit around his prick and he was soon forgetting all of it when she canted her hips to let him slick deeper inside her.

It’s not that; Y/N doesn’t wants to work at his company. When her boyfriend asked her so sweetly and stout-heartedly. Call him a sap but he actually wants to be closer to her in every possible chance he gets – she gives him an unyielding amount of comfort and happiness when she’s with him.

There’s this silver of pride he wants to take (since he’s the biggest narcissists) in being a power couple, because in the end everything will be theirs.

But she doesn’t want to seem like she took advantage of him. She didn’t study and worked hard many years to be called dependent on her boyfriend. She wanted to find her first proper job herself – feel all the odds and jitters of her firsts after UNI.

Harry called the battles off knowing his little stubborn baby’s too much a wiggler and he believes in her and he’s very proud of her previous achievements, he just wants to see her happy working with him or not.

She indeed got it. She was finally a design editor at a grand magazine company, excited to meet her boss who’s one of her absolute favourite graphic designers in the industry.

Harry and her celebrated her baby step towards her success by going out at this cafe which had cats you can pet and love on.

He was blissed to see her this happy, considering it a win win situation. But she doesn’t need to know? Does she? And Harry didn’t do anything suspicious? Did he? Nobody even know who she's! And if Y/N wants that, he’ll have it that way.

Soon her enthusiasm deflated like a sorrowful balloon whirling in the air for seconds before falling on the ground and getting it’s existence neglected, because, her boss was the meanest bitch alive.

At the moment, Y/N forced the pertinacious lump of pathetic tears down her throat, not blinking to dry out the moisture threatening to fall from her waterline feeling humiliation creep up her skin and making her want to shrink into herself and never show her face.

She listens patiently and optimistically as her boss practically screams at her for not liking the designs Y/N worked to modify for damn 62 hours and the Karen still had an audacity to degrade, Y/N.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back in fright shock when the file that had her precious designs composed in it flew and hit Y/N, the ragged corner of it scratching Y/N’s delicate skin and her boss was spinning away from her to stare coldly at the bustling city outside through the window drowning into fumes and anger.

Y/N opened her mouth, guppy like. Wanting to say something back and call her out on her act but she felt like her voice got strangled into her chest.

ShitShitShitShit.

Hammering in her brain when she felt something warm oozing from her skin and she’s panicking, wiping a vicious streak of blood from her jaw with her trembly fingers and scuttled straight to the washroom before anyone was able to see her in such vulnerable condition.

She had enough of it and left out of there without a word to anyone, not even to her cubby mate. She bottled all the emotions that were rattling against her bones to flood out of her each pore, until she could reach her home and once she did she was having a humongous and ominously scary breakdown, glad that Harry was stuck in meetings and the house was all of hers to cry ugly.

Once she was all blue lips, puffy and swelled up cheeks and eyes, nest of a hairstyle and all burned up lungs she was calming herself down with deep breaths just Harry taught her.

Scrubbing and cleaning herself off then going to bed without waiting for Harry, something very rare and the right hit in the nail for him to know she isn’t feeling well.

He was welcomed by silence. No dinner, just leftovers in fridge and his insides became all crummy and not very pleasant when he tailed to the living room and wasn’t met by his lovebug; either cramming her head to sketch down designs with an ipad in her lap while a buzz of random Netflix show accompanies her, dossing off cutely with hundreds of her study journals and magazines messed around her on the floor, or her in sleeping pyjamas with food already set up on the coffee table and brightening the whole room with her squeals when Harry announces his presence.

None of that instead he finds her in their bedroom, drowned under layers of blankies and her stuffies with room lit dark.

He coos softly, mattress dipping down from his weight and his heart expands and melts all around his other organs at how adorable she looks sleeping in his hoodie. He chuckles shaking his head at the way she has the strings of the hoodie squeezed around her head, not sure how she’s able to breath at how tight it seems around her neck.

Doing his own routine he was slipping into the bed, sighing from the warmth and how toasty she has made the bed already.

He bunched her against his chest and kissed her head then spooned her up in his arms, lips fluttering into a smile when she hummed and sniffed basking into his scent.

“Oi sleepy.” He whispers down at her cupping her neck and giggles softly when she whines mushing her cheek against his chest only to grunt sleepily and muffle her yelps into his sweatshirt.

Harry’s brows shoots up into slight bafflement then dips down into a frown when he slipped his calloused palm under her hoodie to cradle her jaw and felt something graze against his thumb that was about to press into her soft skin to bring her for a night kiss.

“Hey...” He perches himself on elbows, switching on the lamps and ignores her groans grasping the blanket she was about to pull over herself, huffing at him to let her sleep but Harry’s more stubborn than her if it involves assuring himself she’s okay and right now she’s not and Harry was already feeling it in his bones.

“Lemme see.” He persists gently, peeling the blankets and the hoodie off her head while she’s still stirring into sleep not able to open her eyes how much she tries because of the exhaustion dumped on her from whole day.

He stares at the wound she did a shit effort to cover with a gauze messily over her jaw and tiny bit area of her neck, a long bandage reaching to her ear and Harry tries to think rationally and not freak out as he touches it with cautious fingertips.

“What ... the –- fuck, Y/N what is...is this?” His mouth falls slack. His ears buzzing for a moment and he wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her up as he leans them against the bedhead.

He feels bad when she knuckles at her eyes warily and mumbles something that’s barely audible.

“What happened, baby? Talk t’me? How did y'hurt yourself so bad?” Worried and fearful. He bombs her with questions not waiting for her to be fully awake and his heart breaks miserly upon focusing his gaze on her face, her angelic face that’s now soaked with sadness –- she’s been crying.

His loves been crying and he wasn’t there for her.

“Who did this to you?” Y/N's eyes widens abruptly. The alertness in them vivid for Harry to see under the lamp glow and she gasps, nose twitching and lip wobbling as Harry grabbed her chin and ducked to her eyelevel to ask her tenderly with a layer of strictness under his tone, “’M asking, Who did this to you, Y/N?” Her fragile heart could already take so much and she strangled out a sob lowering her head down in embarrassment.

“’M.. I’m —-.. no –..not telli –-..telling you,” She hiccups breathlessly, shaky fingers fisting onto the blanket thrown over Harry’s lap and he holds her hands kissing them gently, “I’ll know it one way or another baby. Don’t force me to get outta my way to find —–“ His soul stabbing glare was enough for Y/N to ramble and at first he thought he didn’t heard her right, that she was mumbling too much but when the reality seeped in gradually Harry almost froze in his spot.

“I know it’s very shameful —..” Y/N stammers barely able to get in a breather and Harry’s head snapped at her words, removing his nails away from making little graves in his palms and his jaw which almost felt like breaking from the hinges from how painfully furious he had it set relaxes as he tries to calm himself down and not to grab his keys and drive to that bitch's house to trash her place.

Because how fucking dare she treat anyone like that in his own fucking company.

“Hey, hey. Now none of that toots. Look at me darling, oh my sweet moppet ... shh.” It slices his heart in pain to see Y/N like this -- so small and disheartened. How dare she hurt his such delicate, sweet, loving girl like that? How!?

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself moppet. She should be, fo’ being such a heartless prick.” He spat, his guts full of bitter and hatred. His skin hot, his grip on her tightening protectively and his chin quivers trying to lock all his anger inside and not to burst out like a pressure cooker.

“I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” He nods curtly to himself, poking his tongue to wet his grimacing lips and Y/N was too woolly to get what’s he’s saying.

His gaze flitters back on her. His demeanour turned incredibly soft and gentle for her smooching a big generous kiss to her salty lips and then to both of her cheeks cared in both of his palms, “Are y'okay? D'you want me to take you to hospital?” She shakes her head mewling and melting and caressing herself into his wrist.

“Why didn’t you call me baby?” He asks her doing anything in his power to mask the hurt in his tone and sighs touching his forehead to her's when Y/N sniffled, “Didn’t wan’ you to worry.” He slid his forearm under her bum and scooched her atop of him, patching tiny careful pecks to her jaw.

“But, that’s love moppet. Worryin’ bout you, takin’ care of ye' and beating anyone raw who even dares to have evil intentions towards you,”

“Remember the time y'snubbed that one guy’s oh so expensive shoes who was very rude to me at one of your graduations party?” His simper turning into a proper ironic grin when she giggled hoarsely nodding along and the tension in his muscles released watching her getting better.

“Proper broke his big toe with your heel darling.” He giggles with her and then Y/N realised how sad and awful Harry’s feeling, how it’s hurting him the same way it hurt her an year ago.

“How about we have a glass of milk .... it’ll help us sleep less grumpy y'know.” He murmurs in the crook of her neck, elbow cocooned safely around her shoulder blade as he kisses the side of her head again and again nose buried in her hair to smell her treacly smell.

In the morning he was tragic to hear Y/N sound so heartbroken and dejected as she told him, “I’m going to resign and accept your offer.” Her smile small and sad, hugging him looping her limbs around his torso lazily.

“’kay baby, but first eat your brekkie.” He kissed her hair and squished her pout when he moved away to make some calls to his assistant.

Y/N had no-idea what he was upto. Glad that he was driving her to the company and that he was immensely supportive of her decision, her insides pooled with warmth and giddiness when he tried to cheer her up with his silly jokes and singing along the radio murmuring rubbish whenever he forgot the lyrics.

She was utterly confused when upon reaching he was giving the keys to valet boy to park his car and interviewing their fingers in a strong grip before leading her inside, even though she should be the one to do so.

She sputters a, “Huh?” when instead of telling her he’d wait for her in the lobby he’s rounding the corner towards the elevators and turns his wrist to push her infront of him to keep her closer to himself all the time.

When the doors are sliding apart the people scurrying outside halts for a moment, not looking Harry in eyes and keeping their heads low.

Phones were already rung in the building that Mr. Styles will be coming un-announced and everyone should be prepared to face the consequences if they stumble upon him – because well he isn’t in such a nice mood to start with.

“Harry.” She pokes him in ribs feebly, stepping away from him feeling timid due to few pair of eyes in elevator watching her awkwardly and maybe judgingly.

The tension in space could be cut through knife, as if everyone’s holding their breaths and she pouts taking a good look at Harry who’s smirking smugly confident in his element.

Do they all think her boyfriend’s way too intimidating and out of reach for them? They should know he’s such a sweetie!

Y/N huffs. Folding her arms over chest when Harry paws at her hips and pulls her back against his chest resting his chin atop of her head with a shit eating grin.

In all seriousness. Showing them that’s she’s his's and belongs under his wings, which will keep her safe and protected till his death.

“How did you know my boss's office’s on tenth floor?” She squints up at him suspiciously.

“Hmm. Dunno, moppet. Magical powers or summat?” He teases her, putting a hand at the small of her back to nudge her forward making her blush pink and ducks down to whisper in her ear, “You got this toots.” Biting her earlobe playfully to stroke down her anxiety upon sensing her hesitancy to step in the hallway that has cubicles lined up.

He already got this. He ordered his assistant to get the resign letter ready and showing her who’s the boss here’s not much of hurdle for him.

It’s weird. Bloody weird. Y/N wants to turn back and run away because the moment they step inside the whole damn hallway falls eerily pin drop silent and everyone’s peeking up from the short walls of their cubicles and then diverting their eyes immediately in embarrassment and apology seeing Harry behind her.

The ones who’re standing bows their heads lightly in respect for him and scurrying away to give him a way and that’s insanely surprising and weird.

Harry on the other hand was no stranger to those bogey looks. Of curiosity, uneasiness and dread when he passes through the crowd of his employs. Y/N is.

Slowly perhaps. It starts to sink in— jumbled and disoriented when she looks back at Harry. He’s keeping his head held high and shoulders tilted back with poise and conceitedness, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants and because though it makes him look like a proper snob— he is their boss and the owner of this company, he should act like one.

“Mr. Styles.” Y/N’s boss assistant Marina who’s usually very chirpy (and undeserving of all the yelling she gets from her boss) turns pale at Harry’s presence. She’s the only person Y/N's very keen of, now she’s fretting towards them with her head lowered and tries to stammer something but Harry’s walking past her with his lips pursued as he goes inside without knocking.

“Harry...” Y/N tattles behind him, lunging to clutch onto the hem of his suits coat, to scold him to stop babying her and let her handle it herself, too late since she’s already meeting with the sight of her overly stressed and upset boss.

Her knees almost gives in when Harry snaps his fingers for the employees that were inside to give them privacy and takes in the most relaxing breath of oxygen, feeling a gag of bitterness in his mouth from even looking at her.

Y/N gasped. Her boss (which she’s not sure is her boss anymore) gasped. The sweet assistant Marina gasped. When Harry told her in the most composing way– though his blood’s boiling absolutely sheathing through his veins.

“You’re fired.” His demeanour cold and voice monotone not giving a fuck how much she shakes and cries for his forgiveness.

“Mr. Styles. I..I can explain–-" She stammers rushing from the back of her desk and stops obediently when Harry gestures her to not to take another step forward.

“There’s no excuse for abuse. I don’t want your lame explanations, I can’t have an abusive asshole running my company for me ... we might be strict on our employees but we aren’t monsters.” He grits, his eyes flaring piercingly with rage and showing no empathy towards her as she pleads him to forgive her mistake– those bricks of money makes you work baby.

“You hurt someone so dearly to me ‘n think I’ll forgive ye'?” The assistance eye’s blows away at newfound information, Harry Styles love of life’s none other than Y/N. The girl she used to have smoked sandwiches and milkshakes with in their lunch breaks.

“I didn’t know ...” He chuckles ironically at her hypocrisy and that’s the last straw for him before he’s threatening her to call the security and she’s getting out of there cursing him under her breath but Harry grabs her from elbow roughly, conceding his brow at her dauntingly.

"Apologise to her right fuckin' now."

"Sorry, Mrs Styles. I'm very ashamed of what I did." She says nervously and Y/N nods not able to speak from the butterflies that are flapping around her stomach, which sure didn't go unnoticed at Harry's side and he smirks at Y/N.

When they’re left alone. Jovial cackles are bouncing against the walls and he’s pressing his hip to the desk, securing his hands around his triceps as he folds his arms infront of his chest entertaining himself to the cute and fuzzy reactions of his girl at what just happened.

“See. Told ya, nobody could defy my bossiness at work.” He grins at her, jerking his hand towards his chest to usher her closer to him and boops her nose smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss to her mouth when she toddles in his arms.

“The offers still there,” He looks down at her cheekily and she shakes her head, a small smile kicking up her lips at his determination and devotion.

“Couldn’t say no to you, could I? What will you be owning secretly next time?” She nips at him, planting her palms firmly against his midriff feeling the crispiness of his shirt underneath his jacket.

“A bakery shop ....?” He muses in the most pondering voice and she scoffs at him through pattering of giggles, “Suck it up Mr. Styles.”

“Hey! I know my prick’s huge but not tha’ much for me to suck it myself.”

Y/N chokes onto her own spit. Shaking her head at him.

“Your innocent employees knows how vulgar you’re?”

“Uhmm. Infact, She gets very hot hearin’ me like tha'.” He bobs his head grinning at her wickedly and she smacks his shoulder, “Harry!”

“Yeahhh! Tell everyone how good I make you feel babbbyy—....” Y/N clamps her hand around his mouth to muffle his lewd fake moaning.

“You’re so embarrassing.” She grumbles wiping his spit sticking to her palm down her skirt and spins around to head for the door expecting him to follow her.

“You don’t talk to boss like that!” He trails behind her, “Boss my ass!” She quips out a squeal looking around to make sure that nobody saw it when Harry slapped her bum.

“Boss someone’s ‘bout to get a pink ass.”

#ceo!harry #ceo!h x y/n #ceo!h x reader #ceo!h x fem!reader #harry stylss angsty drabble #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles #cute harry #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Chain of Events

word count: 2500

pairing: andy barber x female reader

warnings: cheating, age gap, some profanity.

request: can i request a andy barber x fem!reader where the reader is his asisstant and his secret mistress (in mid 20s) which she always stick by his side and help him through jacob's trail. after the trail he divorced w laurie and they got marry and have a baby girl please!! thank you!!

a/n: sorry for the wait! i hope you enjoy lovely! ngl this really fueled my love for andy.

please excuse any mistakes!

