#they can never resolve anything they just keep digging deeper and deeper holes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

july-19th-club · 2 years

Text

Recap for Roswell: New Mexico S2E12: “Crash Into Me”: con drama

Buckle up: we are officially in the home fucking stretch. The compounding lies in the Max/Liz relationship (each constructed out of a misguided attempt to ‘protect’ the other, each digging deeper and wider holes that will eventually connect, like the holes in the movie Holes, into a small canyon of deceit)are getting bigger. Liz groks the excessive antidote use; Max is bursting lightbulbs in the desert (is this his ‘light cardio’? it’s like he’s asking to have another heart attack). Meanwhile they only halfway resolve their fight about her continued interest in using alien DNA to solve every health issue in the world. They’re able to avoid these couples’ trust issues because they have much bigger problems, but stressful times are no cure for unresolved arguments. We’re building toward an impasse here, folks.

Meanwhile, we get some rapid-fire exposition via Isobel, who mind-reads her niece Mimi and learns that, whatever else is going on with Helena, she has known Rosa’s been alive all season. It’s revenge that drives her. But time-untethered Mimi feels absolutely certain that Helena wouldn’t do anything to hurt the missing members of our party (or, she says later, “our girls” - so sans Charlie, maybe she’s not talking about them). When Helena says she’s going to war, does she mean at Jesse’s side or...secretly against him? We’ve all seen how well it goes when one of our heroes tries to break stuff from the inside, but maybe she’s devious enough to succeed where the much less seasoned Alex failed? It’s interesting to have her here, and she’s becoming a much more faceted character than originally supposed, but I also can’t help but feel that her connections to the overall plot are rather rushed for the sake of a late-season reveal. It’ll even out if we get more of her later, but for now I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.

It’s clear from the outset that Michael’s incentive to work on the biobomb - seeing Alex - is never going to come to fruition, at least if their captors get what they want. What they want is for Michael and Charlie to complete a weapon for finely-tuned ethnic cleansing, a weapon whose initial component Charlie invented for what she naively thought would be “good, in the right hands.” But it’s like she said earlier in the season; she has learned too late that any invention, no matter how benevolently thought up, can be put to a destructive use. And even her initial reasons weren’t entirely benevolent - she told Liz she was thinking about its medical applications, but she tells Michael now she was also thinking about its wartime uses. And it’s the military: they’re gonna go for the ethnic cleansing. It doesn’t take two geniuses trapped in a room with unassembled bomb parts to figure the ideal test target is likely to be the aliens, nor to realize it wouldn’t stop there. Now they are become death - if they do what they’re told.

Max and Cam are back together, buddy copping their way through the last of the Valenti connections - it was Jim who helped get Rosa to the pod, who probably hoped, before his death, that Noah would help him revive her. Helena has kept a ton of his stuff, and from the looks of it was mourning him for years. He also comes clean to Cam about his antidote usage after she hounds him a bit about his sweaty, clammy looks. He keeps hoping it will give him a clue to his pre-crash identity, pushing at the boundaries of his health in the chance that he’ll remember something important. Maybe he’ll listen to a warning from Cam that he won’t listen to from Liz...but I wouldn’t count on it.

Meanwhile, back at the kidnapping, Michael points out the obvious: his work on the bomb is complete, and he’s still alive. This points to bigger goals than ‘just kill a couple of aliens,’ and because he is Michael and never met an authority figure he couldn’t mouth off to, he tries to...well, negotiate would be a strong word. But he pleads with Helena to reconsider - her daughters will never forgive her - though she says that ship has sailed. And for that matter, she’s probably right. But she does concede that her goals don’t align completely with the Manes’, and offers a third version of the disaster adage those guys are always spouting off. Is she a mole?

If I were kidnapping someone, and he happened to carry around with him at all times a blunt object that he could use either to hit me and possibly overpower me or to merely run away from me, I too would steal it from him and hide it where he couldn’t get it. As a sibling, however, if my brother had a tool he required in order to walk, I probably wouldn’t steal it from him and hide it where he couldn’t get it, unless I was being a real dick. It is in this situation that