It wasn’t something you were proud of. Something that had started off as a night with a few innocent drinks paved the way for a never ending cycle. At times you felt dirty and awful, yet that didn’t stop you from going to see him every other night. Even when you had the slightest feeling that Laurie had a hunch, it didn’t stop you. Especially when things got dark for Andy, you were the one to hold him close and not his wife. It felt so right although extremely wrong all at the same time.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Currently, you were sitting in your apartment bed, spending your Friday night a bit differently than most. Rain gushed from the sky and rhythmically hit your bedroom window which you were spaced out on, many thoughts running through your mind and a glass of wine occasionally hitting your lips. Using your free hand you softly ran your fingers through the mop of hair that belonged to Andy who was passed out in your lap. His breathing was even and it did your heart good to see him so peaceful for once. Just two hours ago, he called you, sounding so broken and vulnerable which was out of the ordinary for Andy. The minute you answered the door, he flung himself at you and held you tight, whispering repeatedly “don’t leave me, please.”

It absolutely tore you to pieces to hear him say that and you were quick to reassure him that it wasn’t even possible. You then lead him to the bedroom to ask what had happened.

“Is everything alright? Talk to me, Andy.” You placed a set of his pajamas into his hands but not without a pleading look in your eyes when meeting his own sullen ones.

“Laurie’s adamant it’s him, but (y/n)-” Placing a finger on his lips, you hushed him.

“I know, I know. You just have to ignore it okay? Laurie is just,” Pausing, you chose your next words wisely, “having a hard time with it all. Everyone copes differently.”

He sadly nodded before standing to kiss your forehead and make his way to the bathroom to get changed and cleaned up a bit.

The two of you continued to chat about Jacob’s trial once Andy returned from the bathroom, and he confided in you in many ways more than one. You’d never seen Andy so open, even with yourself, and clearly it helped him quite a bit as he was now relaxed.

Time had flown and amongst your thoughts, one stood out to you in particular. When would Laurie start to question where he was? Andy always had some bullshit excuse ready to give her and would then tell you that it would be alright. Normally, before you had time to truly convince yourself, Andy’s lips would be on yours or his hands would caress you gently and you’d melt into him as did your cares. Except for now.

The two had just gotten into a huge fight and you were sure Andy hadn’t even thought twice about telling her where he was going. Even if he did, Laurie would surely be on the lookout for his return.

Carefully reaching over to your nightstand, you grabbed your phone to check the time and noticed that it was getting late.

“Andy? My love, when do you have to go home?” You leaned down to whisper to the sleeping man who groaned in return.

You repeated his name once more, this time slightly shaking his shoulder to which he rolled onto his back, a goofy grin on his lips as he looked up at you. “Well hello, honey.”

From Andy’s point of view, you peered down at him like a disappointed mother but with a faint smile upon her lips at her child’s goofiness.

“Nice of you to join me, sleeping beauty. I was wondering what time you had to get home. It’s starting to rain more heavily and Laurie-”

Andy sat up and turned himself so he’d be sitting shoulder to shoulder with you. Silently, he took your empty wine glass from your hand, leaning to place it on your nightstand. As he did so, he didn’t let go of your wrist, which he brought to his lips when he returned to face you.

Murmuring against your wrist, he started to place soft and delicate kisses to the smooth skin there. “Don’t worry about it. I told her I’d be back tomorrow morning.”

“But Andy, she knows you don’t have anywhere to stay.” You didn’t want to exactly say “Hey! Andy, you have no friends and your wife knows that!” but it was implied in a kinder way. Andy picked up on this, clearly deflecting when he just nodded in response and started to place more kisses up your forearm.

Letting out a frustrated “hmph,” you let Andy carry on before he victoriously smiled at you.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The vicious cycle went on throughout the course of Jacob’s trial as things between Andy and his wife got worse. Even though they both lived under the same roof, slept in the same bed, and put on a facade for Jacob, they were practically separated. One night Andy drunkenly showed up on your doorstep, confessing how he had come home to find Laurie with another man. In a fit of rage he let the cat out of the bag that he had been seeing you. Funny how things work.

You knew they were both wrong, so instead of shaming either one of them, you just let Andy cling to you for comfort. When Andy was drunk, he was like a big child and if the circumstances were different, you’d been laughing, but rather you soothingly rubbed his back and listened as that’s all he needed. Someone who would just listen.

At three in the morning, he most definitely needed you as well when you found his head in the bowl of the toilet and not sleepily nestled in your neck. (Which was ironic as the two of you would be switching places very soon.)

Christmas came quick and along with it, many miracles, one being that Jacob was not convicted.

Just as Andy was in a rush to tell you the news, Laurie was even faster to serve the divorce papers to him. In a relationship, you and your partner are supposed to be able to push through tough times without breaking. With that being said, Andy and Laurie mutually agreed that they had failed and it was time they both quit lying to themselves. It was time for real happiness.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“(y/n) meet me at our favorite restaurant in thirty minutes.”

You were working on some case files for Neil, despite your hatred for him, and tried to tell Andy that you were busy at the moment. He didn’t listen but continued to insist that you meet him there. His tone wasn’t demanding, but it was...excited? Surely, Andy had been excited over things in his life, but you’d never actually heard the usually emotionless man speak with such ardor.

Setting down the case files, you rushed to put on some real pants and a blouse, but nothing too fancy or flashy as you had no idea what was about to happen.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Andy happily flagged you over. He wore the biggest smile ever and you were borderline concerned. What could have him this happy? Was he getting back with Laurie? As much as you wanted them to be a functioning family, you weren’t sure if you could deal with such heartbreak because Andy really did feel like the one.

Ever the gentleman, Andy pulled out your chair and handed you a small bouquet as you sat in the wooden seat. Before he walked away, the man planted a smack of a kiss on your lips and hurried back to his seat since he saw the waiter out of the corner of his eye. As the waiter approached, you were just sitting there, the most shocked expression on your face as it settled within you what Andy had just done. Long ago when this whole fiasco began, you and Andy always kept it professional when out in public because so many people knew him and word could get out easily that he was cheating.

The minute the waiter left, you were quick to chastise Andy who just laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world which left you a bit angered.

Since the restaurant was quiet, you extended yourself across the table so Andy could hear your harsh muttering.

“Do you realize what you just did, Barber?!” Andy shook his head in a content manner and at this point steam was about to emerge from your ears. Before all hell could break loose and you go ballistic, Andy cut in to explain.

“Jacob, he’s a free man!” Andy looked at you with an awaiting smile and your face immediately softened, but for only a second as that didn’t explain why he was parading your relationship out like this. Didn’t he know what he was risking, not only for himself, but you.

Your counterpart noticed the sudden change of expression on your face and continued, “But among other things, I meant to tell you that Laurie and I got divorced recently.”

“Oh hon, I am so sorry.” Reaching across the table, you comfortingly ran your thumb over the back of his hand, but he just shook his head in detest.

“No no, it’s not a bad thing because it just opened the gateway for this,” Andy pulled his hand away and went to dig in his coat pocket. You thought to yourself, no he couldn’t be-

“(y/n), I’m gonna make this short, but sweet. You mean the world to me and I could spend all night listing off why I love you, but that will never do justice, so instead, I ask that you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

His cliche, yet utterly adorable speech could make a person’s heart melt and instantly say yes, but you’ve always been a thinker, and maybe Andy had accounted for that a bit in his proposal.

“Andrew! You just got divorced!” In a semi-whisper slash hiss, you bent over so only he could hear, hiding your words from the prying onlookers as if you had top secret info spilling from your lips.

“I know, but, (y/n), you are the one.” He looked a bit awkward being on his knee for so long and the ring box still patiently in hand as you processed his question. Nonetheless, Andy continued to hopefully smile at you, ignoring all of the whispers, until you excitedly replied “yes” just a mere second later, though it felt like ages for him.

This proposal was definitely gonna be a story for generations.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

You and Andy settled for a simple courthouse wedding with just your parents in attendance as witnesses. The two of you were never really used to flaunting your relationship, and even though you could now, it just wasn’t ideal. Besides, you had bigger things to worry about.

For example, when just a few weeks after your short-lived honeymoon, you noticed some changes and came to the conclusion that you were pregnant.

One night, you casually brought up the idea of more kids to Andy to test the waters.

“Hey love, you awake?”

Andy lifted his eyes from his book, no longer looking as if he was asleep. He nodded his head and set the book aside giving you his full attention.

“What’s up, gorgeous?”

“I was thinking… what if we were to have a kid. Would you be opposed to that?”

The reaction on Andy’s face was most definitely not the one in mind and he looked as if you had asked him the most appalling question on earth.

“(y/n), I love kids,” He chuckled a bit, “I thought I made that clear, you know, by being a dad and all.”

His lame attempt at making a “joke” eased your nerves and you just came straightforward with the gold.

“Andy, I think I am pregnant.”

And faster than a predator can pounce, Andy was on you in seconds, his arms hugging you close as he whispered words of excitement.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Nine months later and that statement was very true as you held a bundle of joy in your arms. Your hours numb in pain couldn't even be compared to the gift that was before you. Andy could hardly keep his hands off your stomach for the past few months and he never failed to speak to your daughter as if she was actually there. Now that her presence was finally in the world, Andy was yet to look away from her small figure and his smile hadn’t withered the slightest.

The nurse had stepped out a few minutes ago, giving both you and Andy some time and privacy with your newborn. Even though drowsiness overcame your body, you visibly forced yourself awake just to absorb all the time you could with her. Little ones grow up in a flash and you weren't going to miss a second if it was up to you.

Andy joined you in the hospital bed when you silently invited him in with a soft pat to the crinkly sheets. Once he snuggled up against your side, you carefully passed the little baby who was about to have her first contact with her father.

As Andy played with her mini hands, you sleepily rested your head on his broad shoulder, watching the two and already figuring out that they’d be lifelong friends.

“They always say with age comes wiseness, but darlin’, your momma gives that phrase a run for its money.”

You giggled at your husband’s words and propped up the little darling the smallest bit so she could “see” you and her dad.

“Don’t listen to Daddy, munchkin. The grey in his beard says otherwise.”

“Hey! I’m not that old, I was still able to knock-” Backhanding Andy’s leg caused him to dramatically cut his sentence short. There were plenty of years for him to taint your daughter’s innocence.

As you observed the two, you noticed Andy gazed at her as if she hung the moon and stars for him, a familiar look he often gave you. Possibly from the lack of energy or just being enamored with the interaction, a sweet tear slipped from your own eye. Upon closer inspection, one could see that a subtle tear fell from the man beside you.

If Andrew Stephen Barber had known all those years ago he’d be here with a second chance at life, he would’ve never even waited another second to be with you. It’s funny how life can send you down the most twisted paths, yet have you come out with the most precious of gifts.

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a/n: what did you guys think? it feels like ages since i’ve written anything, and I am sure you can tell haha

if you are new here, check out my masterlist at the top of my blog for more Andy Barber (and Chris Evans characters) writing. I’d link it but tumblr always tag blocks me :(

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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years

Note

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive.

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #dabi angst #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #bnha x reader #bnha smut

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coconut-cluster · 4 years

Text

Y’know, with as scared or hesitant as Roman seems to be of sharing his issues in full with the others, I wouldn’t be surprised if his next move after the events of POF is just. to pretend it didn’t happen.

If he takes some time to fume before realizing, no, he can smooth everything over if he just pretends he’s absolutely fine - if he can act like his breakdown in the video was a temporary lapse in common sense, like it’s all water under the bridge now that he’s thought it through on his own, then no one will push it. No one will ask him if he’s okay with that wary look in their eyes, no one will act disappointed that his facade crumbled at the worst time, no one will linger on his jeer or Janus’ bite back. It’ll be okay, as long as he can pretend.

So he does. By the time Patton comes to check on him after the video, he’s scrounged up a smile that’s just the right mix of rueful and hopeful, and he lies through his teeth that he’s fine, he’s sorry he freaked out back there, is Patton alright? What about Thomas? That’s good, he’s glad. Yes, he promises he’s fine- you know him, prone to overreactions and dramatics, nothing out of the ordinary here. And Patton gives a relieved sigh and a small smile, and after a hug that Roman isn’t prepared for, too stiff and brittle and close to breaking again, the moral Side wishes him goodnight and leaves. And Roman realizes this is going to work.

He throws himself into his work. He fills notebooks and sketchpads, makes lists of video ideas and plans out stories to the most minute detail, stacks everything neatly on his desk and in the corner of his room and on his bed - he doesn’t need the space there anymore, because he quickly pushes sleep aside as a need in favor of productivity, not that the others know that. He brings the evidence of his effectiveness, of his usefulness, down to them when the stack is sizable enough, tries to ignore Logan’s furrowed brow and Patton’s confused frown and instead focuses on telling them that he’s confident in the work. He does everything he can to show them that he can do his job better than... he needs to show them that he can do his job well.

Thomas tells him he’s taking a break, that all the ideas he’s bringing forth aren’t necessary, but Roman insists he’s able to produce so much because he’s inspired at last, strengthened by the relaxation - and that makes Thomas brighten, and his smile makes the ever-present pit in Roman’s stomach better and worse all at once. He needs to make Thomas proud. He needs Thomas to smile at him and trust him and be happy and he needs Thomas to be proud of him.

He starts focusing on the others more. He forces himself to linger in the living room despite the urge to lock himself in his room and keep writing or drawing or working, and he listens to them - he’s at Patton’s side in an instant to help set the table, fetches things for Logan at the smallest grumble, grabs snacks for Virgil when he complains offhandedly about being hungry. He stays quiet when they’re frustrated and tells jokes and sings when they’re sad and does favors and runs errands. He wrings himself dry and starts again, all in an effort to scream without saying a word, Do you see it? Do you see me? I’m the good one, I promise. I promise.

Very quickly, he wears himself thin. He feels unsteady on his feet, nauseous when moving, hollow when sitting still. The Sides don’t technically need food or sleep, but just like any affliction, if they believe it can hurt them, it can, and Roman’s body aches for a nap, something to eat other than the granola and coffee he’s been living off in the midst of the chaos in his head. He fights headaches and sore muscles and dizzy spells, distracts himself with more work, and it’s a vicious cycle but for some reason, as twisted as it sounds, it feels right.

There’s catharsis in pushing himself further and further. He feels awful, worse every day, but his guilt and frustration and shame wither away with the rest of him. It’s a destruction he can’t abandon.

His efforts culminate in a necessary evil. He ‘s weak by now; it takes all his energy to glamorize his dark circles, his sickly complexion, his shaky wrists. He has to sit down and breathe for a few minutes after hiding them, but he manages it, and before his resolve or facade crumble, he’s at the dark oak door he’s been avoiding for weeks.

Janus doesn’t look angry to see him, though he doesn’t look particularly pleased, either; his gaze is even, strictly guarded as Roman offers a small smile, a peace offering that is hopefully less frail than it feels. He wastes little time and recites the apology he’d meticulously planned for days, trying to meet Janus’ eyes throughout, despite the scrutiny in that slitted gaze. The words are vile in Roman’s mouth - he doesn’t know if it’s shame or righteousness, or maybe a contemptible mix of the two - but he gets them out, and at the end, Janus stares at him for a minute. Everything inside Roman screams to lean against the wall or sit down or just collapse on the spot, anything other than stand straight-backed and prim as he is, because it takes so much out of him and he is so, so tired- until finally Janus nods, says a small “Thank you,” and closes his door. Roman doesn’t have the energy to remark that he didn’t get an apology back; he has just enough energy to feel he doesn’t deserve one in the first place.

It all goes downhill the next day.

It’s very late, or very early, when he stumbles to the kitchen, finally desperate enough for something substantial to eat that he leaves his room. He can only eat a little of the toast he makes before his stomach protests, so he takes the leftovers and starts back toward the stairs, when a voice calls out from the couch, “You’re up late.”

Virgil doesn’t snicker when he stumbles, and when Roman turns to him, the anxious Side isn’t even smirking. He’s just watching the prince in the dim light of the living room, his frown illuminated by his phone screen. Roman’s stomach drops.

“I was hungry,” he says, holding up his toast and praying that his shaking wrists aren’t visible in the dark.

“You look like shit.”

Roman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“When’s the last time you slept, Princey?” It’s not a question Virgil expects a good answer to; that’s clear from the way he leans back, the way his expression is sort of grimly smug. But Roman stutters a response - this is bad, he knows, he can feel the disappointment in waves, he messed it all up - and Virgil’s frown just deepens, stern and unimpressed as he interrupts, “Your eye bags are darker than mine. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing-”

“Don’t.” Roman’s mouth snaps shut. “I don’t want him here right now, and we’re not gonna get anywhere if you lie, anyway, so just... don’t.”

They fall silent as Roman just nods, leaning back against the stair banister, his knees weak, and Virgil has the grace to look uncomfortable. “What’s up with you?” the anxious Side repeats after a second, quieter. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“Sorry.”

Virgil just stares at him for a second. His eyes flick down to where Roman shuffles his feet, trying to find the best position to lean all his weight on the banister without looking as exhausted as he feels, and the anxious Side furrows his eyebrows, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jesus, come sit down,” he says a moment later, his tone far less snappy than the words suggest. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

And as much as it makes his heart race to imagine all the ways this conversation can go wrong, Roman takes one step and his knees nearly buckle, and he knows there’s no way he’s making it up the stairs without making it obvious just how dilapidated he is. The path to the couch instead is full of hardly contained stumbles, but he makes it; sinking into the couch cushions is relief that almost makes him cry.

“You haven’t been eating,” Virgil says quietly. It’s not unkind, really, but there’s something biting around the edges, something rigid. Roman thought he’d hidden that well enough, and there’s a part of him that’s petulantly annoyed at Virgil’s observance.

“I have,” he frowns, “just... not a lot. We don’t technically need food, anyway.”

Virgil scoffs. “No, but it sure as Hell helps. So why’re you holding out?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy.” Roman nods. “When Thomas is on a break.” Roman nods again, much less insistent. “Why?”

“Well, if he needs an idea for... I mean, if we-” His brain feels foggy, and Virgil’s raised eyebrow doesn’t help. He pushes his bottom lip out in a pout. “He can still be creative when he’s on a break, you know.”

“I do know, but I don’t think there’s a reason for his Creativity to look like a walking corpse from it.”

“If you’re just going to insult me, I can leave.”

“I really don’t think you can,” Virgil scoffs, and it’s sharp, acidic, and though Roman wants to shrink back, he somehow knows the anger seeping through Virgil’s tone isn’t aimed at him directly. It’s a small consolation when the anxious Side’s humorless smile drops a second later; he shakes his head to himself, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Listen,” he says lowly, and Roman relaxes again, just a little. “I know we’re not, like, close, or whatever, but you’re clearly not okay. I know we’ve all noticed- honestly, I was waiting for Logan or Patton to say something, ‘cause this isn’t really my thing, but...” He shakes his head again, searching for the words until finally he just looks to Roman, resigned and imploring. “Why’re you doing this to yourself?”

“I...” wanted to make up for being me. thought it would help. know selflessness is actually bad, apparently, but it feels like the only way to be good, and I just want to be good. Bad answers. They sound stupid now that he says them so clearly in his head. “I don’t know,” he says instead, wispy and strained, his chest tight, but it feels wrong; it feels like a cheap answer, a flimsy excuse - he asks himself again, why? Why, why, why-

And maybe it’s the fatigue; maybe it’s because every piece of him feels like glass, one shift away from shattering into millions of tiny shards; maybe it’s because he wasn’t made to be pulled different directions every time morals shifted and maybe this had all just been too much. But whatever it is, Roman spends a second too long searching for an answer, and his mind is on a loop with the word, whywhywhy, overriding his messy thoughts and clawing at the space behind his eyes, and he squeezes his eyes shut - his face feels hot but a shiver runs down his spine, and the ache in his head doubles down under the pressure of it all - and curls his hands tight, struggling to keep hold of his senses, maintain his trembling composure.

“I don’t know,” he says at last, and his voice is reed-thin and brittle and so, so small, and he hates the way it wavers at the end. “I just- I thought I could be better, if I- I didn’t know what to do, because I was confused and angry and I lashed out, and I wanted to prove that I could be better, but I don’t think it’s working and I’m so tired, Virge-”

“Hey.”

Roman’s mouth snap shuts - his eyes stinging and his heart feels like it’s stuttering in his chest and it’s a little hard to breathe, but he manages to take in a breath as he glances over at Virgil; the anxious Side heaves a small sigh, bracing himself on the back of the couch where he’s sitting and lowering himself to sit normally on the cushion beside Roman. They’re both silent for a minute, before Virgil holds an arm out, just barely, and nods for Roman to come closer.

Roman blinks blearily at the gesture, glancing from Virgil’s arm to his face in silent question.

“Just c’mere,” Virgil says, as if that explains it. “Don’t make it weird.”

And Roman manages a laugh at that, as wet and choked as it is. He shifts to the spot and lets his shoulders fall, lets the tension dissipate as his head falls onto Virgil’s shoulder - his hoodie is soft and smells faintly of Thomas’ lavender detergent - and takes a deep breath. Virgil wraps his arm lightly around Roman, just enough to be there, and it’s all Roman needs for the tears to finally fall.

“I’m sorry, for-”

“Don’t,” Virgil says quietly, almost gently. “Just... shut up and sleep, Princey. It’s okay.”

Roman presses his lips together and nods - a part of him wants to press on, to give the apology he should have started with in the first place. He knows this doesn’t make everything alright again. A part of him wants to work until it’s all fixed. But that part is small, and frail, and as tired as the rest of him, and the smell of lavender and the warmth of being held and the weight of the words “It’s okay” pull him down until his eyelids are drifting shut of their own accord, and before he knows it, his thoughts are hazy, drifting toward peaceful for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Virgil’s hoodie, bleary amid the fog.

“Anytime, Princey.”

And the last thing he feels before his mind finally quiets, finally lets him drift off completely, is Virgil holding a little tighter.

#prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #lexi writes #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #tw overworking #tw sleep deprivation

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Please read the whole thing ❤️

Hey everyone, Zannah here.

I’ve taken some time and stepped away from this platform after all the drama that happened a month or so ago, and in that time I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Thank you all so much, for your kindness and support in allowing me to unplug for a little while, I really needed that break just for my own sanity. I hope that in this time, you all have been doing as well as you can in this very stressful year. I’d like to take this brief moment and thank my most dear friends who have been my rock. This experience has shown me that good friends, truthful friends, are hard to come by. If you have them, please make sure they know how much you love them.

You know, I’ve been on this platform for just about ten years. For a few of those years, I’ve been here in the AD community, and I can honestly say I’ve never had a more negative experience in my life, from the actions that I’ve witnessed and experienced. I stayed away from people I didn’t like, I didn’t read fic I didn’t like, I avoided content and artwork that upset me, because I’m an adult. And foolishly I was expecting others to do the same, because as I always say, your internet experience is up to you to cultivate. You are responsible for no one else’s actions other than your own.

I’ve dealt with people coming into my inbox condemning me for the way I interpret fictional characters from day one. I’ve dealt with people calling me slurs and names, telling me to kill myself, telling me they were going to kill me themselves, that I deserve awful unspeakable things, for not agreeing with the way that they interpret a fictional character. Those were all easy to ignore, because they were always, always either about my Jewishness, or about the Jewishness of my characters, and I have no time for bigots, I just don’t.

People got angry with me for having boundaries in not wanting to write certain things, or for not wanting to write them in the specific way that they wanted me to. People got angry with me for being frustrated, that time and time again I was being treating as some writing machine and not a person, by them not giving me the basic respect of checking the small list of tropes and themes I’m uncomfortable writing which I’ve made so accessible every time. Time and time again I became frustrated, being asked questions that I’ve made clear on so many occasions, that I was uncomfortable answering, or held negative opinions of.

And that was frustrating, because it was a level of entitlement I’d never seen before – people wanted my writing, but only if it satisfied their needs with little regard to my own feelings, and called me a bully when I didn’t comply. Still, it was just about the writing, and I could ignore that.

But then, strangers started getting angry with me because I had blocked them for whatever reason from seeing my content. Strangers got angry with me for standing up for myself when people tried to pull stunts in the inbox. When people asked me for advice or my opinion on a whole assortment of topics, they said I was being a bully because they didn’t like what I had to say. A difference of opinion is not a personal attack, but it seems as though many people haven’t grasped that concept. People said I was betraying others’ trust by answering anonymous asks on the internet, something that has exactly 0 risk or stakes in sending. People said I was a bitch when I tried to offer genuinely constructive and critical responses. People got angry that I blocked their IP address for sending me unwanted, anonymous, negative hot takes that I didn’t ask for, nor that I cared about. People said I never took accountability for anything, when in reality they just wanted me to change my mind about certain topics, and got angry when I held true to my convictions.

I hope you can all imagine why I didn’t respond pleasantly. Like every content creator on this website and on any website, we don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t owe anyone writing, I don’t owe anyone answers, I don’t owe anyone attention or time. And something that I’ve learned most of all, is that I don’t owe people the pleasure of indulging in flame wars that get brought to my feet. I am not interested in wasting my time trying to defend myself and my good name, against people who have already made up their mind about me from a few misunderstandings, a single interaction, or a one-sided and angry perspective. I’m not interested in wasting my time over things that I know in my heart, aren’t true.

One thing people sometimes tell me, is that I was “rude to a perfectly genuine anon.” I would like to say this; there is absolutely no way for me to know the intention of any anon, other than the way the message comes across. And I’ll be the first to admit, often intention is misinterpreted! When that happens and the person reaches out, I always, every time, have apologized. And just as easy as it is for me to misinterpret someone’s genuine ask as rude or offensive, it is easy for my genuine responses to be interpreted as rude or clipped. Tone is difficult over the internet -- tone is difficult in text where these people are anonymous strangers and I have no idea who they are or with which intentions they’re coming from.

That being said, people can still say hurtful things without the intention of doing so. People have said unintentionally hurtful things to me, and I now realize that I have said things which have been hurtful to others. Good intentions mean nothing, when real hurt and pain is caused. To those people, I would like to give a genuine and sincere apology. I hope, as all I can ever do is hope, that folks here know I never come from a place of malice. Moving forward, I will do my best to respond in ways that I hope will come across as respectful as possible, even when disagreeing. I believe the only legitimate form of apology is changed behavior, and I intend to make that change so that this space can be more inclusive and welcoming, as I have only ever wished it to be.

Because, well, I like to think that we have made a welcoming and inclusive space, a space where we are able to respect one another’s boundaries. I am just one person, just a girl with a blog on the internet who has tried to forge a community of peers and friends. I am not a politician with a PR team approving my every post, there are no mods here to help me interact with you guys. I’m just a girl who writes fanfic and posts it on the internet. I write fanfic that makes me happy, that I’m proud of, for me, and I am happy to share it with you. Especially because through that fanfic, I’ve met incredible wonderful people, and I’m thankful for all of you.

Through having this blog, I’ve met people that I consider to be lifelong friends -- people that I plan on building a future with, and for that I’m forever grateful. I’ve met people who have become inspired to write their own fanfic or start their own blogs, and even when it’s a subject matter that’s not something I’m interested in or one that I personally don’t like, I have always, always been encouraging. Because this is a hobby, this is something people should be doing for fun, because they want to, and no other reason. So when I see claims that “I’ve forced people to quit writing” or someone saying “I quit the fandom because of you”, I know that that’s simply not true. The only way you quit writing is by not writing anymore. It may feel better to blame someone for the reasons why, but no one can make you do anything except yourself.

Similarly, I’ve seen people saying that I’ve “ruined their favorite character” and to that all I have to say is what I’ve always been saying; if you don’t like my writing, you don’t have to read it. If you don’t like my interpretation of characters, you don’t have to consume the content I put out. If you don’t like my opinions, you don’t have to follow me. People don’t “ruin characters” for anyone else, when you simply avoid the content you don’t like, and focus on (or make) the content you do like.

Have I been confused when someone shares my story with a tag that didn’t make sense and so I reached out to them privately to address the issue? Yes.

Have I expressed my negative feelings about fics and the trends of fandom in the comfort and boundaries of my own blog, in posts that I remove when I felt that they no longer were worth keeping up? Yes.

Have I expressed my concerns regarding certain tropes, themes and kinks, opinions formed by my own firsthand experience with them, coupled with the potential damaging effects they may have on a young and impressionable audience like some of those in this fandom? Yes.

I don’t deny any of these things, because I am not ashamed of any of these things. You don’t have to like it, but that does not make me a monster, nor does it make me a tormenter of this fandom as I have been called.

Tormenting people in fandom is making long scathing posts publicly blasting someone because you’re angry that they blocked you. Or making long public callout posts to warn others in the fandom of my many crimes – crimes which actually aren’t crimes at all – and whipping up a frenzy of frothing at the mouth hate. Or reblogging a post and hijacking it with long commentary about something that has nothing to do with you in an attempt to shame the original poster. Or getting screenshots of private conversations where someone is joking with a person who they once thought was a friend, that are taken out of context and framing them to fit a narrative you’re spinning against them. That’s torment.

This fandom has the most vicious and warped mob mentality that I have ever seen. I’ve seen it in the treatment of Adam and Joanne, I’ve seen it in the treatment of John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran. I’ve seen it in the treatment of other bloggers, and well, I can say I’ve seen it and experienced it myself. I worry for the future of the fandom, when this sort of behavior is rewarded and celebrated, because people are so quick to simply agree with someone’s impassioned anger instead of thinking critically for themselves.

However (and this is the ‘but’ of the whole post), I cannot make this post and make all these statements without saying that this community has also been a place of kindness and support and acceptance, and I’m genuinely touched by everyone who has ever gone out of their way to talk to me. I thought long and hard about deleting this blog. I thought about just packing up and leaving our corner of the web, or moving to other platforms. I even put out a little announcement on my ao3 that I was done, I was out of here. But it didn’t sit right with me. It didn’t feel right to abandon all the incredibly beautiful, talented, welcoming, supportive and kind people that had found some peace in this corner of the web. I was absolutely blown away by the sweet messages that were sent to my inbox, and my DMs, the posts that were circulated written by friends and strangers alike literally brought me to tears.

I know that many people here do not like me, and want nothing to do with me, and that’s okay. I know that my content is not for everyone, my opinions are not going to be lined up with everyone else’s, that’s okay too. People have not liked me from the beginning lol, that’s nothing new to me. I have always said, that I would continue to write even if no one read my stuff, and that’s still true. You are in charge of your internet experience, follow the people and consume the content that makes you happy, and block out the things that don’t.

If you are reading this and you are one of the kind people, one of the supportive and understanding people who are on my side, I cannot say thank you enough. The time I took away made me realize that there are much larger problems in the world than strangers on the internet having negative opinions about me, and that kindness will always be more powerful than hate. The community we have built together means more to me than the bullshit other people try and start.

So, all of this is to say, that I’m back.

Some things are going to be a little different around here; I’m very very sorry I know I said I would never do this but I’ve turned the anonymous function off for the time being just for the sake of my sanity, and I’ve updated my FAQ. Writing will no longer be posted directly to tumblr, but rather a redirect link from AO3 will be posted making all tag-list requests null and void.

But other things will remain the same. We’re still going to have sleepovers, I’m still going to accept prompts (but please give me some time before we get back to sinday, as I’m still in a little bit of unease about all of this). I’m still going to be talking about my personal AU, and I’m still going to be uploading fanart and gifs and memes and shitposts and answering your questions and giving you the love you all have shown to me over the years.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for giving me the time to say my peace. I know it’s a long post, but I’ve been sitting on these thoughts for quite some time, and I’m relieved to finally express them. Please know that my posting this isn’t intended to stir up anything, or cause any drama, or relive any pain.

I just missed you all very dearly. I hope that we can move onward and upward together, a babbushka 2.0 of sorts. It’s an exciting time to be in this fandom, and I am looking forward to experiencing everything together.

I’m sending you all of my love.

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missmeltycat · 3 years

Note

i see u have an oc for the real ghostbusters!!! i dunno if u already paired them or anything but can u do some pairing headcanons for each guy and janine maybe too??

Ohhh wow. OK. This is definitely an interesting challenge. Amusingly, waaaaay back when (We are talking a long time ago) she was paired with Egon, but I have made a number of changes since then and she’s not now.

OK, let’s do this! *Cracks knuckles*

Egon Spengler

Probably takes a LOT of time to actually get anywhere because... Well... It’s Egon!

Either happens as a moment of experimentation seeing if there’s anything between them worth pursuing or not, or part of an adrenaline rush moment.

GUILT. REGRET. “OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE! I’M NORMALLY SO LOGICAL!”

Sex? What’s that? Oh, that thing that only happens once in a blue moon?

Nights spent reading together. Egon tries to teach her things since she’s not a scientist like he is.

Kisses are quick and fleeting. Pecks and nips, rarely deeper unless adrenaline or hormones play a part.

Equipment experimentation made purely for Rae’s build and work method.

Love language of reminding the other to eat/drink/sleep. Cleaning of glasses. Maintaining fitness equipment.

Night’s out at the opera/theatre.

Dates at the museum. Egon explaining in great depth about everything.

Rae dragging him to the gym. He doesn’t enjoy it until she gets him to think about it from a scientific and biological standpoint. (He wears a sweatband.)

Yes. Problems with Janine. Oh boy.

Arguments are quick, never long-lasting. Usually a sudden explosion of irrational anger, followed by parting ways in different rooms and coming together with apologies laced with tremendous guilt.

Rae’s family are pretty pleased with Rae’s choice.

Pros:

Sweet and considerate pairing

Comfortable silences and just existing in each other’s spaces

Mutual respect

Maturity

Dependability

Cons:

Janine conflict

Occasional fights due to differences in interests and intellect

Late nights make for cranky people

Egon is all logic, Rae is all muscle - Technically opposites

Egon’s attitude could rub Rae the wrong way, as it can come off as slightly big-headed

Rae can be a bit rough. Egon not so much - Ouch!

Peter Venkman

Probably happens after a fight. Sudden!

Lots of angry, make up sex

Huge amount of flirting

Dates to fast food joints, pizza parlours and ice-cream shops. Possibly music venues

Fights over expenses. Let’s face it. If Peter can get out of paying, he will

Playful punch-u-punch-me matches that usually end up with Peter with bruised arms

“Goals? How many places we can do it in. The storage locker is next!”

Bets. Lots of bets. “Ten bucks says Ray can’t X.” “Ten bucks says Egon messes up.” “Ten bucks says Slimer eats X.” Occasionally “Ten bucks and I’ll eat X” and “Ten bucks says you can’t lift X, Rae!”

Gaming. Competitive gaming. Peter will sulk if he loses.

Evenings spent sleeping happily

Table hockey with utensils and condiments

Kisses are passionate, dirty, messy, lots of tongue

Love language? You mean making out lots? Yeah, that...

No shame in PDA, but not sentimental in nature. More like copping feels

No pressure. More like friends with benefits.

Arguments are usually about Peter’s flirting, or immaturity. They last a while and always end as if they never happened.

Rae is active, Peter prefers slobbing when he can. Rae tries to get him active, he tries to get her to chill more.

Creativity in the form of music. When people say they’ll make sweet music together? They were wrong in this case. Terrible music is more like it. But it’s all good fun.

Rae’s family are charmed by Peter. Wary, but charmed nonetheless.

Pros:

Fun and humour

Amazing physical encounters

No pressure or expectations

Passion

Creativity

Cons:

Immaturity

Overly flirtatious with others (Peter)

Lazy and active don’t mix all that well

Hot tempers

Trust issues

Ray Stantz

Known as ‘The Rays’

Lots of shy glances (Ray)

Self-confidence issues and inadequacy worries (Ray) because Rae works out and he’s... Ray

Anxious confessions

Sweetness, consideration, caring words and actions

Absolutely 100% serious. No room for messing about when it starts

Love language of soft touches, fingers over the hair, face cupping and cheek stroking... Oh and FOOD!

Nights spent on the sofa in blankets and PJs with popcorn

Sex? “Oh boy, are you sure? I mean, are you a hundred percent sure you wanna? I’m not hurting you am I? Am I squishing you too much? Sorry, was that right?”

Cook together a lot. Ray isn’t quite as good, so Rae (Who is knowledgeable on nutrition since she works out etc) often finishes off the dishes and lets him take credit

Dates could be anything. It doesn’t need to be fancy, as long as they’re together.

Kisses are sweet, tender, passionate without being over the top and usually combine with fingers in hair

Mutual respect and love/fascination of the paranormal, ghosts and creatures

Alternating big spoon, little spoon and always very comfortable

Fights? Not very often, but usually doesn’t last long and ends in flowers, chocolates and lots of snuggles

Soft neck kisses, breathless terms of endearment, wandering hands, confidence boosting body worship

Rae lifting Ray with one arm for training, resulting in gushing

Fawning, doodling, love-sick teen type behaviour

Comfortably discuss the future together without awkwardness

Rae’s family are surprised by Rae’s choice, but are absolutely happy with him

Pros:

Sweet and caring

Dependable and loyal

Kind to animals, ghosts and other such creatures

Willingness to always be better

Cons:

Self-confidence issues

Sometimes naive

Occasional know-it-all behaviour

Curiosity that almost kills the cat

Can’t cook so well and has questionable ingredient choices that border on imminent food poisoning danger (Ray)

Winston Zeddemore

Happens smoothly, gradually over time as the pair gain the bond naturally through companionship

Chill as fuck, but absolutely committed and serious

Love language of gifts and showing off in public

Dates at ball games and other sporting events, sometimes at sports bars showing various games

Clubs and music venues until extremely late

Workout buddies

Love to tease Peter together

Will chill out to horror movies together on the couch

Sex is passionate, but considerate, full of respect but occasionally borders on kinky. Sometimes in the shower. Did that door get locked? Oops!

Will discuss relationship stuff anywhere, no shame

Kisses are deep, long-lasting, skin-tinglingly good

Sports in the park on afternoons off

Will gladly spot Rae when she lifts weights

Games of catch with equipment and contests with how far or how high things can be thrown

Rae cooks his favourite meal every month just because

He will give her full body massage after her workouts

Arguments are strong, as they are both strong willed people. They last a little longer than they probably should, with lots of huffing and passing messages through other people. Making up, though, always the best part

Mutual enjoyment of harder music genres

Rae tries to encourage him to be more active in the group, as he’s sometimes overshadowed by the others

Always help each other out and share chores equally

Nudes exchanged. Absolutely

Rae’s family take to him quite quickly and are absolutely pleased

Pros:

Active

Mutual respect

Openly proud and shows off the other

Responsible

Loving and passionate

Open to new ideas

Cons:

Strong personalities, so sometimes clash

Sometimes shies away from challenges

Some PTSD issues (From the canonical military experience)

His passion for things sometimes trump other things, such as date nights or other promises

Janine Melnitz

This one was a random one and happened as a result of harmless flirting at the reception desk, probably as an assurance that Rae wasn’t after Egon, but it ended in something surprising for both

Bitching to each other about the guys a lot, a little club of two

Janine drags Rae shopping a lot, mostly to spend time together, but also because Rae can actually carry the shopping with no problem with her muscles

Dates at fancy restaurants and wine bars where Janine gets dressed up and Rae feels uncomfortable in a dress

Janine will offer to give her make overs, which always amuses the guys

Love language of comforting hugs, washing each others hair, giving each other shoulder massages, doing small things such as put incense on when the other is feeling stressed out and little notes left around for each other to find

Mail order flowers

Both of their apartments become used equally as bases and it’s never known which they will be at at any given point

Arguments are loud and sometimes vicious in nature, which prompts the guys to demand they make up. Usually ends with crying and hugging and huge apologies

Nights binging series or movies with pizza, ice-cream and soda

Will both kick Peter’s ass if he’s not careful

Intimacy is usually sweet and loving, but with a spark of passion. And, yes, absolutely open to others to join... By others Janine means Egon

Kisses are sudden and big smooches, or quick pecks on the fly

Janine will phone to make sure Rae is OK when out on assignment, sometimes becoming a nuisance. She will also threaten everyone to look after her, or she’ll kick the crap out of them

Rae’s family are a little shocked over her choice, but completely pleased with Janine.

Pros:

Playful banter

Reliable, responsible and loyal

Conscious of feelings

Pretty badass, let’s face it

Cons:

Cranky and overly emotional

Jealous

Sometimes clumsy to the point of endangerment

#Ghostbusters #The Real Ghostbusters #Egon Spengler #Ray Stantz #Peter Venkman #Winston Zeddemore #Janine Melnitz #Rae Taylor #OC #Original Character #Prompt #Headcanon #Headcanons #Anon

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oopsabird · 4 years

Text

IFD Author Showcase - oopsabird’s SamiCharlie (Wonder Woman 2017) Works

Hello all! Since today is February 15 was International Fanworks Day, I thought I’d get around to something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while, which is a masterpost of all the Wonder Woman (2017) fics I’ve written for the pairing Charlie/Sameer! Yay!! Shamless self-promotion time!!

Click under the cut for all 15 of my works for this ship in the order I originally posted them! Plenty of reading to fill up your reading week or procrastinate whatever you “should” be doing lol

Unfortunately this probably won’t show up in the tags due to the amount of links it has, so reblogs would be super super appreciated, as are comments and kudos from those of you who click through!

These works represent the small public part of the huge amount of writing growth I have had in the last two years, and a big effort to build a ship tag from the ground up with my friends, and I am so so proud of them!! Every word of a comment or kudos means the absolute world to me, as making these fics has helped me rediscover my creative self again after so many years of being estranged from that part of me - they are an expression of creative joy.

Hope you enjoy!

1. And In The Morning [1838 words]

If that snowy night in Veld had been the calm before the storm, this sunrise was the stunned quiet in the wake of the hurricane. The moment to look around and take stock of what made it through the vicious night - and what didn’t.

Missing scene/coda: Sameer at the airfield, after.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief, Diana Prince | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 28 Nov 2017

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Pre-Slash, sober Charlie

2. je le veux [7697 words]

Diana believes in love the same way children believe in fairytales - with optimism and wholehearted conviction.

or;

Over the course of their mission in Belgium, Diana deduces from watching Sameer and Charlie that they obviously must be a devoted married couple. This conclusion would in fact be news to everyone else on the team — including Sameer and Charlie.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Diana Prince, Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Diana Prince/Steve Trevor (mentioned), Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Diana, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 27 Dec 2017

Addtional Tags: Mutual Pining, Intimacy, cultural misunderstandings (of a sort), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recovery, Grieving, well-intentioned meddling friends, Diana Prince vs 20th-century homophobia, aka Truth Coming Out Of Her Well To Shame Mankind, Fluff, Get-Together Fic, Post-Movie, non-explicit references to homophobia, sober Charlie

3. gambit [7390 words]

gambit: in chess, a sacrifice used to gain an early advantage in space or time at the opening of a game.

or;

Sameer does something arguably reckless, and consequences ensue.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief, Etta Candy | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 3 Jan 2018

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, liberal mis-use of historical timelines and the field of medicine, Hurt/Comfort, a dozen tropes stacked together in a trenchcoat, Mission Fic, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Interrogation, Get-Together Fic, Post-Canon, Whump, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

4. To Burn And Keep Quiet [5660 words]

Sameer and Charlie tell their secrets, yet still keep them secret all the same. Etta gets caught up in the middle of their mess, and prays for patience.

Additional Tags: Mutually Unrequited, Mutual Pining, Friendship, Miscommunication, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, yes it can be both, oblivious idiots in love, Hospitals, Etta gets caught in a minor moral conundrum, Secrets, Pining, Male-Female Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Period-typical attitudes towards homosexuality, (not Etta because she's a good person), Bisexual Character, Pre-Slash, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism

5. so much like stars [6668 words]

Sameer gets Charlie back from the drink - and all that which comes with him, too.

or;

How the rest of the team spent that night in the village.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 31 Jan 2018

Additional Tags: Pining, Canon Compliant, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Undressing, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, the result of watching the "evening in Veld" scene way too many times, Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, probably some UST too but it's subtle I think, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Diana/Steve Trevor (mentioned), sober Charlie

6. Next To Me [2604 words]

After the war Charlie's drinking stops, but the nightmares don't. Luckily, he has people who’ll take care of him - if he can learn to let them.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 18 Mar 2018

Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Angst, Mutual Pining(if you squint), Team as Family, Charlie and the fight against toxic masculinity, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

7. take my heart (clean apart if it helps yours beat) [4147 words]

This thought more than any other makes Sami’s heart twist in his chest; he wishes he could turn back time, lift the troubles from Charlie’s mind and give him the peace he deserves. Steve says this new mission of theirs could end the war, and while Sami isn’t quite naive enough to wholeheartedly believe this, he quietly hopes that it can be true, because he isn’t sure how much longer they can hold on otherwise. A small group of missing scenes from the last night in London before the mission.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Steve Trevor | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Sameer & Steve Trevor | Date Posted: 1 May 2018

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pining, Miscommunication, Etta and Diana appear briefly but not enough to tag

8. a degree of difficulty [2603 words]

Without the drink to cloud his judgement, Charlie finds himself prone to worry.

or;

A small cutscene preceding the battle at the airfield; a moment of reassurance.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer, Chief, Steve Trevor | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, assorted minor/background team feels and friendships | Date Posted: 27 Aug 2018

Additional Tags: Ficlet, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Friendship, sober Charlie

9. i don’t know if you would listen [2509 words]

After the village battle and before the celebration, Charlie seeks out absolution in Veld's broken church.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 5 Oct 2018

Additional Tags: Character Study, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Religious Discussion, Pre-Slash, Friendship, Sami being beautiful in the twilight (again), Mid-Canon, time to unpack my massive box of Charlie feels (again), Prayer, sober Charlie

10. dìon [1944 words]

dìon — Scottish Gaelic; verb meaning “to protect”, “to safeguard”, or “to shelter”.

or;

Sami vs the forces of winter.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Sameer, Etta Candy & Charlie | Date Posted: 8 Jan 2019

Additional Tags: Winter, Pre-Slash, mild whump, Fluff, Mutually Oblivious Pining, Sharing Clothes, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

11. let me come with you [12,013 words]

the woods are lovely, dark and deep (but i have promises to keep)

or;

When things go awry on a mission in Italy, it's Charlie's turn to risk everything for his family, and pray they'll bring him home. Sequel and mirror to gambit.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Charlie, Charlie & Chief, Etta Candy & Sameer, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 4 Apr 2019

Additonal Tags: Mission Fic, Established Relationship, Action & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Team as Family, Canon-Typical Violence, (maybe a bit above that), Whump, tropes tropes and more tropes, sober Charlie, Serious Injuries, Post-Canon, epilogue compliant, liberties taken with medical accuracy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Peril, Romance, Multilingual Character, i love Charlie and i am terrible to him, Torture

12. a small enough love [1016 words]

i don’t want to die. i just want a little goddamn rest and a small enough love that i can breathe around it.

Charlie sleeps. Sami keeps watch.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 20 Aug 2019

Additional Tags: Napping, Pining, Friendship/Love, Pre-Canon

13. (you say it best) when you say nothing at all [2073 words]

Sameer prides himself on knowing over two dozen languages (and counting) — yet somehow, he has never really needed any of them for him and Charlie to understand one another perfectly.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 14 Oct 2019

Additonal Tags: Post-Canon, Getting Together, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Racism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, mild whump, aka Charlie gets his ass kicked a bit, No Dialogue, sober Charlie, Sameer makes a fuss, Charlie doesn’t actually mind, Angst with a Happy Ending, but like mild angst, Men Crying, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss

14. remedy [4027 words]

Sameer has spent a long time pretending he doesn't hear Charlie's nightmares, both to shelter his friend's pride and hide his own feelings.

Then the war ends, and Charlie gets sober, and damn near everything changes.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 12 Nov 2019

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Post-Canon, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, sober Charlie, Paris (City), Sharing a Bed, Accidental Cuddling, Repressed Idiots, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-War, Tenderness, Mutually oblivious

15. and if the night comes (and the night will come) [2164 words]

well at least the war is over

Charlie isn’t the only one who has his share of nightmares.

Sameer just happens to be a lot quieter about it.

Additional Tags: Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Role Reversal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Singing, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Post-War, Cuddling & Snuggling, Multilingual Character, sober Charlie, Sameer is painfully selfless, Charlie is Trying His Best god bless him, Lullabies, Tenderness

If you’ve made it this far and still somehow want more, please go check out the 17 other works for this ship by my dearly beloved friends and muses Elri and Kaye, and my pal Bug. Hell, check it out anyway. Couldn’t have done all this writing without them, I simply couldn’t <3

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yoolee · 4 years

Text

IF LEE WROTE OTOME #11 | THE BACHE-LORE

Premise: A seer-turned-private investigator goes undercover on a supernatural reality tv dating show to solve a crime! Featuring love interests:

The (lady vampire) producer: shades of devil wears prada

Fellow contestant (faerie): Childhood rival and tricky, tricky troublemaker

Fellow contestant (fallen star): In love with love, basically an alien

Fellow contestant (fire witch): Troublemaker with a heart of gold (liquid, scalding gold)

Onset medic (trickster spirit): a supposedly reformed descendant of Lady Luck

Assistant (kelpie): Scottish sweetheart, earnest but a little unrestrained

HEROINE: All the prophecies suggested the same thing--that the first child borne of the thirteenth generation of the heoine’s line would be a seer more powerful than any that came before. Well she is, but there's a catch--she can only See the past and the present. Great for detective work, not ideal for fortune telling (although as the saying goes, history DOES repeat itself). Works as a private investigator for the supernatural, she may be a disappointment to her family, but she keeps her clients happy. Even if it means going undercover on a reality tv dating show…Has the power to see the past and present in absolute clarity, but can't always control that power. Has a little bit of ex gifted child syndrome - where all the weighty expectations placed on her as a kid of how great she was going to be make her a sometimes paralyzed by perfectionism adult who struggles to enjoy doing things she isn't immediately good at. Perennially nervous unless she's in action. Uses snark as a defense mechanism. Has both an acute fear of failure and a gritty determination to put herself in positions where it's an option so that she can overcome that fear because she's pretty self-aware. Detail oriented and organized. Relaxes with lists and color coded spreadsheets with pivot tables. Loves old fashioned board games learned the hard way you can't live in your past.

THE (lady vampire) PRODUCER: ancient, powerful, and totally sadistic in the sense that schadenfreude is her bread and butter (or blood and butter, if you will). Has an absolutely vicious sense of humor. Will not be shamed by societal niceties and if you try she might eat you. Had a child when she was still alive whose descendants became vampire hunters, so, that's a thing (She finds it charming and is very proud). Glamorous, successful, and makes it look effortless, but she's tough as steel and works like hell. Little bit of a devil wears Prada vibe. Has a very disturbingly spot-on understanding of the average human psyche and milks it for entertainment value. Soft spoken--but everyone listens.

THE (faerie) CHILDHOOD RIVAL: a faerie who (supposedly) loathes the heroine on principle because her ability to See things makes her difficult to trick. Mischievous, but with a bit of a mean edge to it. Longtime rival. One of those people who is very, very smart but tends to vapid and fluttery, as she prefers to be underestimated. Pretty constantly uses magic (glamours, mesmerizing, super strength). Literally incapable of breaking a promise, so avoids making them. Wild and fun and unfettered. Definition party girl. Magician’s assistant.

THE (trickster spirit) ON SET MEDIC: coworker of the cousin. A (mostly) reformed trickster spirit (descendant of Lady Luck) who was forced to reckon with the chaos he sowed and is trying to make up for it now by taking care of people instead of screwing them over, but old habits and a chaotic nature make it hard to toe the line (especially on a set so ripe for drama). Foster dad to two werewolf siblings (all tied to aforementioned reckoning). Bundle of contradiction. Gets along swimmingly with the childhood rival. Reality-warper, but it’s sneaky (coincidences).

The (kelpie) ASSISTANT: Sent to keep an eye on the heroine by her selkie grandmother. Earnest, often friendly, prefers to dive in and figure it out as he goes. Plenty smart, just not a big fan of overthinking. A little wild. A sweetheart, but also has zero restraint. Unironically an underwear model.

The (fire witch) TROUBLEMAKER: Child of a nature elemental and a witch, which makes her powers a bit unstable. She doesn’t mean to cause trouble. It’s really more that she’s been labeled that her whole life and is presently embracing it. Has a wicked temper, but is really more bark than bite. Feels everything a little too strongly. Thought this was more of an Astounding Race reality show than a dating one. Fiery, though she resents the stereotype. Surprisingly detail oriented and an unabashed nerd, but not above solving her problems by setting them on fire. Mechanical engineer.

The (fallen star) ROMANTIC: Fellow contestant, genuinely and unironically on the show to find love. Most romantic sap you will ever meet. Loves love. A sweet and optimistic soul. Has spent a very, very long time watching and desperate to experience. It makes her very impatient, and at times wilfully blind to things. Grants wishes, glows in the dark. Sometimes thinks people are super weird. Customer support specialist.

SUPPORTING CAST:

The cameraperson: actual incubus/succubus. Pretty standup person. Doesn't use their powers without explicit consent.

The bachelor: I guess he should probably be a love interest huh. Maybe he's the client? Or child of the client. IDK I’ll figure him out later. He’s around.

Hotel manager: Kraken, ex-pirate, robs rich people in the desert now because that’s funny.

Cousin: younger than the heroine by two days. He was due (literally) to be the firstborn of the thirteenth generation, but the heroine was born three weeks prematurely. His parents have remained endlessly bitter about this. Some days, he is too, but most days he's glad to have the attention off and they’re black sheep together. A bit fickle in his moods, if it's not life or death he may or may not help, but if is he’ll close ranks and fight like hell. Technically a seer, but not a very strong one. Firefighter, and subsequently underpaid and overworked and tired AF literally all the time. Probably ends up hooking up with the bachelor in the end.

Grandmothers: her dad’s mother is a selkie from Scotland who is a big believer in fucking off for a three year swim in the ocean when your loved ones are being dumbasses, and her mother’s mother is a seamstress from Korea who taught her the importance of small details and how to notice them. Both of them are staunchly and ferociously on her side, and a haven of support in a family where there is a lot of squabbling over who she is versus who she's supposed to be. Selkie grandma doesn't understand why heroine won't just find a nice fisherman and walk up to him in seaweed and a birthday suit to seal the deal, and seamstress grandma enjoys the heck out of reality tv and has a list of tips for how not to get turned into the villain when she's on air

#if lee wrote otome

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replicantdeviancy · 5 years

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PSA;

Just a small note; long rant under cut. This rant involves a personal experience involving internet libel and bullying. Please use discretion if this makes you nervous or upsets you.

I would like to begin this statement by saying that no names or urls will be mentioned for the sake of privacy and to protect the identity of those involved. The bullies in question has been blocked and since reported on all active accounts and at this time no legal action has been taken. I do not condone the act of call outs, cancel culture or witch hunts. I am simply seeking to explain my side of things in hopes that if one comes across these falsities involving my name they will be sensible, rational, and think twice about their validity. Please feel free to open up a dialogue with me at any time (work/sleep schedule taken under consideration) and I will be happy to speak with you. Not just about this unforeseen issue, but in general. Please also have the decency to approach things with a respectful mindset as I will be nothing but respectful with you.

Thank you.

In light of a recent conversation I feel I must address this issue as the individual in question seems to have made an unfortunate resurgence. Just under a year ago, in a misguided attempt to use my writing as a means of self-therapy to combat a past trauma I had endured, I decided upon using a narrative in a single AU verse with a single RP partner. Due to some very negative responses from one single individual (I’ll refer to them as A) that narrative had since been abandoned and deleted. However, A brought it upon themselves to perpetuate their false perception of the situation without a rational attempt at speaking with me. Instead of trying to clarify my reason for choosing to participate in something that we, in all actuality, found mutually repugnant, they decided to send me a very harassing message. (I still keep the screenshot of it for legalities sake).

At that time I thought nothing of it. Just a troll trying to shame me for something which offended them. Like most trolls, I expected A was in a very bad place emotionally and was simply deciding to take a shot at low hanging fruit. As such, I responded flippantly. (Please do also not that I personally suffer with extreme generalized anxiety and panic disorder and while I don’t recall every detail of that evening, I do remember I was trembling uncontrollably). I spoke with a few friends about the incident, and they helped me feel better about it. I expected it was over and done. I was incorrect.

A had taken this out of context narrative and my flippant post and decided to call me out, involving a small group of fellow anti’s, perpetually spreading misinformation about the entire situation and framing screenshots to fit their narrative. I wasn’t too upset at the time, still under the impression this individual was someone in a bad place in life, someone with anger issues in need of counseling or therapy. My impression was further proven when this group also began calling out others within the fandom, making outlandish and baseless claims involving the race of some muns and antisemitic remarks. I was also removed from a group chat due to the libel upon my name. Now frightened, I spoke with a few friends again and discovered they too had received call outs. Many of these people had anxiety and similar emotional traumas, mental disorders and the like, which only ended up hurting them further.

I cannot hope to understand why A chose to harm these people, nor what their reason is to blindly make accusations and harass others in place of reasonable dialogues. I did at one point open communication with them, noting their issues on the matter and explaining in no uncertain terms that I agreed with them, that it was simply an exploration of a theme, very closed off and not open to anyone else under any circumstances. (screenshots also kept for legal purposes) I imagined this communication went well but it appears not to have, as I have come to notice several blogs whom I do not know and have had no contact with already have me blocked.

I am not saying this to garner sympathy, nor to I condone action on anyone’s part involving the individuals in question. I’m a grown adult, perfectly capable of dealing with my inner demons. I have far more concern for those who can’t fight back or don’t have the ability to brush off such vicious negativity directed towards them. I hope others in the future will make the right decision in regard to seeing things on others blogs that they don’t approve of and, rather than go into a fit of wild accusation and blocking that person, being big enough to open up and speak with them with a little compassion.

I will express that some of the themes on this blog are used as a means of personal therapy. Some have worked out, some did not. I have been very private when it comes to my personal life, as no one is entitled to my life story nor my reasons for writing what I choose to. However, apart from a few choice individuals, this has been a very open and caring fandom ( in spite of it’s size ) and most people are rational and compassionate people who just adore their characters and love Detroit: Become Human.

I personally owe a lot to DBH as some chapters helped me get into a better place when it comes to past trauma. The more negative scenes involving Todd and Kara actually had me shaking and needing to take a break, the scenes with Hank involving alcohol made me nervous. But over time and with exposure I no longer automatically have such negative reactions. I began to be able to take a step back and look at these things with a clearer, more objective mindset and could see this as a characters journey rather than something frightening. It still disturbs me and I don’t like it, but I’m more comfortable now.

It’s rather the same with some of my writing. I only have a few things I will absolutely, expressly NOT write about, because no matter the context I simply cannot make myself write it. That’s an individual thing, and everyone has something like that. I hope we can all be understanding to one another on this matter.

Moving forward, I want to make it expressly clear that I do not condone or even agree with any questionable acts my or any characters engage in on this platform. Please take into account that if someone - anyone - writes about something questionable that they in no way condone these things and that the mundane does not, in fact, equal the muse. They are two separate entities with separate opinions, feelings, emotions, thoughts and mindsets. If we begin to police others on their ethics based solely on the theme portrayed or character written, we fall dangerously towards a slippery slope of thought policing. I urge all of you to read a book entitled 1984 which examines the dangers of this very narrative.

As a closing note, I want to say that I am not angry at A or the group of anti’s for their actions. I’m not even upset that they seem to be keen on spreading misinformation a year after the incident had been resolved. I only wish to say that I sincerely hope they get the help they need and that they someday find themselves in a better, happier place emotionally.

If you yourself are bullied or preyed upon but internet trolls, harassed or otherwise a victim of libel, please have the courage to report it to staff. Block the harasser in question. Do as I have and keep screen caps of their harassing messages and posts and show them to staff. Libel is a federal crime and online bullying is a prosecutable offense in a court of law. And if you yourself are someone who participates in cancel culture or bullying, please, I encourage you to speak with someone and find the source of this anger within yourself. Speak with your primary care physician and begin the path towards therapy, because your mental health is important and there are people who love you. There is no reason to take your aggressions out on others or jump to conclusions. If you cannot afford therapy, I encourage you to use one of the services from the list linked HERE. The saying “Walk a mile in my shoes” should be adopted, for you should be willing to open yourself up and empathize with others. Everyone does something for a reason.

Friends, please be careful out there. Bullies are a rare thing in this fandom as it stands and as they have slowly been banned or moved on, the DBH fandom has become a better, positive place for many individuals to express their love of characters, actors and the game itself and can engage others in fun, inventive writing projects. Let’s continue to be the fans that Bryan and Amelia would be proud of. Let’s stay positive and accepting towards one another. I have been so grateful for the people who chose to follow me and wanted to write with me, who put up with my stupid gushing and silly thread ideas. Not a single one of you is a number to me. You all bring something to the table and I’m glad to be here, two years in and having a blast. I hope each of you have such good fortune.

Take care and be well.

#ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶜʰᶦᶰᵉ⋅ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵃ ʰᵘᵐᵃᶰ ᵇᵉᶦᶰᵍ⋅ ▓ OOC ▓#rant #tw; bullying #tw; cancel culture #tw; slander/libel #tw; online harassment #tw; domestic violence mentioned #tw; alcoholism mentioned #tw; allusions to past abuse #[ I expect I may lose followers over this but it needed to be said ]#[ I still see some people in this and other fandoms dealing with this and it breaks my heart ]#[ please note that if you are not aware in the incident in question that I hope you take something positive from this ]#[ My wish is to see this fandom as an accepting and kind community in spite of its past ]#[ Don't let bullies get the better of you and don't bully others ]#[ you can work it out with words and not cruelty ]#[ roleplay and writing are fun hobbies and no one deserves to feel persecuted or attacked for doing what they love ]

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giasonesdream · 6 years

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Makin’ Me Hot

Summary: You can feel your skin crawl just seeing your boyfriend adorned in all black in the heat of summer. But your tactic to cool down may have just made things hotter (Explicit).

Word Count: 2208

tagged: Yoongi x Reader, exhibitionism, foreplay, Smut, wittle bit of fluff if you lookin’

You go with your boyfriend to the skatepark and you seriously concern for his well being because the sun is beating down in scorching waves of heat and he insists on wearing a black beanie and black shirt. The only relief you’re close to getting is that the park is situated close to the beach; thus the wind rolling off the crystal blue waves present some sort of comfort as the golden star high in the sky shun obnoxiously bright.

You let your bottom fall reluctantly on the glossy metal of the bench, your hips adjusting to the curved edge of the seat so you wouldn’t suffer the initial burn of the bare skin of your thigh meeting blazing black paint. Upon settling somewhat comfortably, you leaned forward, resting your forearms against the iron gate also painted black with a less vicious fire awaiting your flesh as you pressed forward.

Yoongi exchanged handshakes with his friends before the boys waved over at you, smiling with friendly familiarity at your presence. No sooner they were all “starting” letting their boards fall as they jumped on, feet planted and their balances keeping them upright in their movements.

It may have been an odd spot for you to be in, the girlfriend idly sitting and watching her boyfriend have fun with his friends, but you had no shame in expressing your interest; though your eyes would always fall to Yoongi (it was hard not to; he was the palest out of the bunch and his blond hair poking from his black beanie only made him an easier target to watch), you would still wander, gaze falling to the tanned and toned legs of Hoseok when he balanced on the petals of his bike, leering purposefully close to the edge of an incline before pedaling forward and flying down and over. Each boy held your attention in their mystical acts of defying gravity momentarily.

But even that become boring, your eyes drifting behind your sunglasses as your body relaxed to the sting of your blood slowly turning into pudding in your veins. You’re not sure how long you’d been watching, but even Yoongi had settled on the edge of an incline (though he was always the first to stop). You called out to him, catching the attention of half his friends as he jogged over to where you stood, the fence between you.

“I’m gonna head down to the beach,” you informed him, standing and feeling your bones groan in protest in moving from their melted state. “I need shade and a milkshake,” you grumbled pathetically, poking your bottom lip out in search of some sympathy.

You’d got it, Yoongi nodding and looking back at the boys before treading back over, picking up his board and announcing to the six other guys where he was going. Once you and your boyfriend started walking down the trail, you heard an exclamation of “We’ll meet you guys down there!”

“Please tell me you have something on under that stupid shirt,” you whined, feeling your skin prickle at even the idea of the opaque cotton material covering you in such weather.

With a roll of his eyes and his head, he pointedly watched you as he smacked away his beanie, gripping it in his fist and holding it up in front of you both. “Happy?”

You eyed him up and down, noting that his dark-wash bermuda jeans and black shirt already looked exponentially cooler with the subtraction of his black hat. You shrugged, snatching the beaning from his fingers. “It’s a start.”

10 minutes later and your mood is already livening up, the sun no longer a burning fire in your retinas, making the world around you bright yet dark, and easier it was to stand in the heat, hot wind pushing past you as you savoured the icy taste of your milkshake.

Sitting on the pavement next to the snack stand, taking unabashed pleasure in the canopied shade the lone building provided, you eyed Yoongi, daring to find just a hint at discomfort.

“You’re staring really hard,” he noted, placing his hand over your hand holding your cold desert and putting the straw to his lips, tasting yours before letting you go. “Why?” Yoongi asked, letting the ice cream roll on his tongue before swallowing.

“I don’t want my boyfriend to pass out from heat stroke because he wants to look edgy and cool,” you mused, continuing to shamelessly study his face as a smile tugged at a corner of his lips.

“You just want me naked.” You didn’t miss the proud, almost childish tone of his voice as he happily sipped his own shake.

You sat straight, leaning over to his side. “If I did, would you take off your shirt?” Eyebrows raised in challenge, you smiled sweetly, waiting for his answer.

He met your teasing expression with a leveled stare. “Truthfully, I’m trying to contain all the sexy. We’re in public [y/n].” He reveled at the smirk pulling out a laugh as the words left his lips. He mocked offense at your open laughter at his words. “I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine,” you heaved, sighing and checking the coast before standing up, holding out your hand for him to take.

Though curious, he took your hand, pulling himself up to stand and following you as he tossed your empty cup in the trash bin on your path to- “the bathroom?” Yoongi asked incredulously.

You shrugged, letting your head turn naturally as you tried to spy a child or family nearby. “It’s private enough,” you excused.

Surprisingly, the bathroom held conditioning that almost made you melt to the floor in relief. You settled for a moan, falling against the wall and allowing the cold ceramic tiled wall to pierce at the hot flesh of your back.

Yoongi’s lips curled, pink and pulling into a disgusted expression that looked absolutely adorable in your mind. “Now I want to keep it on.”

You shook your head, heaving yourself off the wall before bending down to check the stalls. Empty.

Going back to the last stall, you locked it before turning to your boyfriend, standing chest to chest as you felt his even breathing.

“Well?” you asked, hands already falling to clutch at the hem of his shirt. He smacked your hands away, tugging at the collar until the shirt was pulled over his head, leaving him in a white loose fitting tank top.

“Happy?” he asks.

Your hands are already smoothing down his chest, drinking in the sight of his pale skin and toned arms and smooth skin of his neck. You’re sure he wouldn’t be labeled Adonis anytime soon, but you still took in every speck on his skin, finding a smile on your lips as you hooked your hands behind his neck and nodded. “Very much so.”

Yoongi scoffed, settling his hands on your hips, shaking his head slowly as his body leaned against yours. “I knew you just wanted to take my clothes off.” His thumbs rubbed idly, sometimes catching on the hem of your shirt. “Pervert.”

“Says the person that ogled so hard when he saw my outfit of the day.” He’d claimed you were showing too much skin with your tank top and flowy skirt that hit mid thigh, but you could see right through his steady tone. “I’m onto you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi let his head fall from side to side, tightening his grip on your hips as he pushed you further into the wall of the stall. “You could be on me, but we’re not at home, sadly.”

You stood on your toes, closing in the already short distance until you stood level with his face, lips centimeters apart. You smiled, satisfied at the hitch in his breath. “Have some imagination, babe,” you cooed, brushing your lips together before pulling away. “It’s empty and our clothes are so easily...accessible.”

Falling back on your soles, you dragged his lips down, sighing as you connected perfectly together, the heat of his soft skin, seeping into you, a comfortable blazing shot amongst the cold air.

Soon your lips parted, breathing heavy as he slid his tongue to meet yours, deepening the kiss as your chests heaved with the lack of oxygen. You didn’t need that pesky air; you needed him.

His lips finally untangled from yours, sliding down your jaw and to your neck, the smack of his wet lips against your neck filling in the silence of the conditioning blowing throughout the small room. Your fingers gripped at the blond hairs at the back of his head, whimpering as he bit down on the flesh at the nape of your neck.

“In here?” His voice harsh and scratchy, a familiar sign of his growing arousal that made your thighs rub together involuntarily. He hardly felt the faint movement of your head as you nodded, his face coming back to meet yours, eyes already darkened with lust.

Your lips were back together just as your hand slid to the button of his shorts, popping it open and gripping the metal of the zipper before you both stilled.

The sound of flip-flops against the concrete floor could be heard as someone walked in. You both stayed close together, trying your hardest to get your breathing under control in order to hear the sound of the person without them hearing you.

Soon the crashing sound of water hitting the sink filled the bathroom, noting you both - with a hint of relief - that the person was using the faucet, probably washing their hands and would be gone soon.

Though that small amount of time seemed to drag on forever, hearing the stranger fret about. With a subtle drop of your shoulders, you looked between your bodies, seeing your fingers still gripping the handle of the zipper. With a smile bit between your lips, you tugged, pulling the zipper down agonizingly slow so as not to make any noise in the process.

Once the zipper was all the way down, you looked back to your boyfriend in glee, your triumphant smile meeting wide eyes of curiosity. Were you insane? You could practically hear the question in his head as he stared at you in disbelief. You only held his gaze, unfaltering sly smile as your hand delve under his underwear to grab at his semi-hard length. Yoongi’s jaw went slack, barely keeping whatever noise that would have tumbled out from leaving as he snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenched.

Your strokes were languid, grip loose but tight enough to have the blood rushing toward his cock as you continued your ministrations. You pressed your lips to his neck, nibbling at his soft skin and feeling the heaving rise and fall of his chest as he let out a quiet sigh.

He grabbed hard at your hips, closing the distance and trapping your hand between you. “Are you ok?” you whispered in his ear, praying that the stranger hadn’t heard. Your heart raced wildly in your chest, and you realized that them hearing was half the fun. Your hand moved faster, his body shuddering against you as he let his head hang low.

When you swiped your thumb over the head, Yoongi bit harshly at his bottom lip, nails digging into your hip as he pushed you closer to the door. He was doing a great job of holding in his usual small noises, but he wasn’t sure how long that would last.

The pad of flip flops finally descended, growing faint as the stranger left the bathroom. With a sigh of relief, he pulled back in the slightest, searching your eyes. “What the fuck was that?” He tried to come off harsh, wanting to add a touch of fear to make you feel even the slightest bit of guilt, but his voice croaked, hissing out.

You shrugged, your hand still moving. “Don’t know, but you like it, right?” You perked, waiting for his answer.

His shoulders were tight, blood running through his veins and flushing out his body, his stomach coiling knots as your hand kept constantly with the stimulated pleasure. He wanted to say no, to deny ever enjoying this, but a thought came to mind, his hand tight on your jaw as he angled your lips to his.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for this when we get home.” He hissed at the way your hand gripped the base of his member at his words.

Your eyes seemed to glaze over at the threat, thinking of what he could possibly mean and feeling your legs go weak at the ideas running through your head. You nodded in agreement. “Fine, but remember to keep quiet.” And before he could question your words, you slid to the floor, pulling his shorts and underwear down, tongue already licking at the head.

His fingers itched, hips jerking forward at the pleasure as he took a long breath, eyes wandering around the bathroom stall before falling hopelessly to you. His skin trailed with goosebumps, body shivering and chasing fire through his veins as the sight of your lips wrapping around his aching cock. His body was on fire, burning him up more than his black shirt ever did.

A/N: If anyone were to guess if I have an oral fixation and an exhibitionism kink, they would have hard evidence to prove that theory. And I am not ashamed.

#bts #bts smut #min yoongi #yoongi smut #bts suga #yoongi x reader #bangtan #bts scenarios #yoongi imagines

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muertawrites · 6 years

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Immunity (or Make It Work, Part 2) [Loki x Reader] {nsfw}

Summary: Reader reveals the dress she made for the gala, causing Loki to lose all his shit at once. When Loki spies his half brother taking a liking to her during the midst of the party, he gets hella possessive and makes a point of showing her how much he cares (... with a rough quickie in a hallway. You know, romantic stuff).

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I thought I was done with the first draft of this until I read it over and absolutely hated it, so I rewrote the middle part and now it’s better and my sleep schedule is totally fucked. As if it wasn’t already fucked before, tho. Also, this installment of Make It Work is lowkey (Loki, lol) inspired by @maiden-of-asgard‘s Frostbite series, which is super great and I’m addicted to it and you should 100% go check it out if you love yourself or even if you don’t love yourself, it can be your first step in learning to love yourself. I’m starting to get delirious with lack of sleep, so I’m gonna post this and hope that I can be a functional adult tomorrow. Goodnight, ya horny bastards, I love you.

~ Muerta 🌸💀🌸

(Part 1)

You had always believed that the key to sex appeal was subtlety. This was apparent in everything you designed, each garment focusing on the suggestion of a person’s body without ever showing too much of it. A bit of mesh or lace, a slight peeking of skin, a cinch in the waist that revealed what sins lie just beneath the fabric; these were all your weapons in making a piece of clothing maddeningly sexy, and you had applied all of them to the dress you’d made at Loki’s request for the gala he was hosting.

You stood in the hall just outside the reception room of the Asgardian royal palace, smoothing out the fabric of your gown and swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat over the last few minutes as you anticipated the arrival of your escort. Hours ago, a hoard of beauticians had been sent to your apartment within the palace, styling your hair and makeup to suit the dress you’d crafted for the evening. Your hair had been pulled back into a tight, plaited bun that fanned out at the base of your head, with a few loose tendrils falling elegantly over your cheeks. Your lips had been painted in a dark berry shade, and you were adorned with large golden earrings and a matching collier and headdress, chosen from a selection that Loki had sent for you. You were stunning, the picture of an Asgardian goddess, and you had grinned smugly at your reflection as you’d inspected your final look. You had transformed your mortal self into a creature that could put the otherworldly beings of the realm you now called your home to shame, and were endlessly proud of what you had done. You only hoped that Loki would be just as impressed.

The god’s footsteps coming down the hall startled you, pulling you abruptly from your thoughts as you turned to face the direction he was coming from, your heart slamming against your ribs. He turned the corner to where you were standing, and when you came into view, he stopped dead in his tracks. His frozen blue eyes drank you in, scanning your body up and down so that no inch of you was left unseen. He had given you a challenge, and you’d obliterated his expectations; the gown you had designed was absolutely breathtaking, made of a silk so deeply evergreen that it was almost black, shifting and changing hues with the light. The neckline was cut into a severe plunge, stopping just below the space where your breasts met, leaving him thirsting to see more of your skin. Mesh panels mirrored each other on either side of the dress’s bodice, extending down into the skirt until they where lost within its cascade of lush fabric, and a belt cast in gold hugged your waist to accentuate the voluptuous curves of your body. The gown’s sleeves were long, laden with more panels of mesh and accented with lace decorated in Nordic patterns, matching those etched into Loki’s helmet. You were exposed to him, but only just, and the promises of what was hidden beneath your latest work had his mind racing. He swallowed, clearing his throat and bowing politely to you.

“I see you took our conversation to heart,” he said as greeted you with a devilish smirk. You grinned back, offering a shallow curtsey in return.

“I was hoping I’d stun you enough to shut you up for once,” you replied.

Loki held his arm out to you, allowing you curl your fingers around the crook of his elbow as he led you to the doors of the reception room.

“Almost, darling,” he hummed. “Almost.”

As the twin doors swung open towards you, you were greeted with the sight of an entire room populated by the lofty, vexing creatures known as the Jotun. You had never seen them in person, but you knew from the history books in the palace’s library that they had a rocky past with the people of Asgard, characterized by war and bloodshed, and Loki was attempting to pose a sort of treaty between the two realms by hosting their royal family. They were enormous, some of them spanning over ten feet tall, and entirely blue in color, their skin patterned with grooves that supposedly meant different things and were unique to each creature. Not a single one of them was clothed in full, each of them sporting various levels of exposure to supposedly assert dominance and status (as you had read), and you noticed as Loki led you further into the room that many of them had their teeth filed into vicious, shark-like points. You looked up at the king standing beside you, shuddering at the fact that his lean, rangy stature was dwarfed by theirs, finding it hard to remind yourself that he was, under his alabaster skin, one of them. You pulled him a bit closer to you, thinking of how tiny your human form must have looked to the giants. Didn’t you read somewhere that they used to keep Midgardians as pets?

“My kin,” Loki addressed the room as he came to stand in the center of it, your shivering self still huddled beside him, “I welcome you to my adoptive home. Being of Jotun blood, raised by the hands of Asgard, I hope to bridge the gap between our two peoples and move our realms toward a peaceful future. Enjoy your time here. Indulge in our culture and our warm hospitality. We are happy to have you.”

He bowed to the crowd before him, and as the band in the mezzanines circling the reception room began to play, he spun you about and led you away from the fray, raising your hand to his lips in a gentle kiss.

“I thought you were fearless,” he murmured into your skin, teasing you. “I can feel you shaking like a leaf.”

“These people are the size of small buildings,” you quipped back at him, giving the hand holding yours a light squeeze and digging your nails into the back of his palm. “I also don’t think I need to remind you that they used to keep humans as playthings in their recent past.”

Loki smirked.

“Reading up on your history?” he mused. “What a good little thing you are.”

For a significant portion of the evening, Loki paraded you around to his guests, showing you off as if you were a prized trophy. His Jotun visitors poked and prodded at you, intrigued by your soft mortal body, the women toying with your hair, petting it and admiring its silkiness, while the men inspected your figure, some of them getting a bit handsy and groping at your breasts and backside with fervent interest. Their touches made you wildly uncomfortable, wanting nothing more than to slap their hands away and inform them that you were, in fact, a sentient being and not just the dumb little pet they perceived you to be, but their intimidating stature and the shaky relationship they had with your employer made you wary, reminding you that they could literally dismember you if they had a reason to – or even if they didn’t have a reason to. Loki stayed at your side throughout the ordeal, however, skirting you away when his guests got too intimate for you to tolerate.

After two hours of being handled by what could easily have been every single frost giant in Jotunheim, you were able to steal away to the large banquet table that had been set up on one side of the reception room, pouring yourself a strong glass of Asgardian mead and stuffing a few hors d’oeuvres into your mouth, trying to regain some of your calm. You had just scarfed your fifth mini quiche when your indulgent stress eating was interrupted by a soft voice addressing you from behind.

“Miss?”

You turned, coming face to face with yet another giant, but noticing that this one was considerably younger than the others, probably only a teenager in Jotun years. He was also more sparsely dressed than the rest of them, leading you to believe that he was a member of the royal family. He gave you a slight bow, his eyes wide and nervous, not leaving yours.

“I am Prince Býleistr,” he introduced himself, straightening his back once again. “King Laufeyson’s half-brother.”

You had heard of Býleistr fleetingly before, knowing him only as the child of Loki’s biological father, Laufey, and the current Queen of Jotunheim. You brushed a few crumbs from your fingers and onto the skirt of your gown, attempting to maintain what little dignity you had left as you dipped into a curtsey.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness” you addressed him.

Býleistr looked you up and down, his eyes gaping as he took in the sight of you.

“King Laufeyson says you are mortal,” the young prince said, sounding almost breathless. “Is that true?”

You nodded, unconsciously taking a step back from him as you prepared yourself for more unwanted contact.

“Yes,” you replied. “I’m from Midgard.”

Býleistr’s eyes widened in wonder at the confirmation, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly endeared by him. He was just a kid, after all, and it was very likely he’d never seen a mortal in person.

“May I…” the prince lingered on his words a bit, as if unsure they were the right ones. He swallowed, then held his hand out to you.

“May I touch you?” he asked.

Shocked by his considerate act of asking for your consent, you silently gave him permission, raising a bewildered hand for him to take. He grinned excitedly, clasping his massive fingers around your much smaller ones and raising your arm above your head, being cautious in his movements as if afraid he would break you. You smiled faintly back as you allowed him to twirl you, spinning so he could take in your foreign appearance.

From across the room, Loki’s eyes fell upon the scene that was unfolding. He watched, indignant, as his sniveling little weasel of a relative spun you about, laying his grubby fingers on your cheeks, your hair, your waist, your back, and Loki felt the searing sting of envy rising in his chest as you allowed it. You actually allowed him to touch you without any of the hesitation you’d had with the other frost giants. Loki slammed down the rest of his drink and glided furiously over to the two of you, fueled by rage and the alcohol in his blood.

Býleistr was holding your hand, marveling at the minute size of your fingers when Loki interrupted the two of you, clearing his throat and causing you both to jump, startled.

“Dear younger brother,” Loki crooned, his lips spread into a malicious grin and words dripping with acrimony, “as much as it pleases me to see you making such diverse connections of friendship, I am afraid I have come to retrieve my favorite toy.”

Loki took you by the arm, not waiting for Býleistr’s response as he wrapped his arm around you protectively, skillfully maneuvering you through the reception room and slipping with you through a hidden side door, into one of the palace’s many empty corridors. You wheeled on him as soon as you were alone, smacking him hard in the chest with the side of your closed fist.

“What. The. Fuck. Loki!” you snapped, hitting him with each word and glaring up at him. He glowered down at you, his mouth turned downward into a furious grimace.

“How could you?” he growled, taking you by the wrists to stop you from beating him.

“How could I?” you exclaimed, incredulous. “How could you, you piece of shit! Why the hell would you let them molest me like that?!”

Loki smirked, his eyes lazily drifting down to where your chest met his as he held you against him, then back up to meet yours.

“I wanted to see your scared little face, my dear,” he chided. “I am the god of jokes and trickery, after all.”

“You’re the god of some kind of fucking bullshit,” you spat at him.

A guttural hiss escaped Loki’s throat as he pushed you forward, pinning you to the wall on the other side of the corridor. His hands splayed out on either side of your head, and he kept you in place by pressing his body against yours, his hips pinning you harshly to the surface behind you. If your senses didn’t fool you, you were certain you could feel him harden beneath the leather material of his pants.

“I tire of your games, my sweet little pet,” he growled mockingly, his lips pressed to your ear. “You have always been such a tease to me, even when you haven’t meant it.”

You simpered, tilting your head back so that you could stare up into his eyes, your hands pressed firmly to his chest.

“I thought you had an immunity to my mortal charms,” you taunted him, mocking him right back.

Loki shook his head slowly, one of the hands beside your head moving to capture your chin between his fingers as he fervidly licked his lips.

“My darling, you are the one thing that makes me weak…” he purred as he leaned in, taking your lips in a heated, passionate kiss that left your body burning and your lungs gasping for air. You immediately kissed back, your mouth opening and tongue clashing with his as your hands moved upward to clasp the sides of his face, fingers tangling in the abyss of his black hair. You could feel him in full now, his erect cock pressing up against your heat through the fabric of your dress, straining against the crotch of his trousers. He was going to fuck you, right then, right there against that wall, and you barely had time to worry about one of his guests stumbling in and interrupting you, as he was already lifting your skirt above your knees, desperate to be inside you.

Your lips didn’t leave his as you reached one of your hands down to palm at his member through the leather dividing you, the corners of your mouth curling into a smug grin at the needy whimper that escaped from his throat at your touch. You could feel the wetness that had been pooling between your legs start to drip down the insides of your thighs, thankful for once for Asgardians’ aversion to undergarments, as it would make the task at hand much easier and much, much more savory. You continued to work Loki as his hands kept traveling up your legs until every bit of skin below your waist was exposed to him, two of his fingers moving to stroke tentatively at the lips of your pussy, letting out a deep growl when he found you soaked and ready for him. He broke the kiss then, moving his lips to knead at your neck, leaving red marks where he sank his teeth hungrily into your flesh.

“Oh, how long I’ve wanted you, my sweet girl…” he purred against your skin, the fingers that had been stroking you gently slipping inside you, working you tenderly as he marked you as his own with is mouth. You let out a soft moan into his ear, the hand that had been resting on his cheek falling to grip lightly at his shoulders.

“Loki…” you murmured wantonly, your lips pressed into the shell of his ear.

As if halted by some greater power, Loki stopped everything he was doing and fell perfectly still. He pulled away from you, just enough to glare down at you, frozen in place as every muscle in his body stiffened. You gazed up at him, wondering if you’d done something wrong, when you noticed the blood red hue that suddenly flooded his eyes, his blanched skin taking on a deep cerulean tone as he gazed at you like he was going to rip you limb from limb. You swallowed, fearing what would come next as Loki let out a guttural snarl and reached down to where you had been stroking him, shredding the material of his pants so that his cock sprang free from them, promptly wrapping one of your legs around his hip and thrusting inside you without ceremony, groaning at the sublime feeling of your silken walls closing around him.

You yelped as he stretched you to your limits, never having had such a considerable width inside you and savoring the feeling of nearly being split in two. It was painful – so, so painful – but in the most delicious way, and you bit down into the meat of Loki’s slender, glacial hand as he pressed it to your lips to silence you.

Loki wasted no time being delicate with you, immediately slamming his hips into yours as he worked himself in and out of you at a beastly, rapid pace, his monstrous groans filling your ears like heavenly music. You were totally and utterly consumed by him, gazing up lustfully into his crimson eyes as his clawlike nails buried themselves in the plush flesh of your thigh so harshly they drew blood. His stare met yours, cutting into you as he took you without mercy or remorse, pounding into you so deeply you could almost feel him in your chest. You peaked within moments, the current of divine electricity swallowing the whole of your being under a veil of carnal bliss. Loki followed soon after, his cum filling you until it began to spill out, his own cry of absolute pleasure echoing through the hall. He leaned over you for a long moment, keeping you propped against the wall as his forehead rested in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours as he panted with the exertion of having given you the quickest, yet most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever experienced. You were dazed in the aftermath of his sex, uncertain you were still on the same astral plane as you had been just minutes before.

Once Loki had collected himself, the shade of his skin and eyes returning to their Asgardian palette, he slid out of you, clearing his throat as his hands followed the folds of your skirt as it cascaded down your legs once more, his nimble fingers smoothing out the fabric to hide the remnants of the delicious sin you’d just shared. You dragged yourself back to reality, reaching up with trembling hands to adjust the lapels of his coat, fixing his extravagant horned helmet where your touch had set it askew.

You sighed in defeat as your eyes fell on the tattered fabric of his trousers, tugging and clasping his coat closed to hide the damage.

“I spend a month killing myself to make clothes for you and look what you do to them,” you huffed.

Loki chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest as he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“I suggest making the seams more durable next time,” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you mumbled, your words swallowed by his lips as you pulled him into a heated, affectionate kiss. Loki hummed, smirking as you parted.

“Later, my love,” he promised you, taking you by the arm and leading you back into the reception room, lips pressing to your knuckles as he did. “We still have a party to host.”

#loki #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki odinson #loki odinson smut #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki x you #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki odinson fanfiction #muerta's works

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lesbianboobees-blog · 5 years

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My coming out story

This is long, but to be fair, it took me 10 years. My thoughts may be a little scattered, I dont think I've told this story all the way through before.

I was 18, a senior in high school. I was that goth kid but I was also in the honors and AP classes. I mainly hung out with a small group of other goth/punk kids, a few were open lesbians. One of them, we will call her shannon, ended up being in my Spanish class. We got pretty close, and she started hitting on me. I had always liked her, and I realized maybe I did like her more than a friend. My senior year, a lot of other things had happened to really bring me out of my good girl shell. "Dont knock it till you try it" was basically my motto. So, eventually I slept with shannon. It was ming blowing. There was some typical lesbian triangle drama after that, so we never did it again or had a relationship. One time thing. I didn't really even consider that I only liked women at that point. I just thought "well, I guess I like girls too." And that was that.

My senior year, I had lost my virginity (I had been raised catholic and believed in saving sex for marriage), on a separate occasion I was sexually abused, and I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, type 2. A lot was going on. So I just decided to identify as bisexual.

As a note, I fully support all bisexuals. It is a real thing, it isnt a phase, or any of the other crap people say. In my case, dealing with bipolar disorder and everything else was already too much, I wasnt ready to deal with my sexuality.

I dated another lesbian in my group of friends for about a month. I dont even remember why we broke up, but we stayed friends after. After high school, I went back to dating guys because it was easier. I just got too nervous around women. (Yup, definitely gay). Now, I think bipolar disorder has had a big effect on this story. One of the parts of bipolar that isn't talked about is an extremely high sex drive. Since I wasnt very nervous around men, it was easier to fulfill my sex drive. I am still ashamed of that now, but shit happens. I got engaged to a guy a year and a half after graduating high school. But I freaked out about marriage and cheated on him. The one and only time I have ever cheated. I will never do that again. On to more relationships with men. I broke up with every single guy I was ever with. (Theres yet another sign). I had slept with a few more women, but still hadn't had another relationship yet. I was going to community college, and attendance failed most of my classes. Eventually I decided I wanted to become an automotive mechanic (gayyy). I moved to Arizona to go to a technical school. 2 year program, and I did not live in the school housing program. The whole school was probably 95% men. There was one lesbian I was friends with, she was in a toxic relationship she refused to get out of. So, I was with guys again. Near the end of the program, there was a party I went to. this straight girl admitted she had a major crush on me. So, we slept together. After.. she bowed to me. Full on kneeling on the floor bowing. I was sure she was just drunk and being silly. But unlike anyone else I had been with in school, I was proud of being with her. (Oh the gayness). There was one other girl I had met that I wanted to be in a relationship with, but she didn't seem interested in anything more than sex. I knew I was probably leaving after I graduated anyway. So there wasnt a good reason to pursue it.

I graduated, and moved back home. It was a rough time. All my friends were gone. They got married, or had kids, or moved away. It was so lonely. Going from having so many friends around me for 2 years.. to zero... depression hit hard.

A guy I knew from college stayed in touch and showed interest in a relationship. A few months later, I was moving to Ohio to be with him. Worst years ever. The depression was so overwhelming, and he was clueless. I was lucky enough to find a roommate so I could break up and move out. Eventually I got a job back home and went back. Again, no friends. Same damn story, a guy at my new job showed interest. I guess my thought process was "I just need to try different types of guys". Another relationship. During this one, my only gay cousin died in an accident at the age of 34. It absolutely crushed me. I was not close with him, and barely talked to him, and it took me a long time to realize why it hit me so hard.

After I ended that relationship, I reconnected with my high school ex girlfriend. He was transitioning and wanted my support. He introduced me to his friend, we will call her Jenny.

Now, this part still stings. But it was the relationship that changed things for me in a lot of ways. She pointed out things from my past that were exceptionally gay. And that got me thinking. Really, that was the only good thing to come out of that relationship. After 8 months together, I slowly found out she is a sociopath, pathological liar, and lied and manipulated her way through absolutely everything and everyone. I broke up with her after 10 months. Great first real relationship with a woman. Anyway.

2017 and 2018 (age 26 and 27) was when I really took a good look at my past and considered my sexuality. There were soooooo many things that made me think. I went from " maybe I like girls more than guys" to "holy crap, I'm so fucking gay". But at the same time, I was trying to heal from the deep scars left by that toxic relationship. I started working out at the gym, trying to lose weight, and just focusing on bettering myself. It took me therapy and a little over a year to finally feel like I had healed enough to trust again. Meanwhile, I haven't dated or slept with anyone.

I am 28 now. 10 years from my first gay experience, and I want to have queer friendships and maybe start dating again. I am overcoming the shame of being gay that was learned in my catholic upbringing. 2 of my 3 siblings know I'm gay, and are fine with it. I'm still not out to my parents. I have been living with them so I could pay off my student loans. I'm so close to getting them completely paid off. This year, my goal was to move out and come out to my parents. I dont think my dad will react well, and i would rather not be homeless. Until i can move out, i want to make friends. The vicious cycle of loneliness leading to relationships is going to stop.

I also wanted to mention, when I identified as bisexual, I felt like I wasnt accepted into the LGBTQ community. There was a few women I would've loved to be in a relationship with, but I got the vibe that they werent interested because I was bisexual. I realize now that i may have made that up as an excuse. But I understand the bi struggle. And I fully support every letter of the LGBTQIA community. I dont want anyone to feel like they dont belong here. We are stronger together, and can make a huge difference in each others lives.

That's why now identifying as a lesbian, I feel like a baby gay. Even though I have experience with women sexually, everything else is new. I've heard people say that our generation has had it so much easier coming out, mainly because of the internet. I did not find this true. I was so lost, I didn't even know where to start, or what to search. I mean, you can't search anything lesbian without filtering through a fuckton of porn. I didn't know how to find the information I wanted. I didn't even know what I wanted to know. I felt (feel) like a teenager all over again trying to figure out who I am and how I fit into this community.

And that's where this blog starts.

Please feel free to comment, I'm always open to advice and conversation. Also, please be respectful, it feels very vulnerable putting this out there. But I feel it is important to share these stories. If just one person feels less alone and can relate, it was worth it to share.

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saintaugustinerp · 5 years

Photo

Congratulations Sarah! You have been accepted for the role of The Abettor with the faceclaim Jordy Baan. Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/alias: Sarah

Age (18+) : 25

Gender/Preferred pronouns: Female She/Her

Timezone: CST

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Abettor Character Name: Abel de Wit

Age (18+): 19

Gender/Pronouns: Male He/Him

Hometown: Amsterdam, Holland

Major: Economics

Desired Faceclaim: Jordy Baan

Character blurb:

To you the leather jacket, and ripped jeans in this weather reeks of a boy trying too hard to seem tougher than he is. Even if the bruised and torn knuckles that adorn his pale hands show he has what it takes; when he thinks no one is looking he carries himself like an lost puppy that hasn’t grown out of his milk teeth yet. That changes the moment he spots his compatriots. His head raises higher in attention, ready to carry out any command he’s been given. His hands form into fists, ready to be used for one reason or another if that’s what is needed. Honestly, you can’t help but pity him just a bit. Poor Abel de Wit. When will he learn that someone is always watching. If you carry yourself like a dog overly eager for the attention and approval of your master, it’s what you will always be.

Developed Head Canons:

LOOK AT ME. LET ME BE ENOUGH. [ family ] ;; The Middle child of three born to one of the premiere architects in Europe, and a Dutch Ambassador, Abel de Wit had everything and nothing placed on his shoulders all at once. His father’s buildings shaped the skylines of multiple cities within Europe. His mother headed talks that brought prosperity to their country. His older brother attended the best schools within the world – including Saint Augustine which he graduated a year before Abel arrived – and was revered for his academics. His little sister has joined the Dutch National Ballet and is well on her way to Prima Ballerina status. “And Abel?” That is a question the young man seems to hear a lot without means to answer. He simply always did as he was told, as was expected, but never as well as either of his siblings. He always met expectations, but that has never been enough. Hell, he was never even a bad child. He was never the shame of his family – he thinks maybe if he was he’d stand out.

LITTLE BOY. WHAT DID THEY TEACH YOU? [ education ] ;; Most of Abel’s life was spent in Catholic Boarding Schools. The sort of schools that separated the boys from the girls. The sort of schools that believed in corporal punishment if you spoke out of turn, or didn’t know an answer. The sort of schools that had every second scheduled for its students. The sort of schools where kids spent more time in silence in the library, than they did speaking with each other. For all the negatives, they did produce results. You went in a wide eyed child and emerged a young adult with perfect scores, an obedient disposition, and a desire to fight against everything you were just taught. That can’t only be Abel’s experience, certainly.

YOU CAN’T ACCOMPLISH A THING ON YOUR OWN. [ saint augustine ] ;; Going from that to the higher education, and most of all the Freedom, that came with attending Saint Augustine was a bit like jumping into ice cold water. For the average student it is a point of pride simply getting accepted. However for the de Wit family it’s expected. It’s where Abel’s older brother attended, it’s where his parents met and fell in love, the tradition of attending Saint Augustine goes back generations. Even so Abel was proud of being able to attend, but he was not prepared. From the moment he stepped into the halls that much was probably so obvious. He was lost, and floundering. He had no direction, and didn’t know how to find one. It wasn’t what he wanted. No, Abel had plans. He wanted to take his life by the reins and make it his own. He tried. He did well in his classes, he joined the rugby team, he got involved whenever the opportunity arose. He all but got on his knees and begged to be accepted by a certain class of students (but that neither was or is out of the question). Has he managed to make his life his own within the school? No. At least not yet. But someone elses? Perhaps. For now. Maybe it’s for the best. Abel does seem to need – and desire – the guidance.

WHO HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN? WHO WILL YOU ALWAYS BE? [ changes ] ;; Abel has not always been as he is now. He was not always so freely violent, not always someone known to be vicious, and even cruel. Thanks to the Nuns he could take a hit if he needed to, and perhaps there had been a fight or two in his youth over some silly thing young boys fight about. But rarely enough to be a thing. Well, not ENOUGH of a thing anyhow. It isn’t even as if there was anger or rage bubbling under the surface someone needed to tap into. He is not cold, and it’s not as if he didn’t care for other people. Now, however? He’s different now. IT’S different now. Blood is freely taken by him, though – being the athletic boy Abel has always been – it’s rare any of his own blood is taken in return. He has taken to the violence, the fights, and the fear that has come with it as if it was second nature. Or perhaps his second nature is obeying the commands he’s given. It’s not something Abel ponders, not until he’s left alone in the dark of the night with nothing else to think about.

F IS FOR FRIENDS WHO DO THINGS TOGETHER [ free time ] ;; Most of Abel’s life he’s been nothing but a good Catholic boy. He may have gotten into trouble here and there, but it was nothing serious. Never anything his parents thought was something to be worried about. So, what about now? What about his life at Saint Augustine? It’s clearly changed in a big way. Sinning tends to be on the general agenda of those he’s seen in the company of. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a healthy dose of good old Catholic guilt as well, but maybe that makes it better. Last year Abel made a rule for himself to say yes to everything asked of him at least once. Try it, at least once. It’s brought him some great experiences, and new knowledge about himself (like for example he enjoys Rugby, or his sexual preference is towards men rather than women). Of course that rule in particular has lead to some … incidents. But he doesn’t talk about that, and everything is completely fine.He’s doing absolutely great. He’s much too stubborn to say otherwise. Definitely not in front of this new group he’s found himself in.

Writing Sample:

Arriving back to Amsterdam for the summer holiday had been like taking a breath for the first time since that night at the Bonfire. That was a long time to hold ones breath but Abel had managed. Not simply managed to managed to achieve more in that year than he had in his entire previous schooling career combined. His marks were good. He had a good enough spot on the Rugby team for an underclassmen. And he had made friends that were all impressive in and of themselves.

He had to remind himself that maybe ‘friends’ might not be exactly the appropriate term, but inside his head he could call them whatever he wanted. Right?

Either way it didn’t matter. What mattered was his parents seemed interested in what he was doing. Maybe not too impressive compared to his brother’s budding political career, or his sister getting a solo dance on the main stage. But they asked. His father commented about a Rugby game he heard the team won while he was on the field. His mother said a friend of hers knew the parents of one of his new friends. They engaged with each other about the year like the cared what happened.

It was a good holiday. A breath of fresh air. A cup of warm tea.

But if that was the case arriving back on the platform to Saint Augustine felt nearly suffocating again. Like he dunked his head in ice water … He probably should have just done that in the first fucking place.

Abel took his time pulling his luggage from the compartment, as if it would stave off the rest of the year or something. Enough time he could hear the discontent from behind him, but that just made him move slower out of stubbornness. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. He made sure everything was safely accounted for, made sure nothing would end up broken in the hands of the people that would soon be moving things into the rooms, and finally heard a voice from behind him speak up.

“Come along then. Get a move on!”

Slowly Abel straightened up and turned around looking at the boy who had spoken. It wasn’t an upperclassmen unafraid of consequences, it wasn’t even a new student who didn’t know who he was. Some kid in his year. Great. The boy looked surprised clearly unaware of who had been causing the small cluster of students waiting to get into their things, and backed away almost immediately.

Abel wasn’t exactly a tall person, he was a pretty average height, still somehow he seemed to tower over this other student. Nameless literally, and figuratively. Maybe he’d learn to keep it that way. Maybe Abel could teach him. “How about you let me move at my own pace,” he said quietly, as he slowly advanced on the other boy, who nodded his head quickly. “Good, now I’ll just–”

“Abel.”

Almost quick enough to cause a pain shoot through his neck, Abel turned his head, bright blue eyes landing on his friends as they made their way across the platform. He didn’t need more guidance than that. He simply turned on the heel of his boot and walked away from the nameless boy, and his luggage without another word. Abel had other things to do.

#accepted #abettor #rp #rpg #roleplay

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hellas-himself · 6 years

Text

Where There Are Shadows Pt26

AKA in my feelings aka I am Lucien and Lucien is me (but that’s a personal problem)

The whole Dawn/Day got me fucked up. I had to fix it. DAWN JUST FLOWS BETTER. AND IT IS THE SAME DAMN THING. but whatever. not my world. SJM knows best.

I tried to play with what little info we got in WAR and then in the novella and make some sense out of it. I hope I did Helion justice.

-Lucien-

Son of day.

Elain’s voice had echoed in the darkness. Sometimes, I’d hear Rhysand crying, asking me to wake up. I might have heard Feyre describing the color of the sun. But it always came back to Elain.

She held the sun in her hands and gave it to me. And then I was falling, falling, falling. Until I was welcomed by a darkness so deep, so endless that I let it consume me.

I looked at Helion, High Lord of the Day Court. There was something akin to remorse in his eyes. He looked at me, expectant, anxious. Feyre and Rhys were still at my side, they had known. Somehow. I wasn’t stupid- yes, I was stubborn and at times I was dense, but it did not take much to put the pieces together… Even if some of them were missing. But for now, I did not care.

“I’m not Beron’s son,” I whispered, leaning forward as I brought my hands to my face. Beron and I- there was nothing there that bound me to him. Every childhood dream came to mind, the ones I’d confessed to Mor. However late, it was here. I was not Beron’s son. It was as if this terrible weight had at last been lifted from my shoulders, and I could breathe. I didn’t realize I’d been crying until Rhys pulled me into his arms. After kissing my tears, he took my hands in his.

“I’ve theorized that losing your eye awakened another sense, to see beyond what others see. The mechanical eye was a perfect disguise for it,” Rhysand said.

My eyes fell on Helion once more, his eyes were glossy. Had he been crying, too? Feyre and Rhys both took turns giving me a kiss and without a word, left us alone. Until of course, I heard him whispering filth into her ear as they descended the stairs. Prick.

“I’m certain you would rather be in the midst of that,” Helion said, “Than sitting here with me.”

“Unfortunately, I’m forbidden from any activity that brings me pleasure.”

He smirked. I expected some kind of inappropriate retort, and I knew that it was at the tip of his tongue. But it was as if he remembered himself, remembered what he’d admitted and all of that arrogance was gone.

“How… when?” I didn’t even know what I wanted to know, if I wanted to know.

“A year before she was sold off to Beron. There had been a ball, it was the Equinox, after all.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

“During the war, the first war with Hybern- I rescued your mother. And that… well, that was when we threw all caution to the wind.”

“But I wasn’t born during the war.”

He chuckled. “No. You were not.”

“So that means…” They had managed to have an affair far longer than I could have imagined.

He shrugged.

“Mother’s tits,” I muttered.

“He discovered our affair, of course. But to admit it, to admit that he’d been bested- humiliated by her. Beron could never survive such a thing. And he never saw her as anything more than a possession.”

I felt the power that threatened to escape him at the thought of Beron’s treatment of my mother. He unnecessarily smoothed his tunic and twisted one of the cuffs at his wrist.

“I never knew,” he said softly. “I never even thought that it was possible that I would sire a child. Let alone with Aurelie. We had never dared to dream of such things. And then she went back to him. Chose him. And I let her go.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Helion still held hope for her. I could see it in his eyes. In the way he spoke of her. The way I had once dared to hope for Feyre, even at Tamlin’s side. Helion still loved my mother.

“I know that my reputation is… well known across Prythian. But for her, for Aurelie- I would have given her the world if she’d asked it of me.”

“But she never did.”

My mother never fought against tradition. Never fought against Beron. Silent. Timid. Pawn.

“I am not too proud to admit that I’d begged her to leave him. Once. But she refused. Had I known that you were mine-” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Yes. No. It has and always will be Aurelie’s decision.”

“Even though it was a fucked up decision?”

I knew that my words were sharp, I saw in his eyes that I’d hit him low. But I knew that I’d made the same decision to stay with Tamlin and I only left because if I’d stayed my fate would have been worse than death. I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.

“I’m sorry, I should not be so short. I forget my manners.”

Helion smiled.

“You’re not wrong.”

“It took me this long to get away from Tamlin… I can’t blame her, nor you for Beron’s actions. As I cannot blame myself for Tamlin.”

Something vicious flashed in his eyes but was quickly replaced with… curiosity.

“I do not understand how I never noticed. How many times had you come to my court?”

I chuckled. “I think I’ve seen the Day Court more in the last few centuries than Autumn.”

“I suppose we’ll have to ask your mother about that conundrum, won’t we?”

I raised a brow.

“We’ll have to get her out of there first.”

Helion grinned and I realized how similar he and Rhysand were. I was not sure how I felt about that.

“Leave the scheming to me. Your only job is to get out of bedrest.”

I chuckled. “I think I can get out of that one.”

He raised his tea cup at me. “A fox, through and through.”

Side by side, Helion and I walked through the halls of Beron’s home, led by guards that had met us at the border. Wards were useless against him, but he’d given them the illusion of control. Helion walked as if Autumn were his, and I knew if he wanted it, it could be. Was that what Beron feared?

The throne room was perhaps as long as it was wide, trees lining it on either side instead of walls, breaking it up into various ‘rooms’ for other court matters. The leaves overhead kept out the sun… But one look at Helion and I knew better.

I saw my brothers… half-brothers standing near Beron’s throne, an old gnarled tree with roots that grew right into the stone floor. It always looked as if Beron’s magic had to fight nature from reclaiming its rightful place. As if it refused to submit to his will.

Beron looked as cruel and angry as he always did. But as Rhys had helped me into my fighting leathers, he’d told me not to falter. Not to let my eyes waver when he looked at me. So I stared him down as we approached the throne.

And there she was, sitting on her small seat below his. My mother was still, her eyes on the floor. Behind her glamour, I saw the bruising. Old and new.

Beron chuckled. “Lucien… I see we are still climbing the ladder. Was Rhysand not enough?”

“I am not here on Night Court business,” I said as proud and arrogant as I could. “I’ve come to deal with family matters.”

My half brothers laughed. Save Eris. He had managed to step back beneath the shade of the trees. Watching. Waiting.

“Family? You denounced your family after you chose that low born whore over your court.”

“Oh, forgive me, Lord Beron. I should have been more concise. I am here for my mother.”

I heard her little gasp, and I saw the way Beron looked down at her.

“The Lady of Autumn does not have leave to go anywhere outside of this Court,” he said to which my brothers and others in the room laughed.

I opened and closed my hands. How Helion remained so calm was beyond me.

“I don’t believe anyone was asking permission,” Helion replied.

Beron was now furious. I could feel it. I remembered the ferocity of his wrath. Everything that had made me happy had been burned to ash by it. When Beron rose to his feet, I fought the urge to step back as he stepped down. He grabbed my mother by the arm and forced her to her feet.

“To your quarters,” he growled at her, but was met with a low snarl that silenced the room.

“You will take your hands off her if you value your life.”

All eyes were on Helion now. It was grounds for war for anyone to take a High Lord’s wife. But he had promised this would go without bloodshed. And I wanted to believe it.

“You dare threaten me?”

“It is no threat, Beron. I have come to claim my mate and no one, not even you can keep her from me.”

The room might have held its breath. I was staring at Helion now. He had failed to mention that particular fact. But it was as clear as day now. My mother’s eyes were wide and she finally looked up at Helion. She had not known it either.

With a look of absolute disgust, Beron shoved my mother away from him, but she barely missed a step before she was rushing to Helion’s side.

Helion wrapped an arm around her, but his eyes never left Beron’s.

“You have committed acts worthy of death,” Helion growled. “What do you say, my son? How shall we address this?”

He finally looked at me, and I swore that my heart might burst in my chest.

“She has seen enough violence,” I said softly, but I knew everyone could hear me. “But if she wishes for his head on a platter, we will surely gift it to her.”

Helion grinned as he looked back at Beron.

“Your marriage is forfeit. Your claim to her and her lands, her wealth is forfeit. Your claim to Lucien is forfeit. They are mine by blood and bond.”

Beron was growing red in the face as he staggered back. A dog with its tail between its legs.

At once, whispers erupted in the throne room. Beron would now be humiliated. Shamed. He would lose an insurmountable amount of wealth and property without my mother. They whispered if I could claim both Courts, if Helion would wage war against Beron. Some were surprised that someone as timid as Aurelie could have an affair and get away with it for so long. What a fool Beron had been to keep her at his side all these years. But the whispering stopped when Eris finally came to the front. He gave them all a look of utter repulsion before his eyes fell on our mother.

Something silent passed between them before he looked at me and gave me a nod, bidding me farewell.

“Be sure to sleep with one eye open,” Helion said, before he reached for my hand.

Eris was smiling when we winnowed away.

I knew I needed rest. I knew that Madja would surely kick my ass when we went back home. I knew that Rhys and Feyre were waiting for us in Kallias’ palace. But I couldn’t move. Helion stood there, both hands cupping my mother’s face. Her glamour was gone, her eyes were lined with tears as she looked into his. And he… Helion looked at her the way Rhysand looked at Feyre.

“I’m sorry,” I heard her whisper. Helion shook his head.

“I should have told you… I should have killed him.”

Her nervous laugh broke my heart. And then she looked at me and she sobbed.

“Lucie…”

“Mother.”

When I held her in my arms, she began to weep.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“This was not your fault. None of it ever was,” I replied. I looked at Helion, and perhaps, my words were for him as much as they were for her. “I don’t blame you for any of it.”

If tears lined his eyes, I was not sure. Not when it began to snow and he begged us to go inside as he was only wearing sandals and his legs were too lovely to get frostbitten. My mother laughed, a true laugh, and let him take her by the hand and lead her away.

Our arrival was met with hugs and an assault of kisses from Rhysand, who only made my mother giggle. There were many tears. Far too many tears. But for once, they were of joy.

“I’ve never forgotten what you did for my son,” my mother said to Feyre who couldn’t seem to leave her side. They sat beside the fireplace, hand in hand. Rhys sat on the armrest beside them, listening as he drank from his glass. Feyre insisted on looking at my mother’s arm, but there was no evidence of that old hurt.

“We are fire made flesh,” she said to Feyre, looking at me with a glimmer in her eye that I’d not seen since I was a child. “It’s alright… He deserved what he got.”

“So, Helion,” Viviane began, crossing her arms as she unceremoniously sat on Kallias’ lap. “Your mate is the Lady of the Autumn Court.”

He poured himself a glass of liquor. “Yes.”

“Your heir is also the paramour of the Lord and Lady of the Night Court.”

He took a long sip before pouring again. “Yes.”

“So when Rhysand marries him, Lucien will be High Lord of two courts. Three, if you decide to get rid of that bastard.”

Helion shrugged.

“Lucien will have three titles! Three!” she shrieked at Kallias who sighed in a way that reminded me of Azriel. The sigh of the long suffering.

“Let them have their moment, my love. When it passes, we will discuss the matter then.”

“That’s what you said on Solstice.”

Helion put an arm around my shoulder, leading me away from the others. Now in white furs and actual boots for once, Helion looked as though he would survive the winter.

“You and your mother are free to do as you will,” he said softly. I knew none of the others could hear. Not even Rhys who was now charming my mother. “All that I said to Beron… It was all for show.”

I looked at him in disbelief. There had been truth to his words… But very much like Rhys, that choice was ours to make.

“What if that was what we wanted?”

He seemed surprised by that.

I looked outside, watching the snow fall, the fae playing in it. The ice of the windowsill was a welcome relief, and I was surprised it didn’t melt beneath my touch.

“I’d always dreamed of this. That her mate would find her and take us away. Like-”

A small ray of light in all the darkness.

“I dreamed of you,” I said out loud and felt my face go warm.

Helion set his glass down on the windowsill and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was Under the Mountain… All those years. Knowing what she was to me, and ignoring it. She didn’t know, Lucien. What we were to one another. I had felt it right to spare her from what you and your mate have had to endure.”

“Her sons were all she lived for… Until they grew up to become worse versions of their father. And then you came along… I had never even thought that far. I had only wanted her to be happy. And we were so young. What the hell did I care for children? Except that when you were born and that news spread across Prythian I knew that I’d been lying to myself. It was deeper than the sting of her refusal to leave him. It was like an emptiness I could never quite fill.”

He sighed.

“You’re not a child, Lucien. I can’t raise you,” he said with a chuckle. “But the Day Court is yours, as much as it is mine. And I would like it very much if you went to experience it as my son. Nothing will be denied to you… Although I would prefer it if you kept Rhys away from the throne room. He might just charm the mirrors off the walls.”

We both looked at him as he spoke with my mother and laughed.

“I would love to go… But after my mother accepts the mating bond. Much, much after.”

Helion’s laughter brought all eyes on us, and by the look on my mother’s face, I realized that though many things were broken and unsaid, there was a chance for things to change. A chance for us to have the life we had only dreamed of and never thought possible.

@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @rhysands-highlady @myfeyrelady

If anyone would like to be tagged, please let me know!!

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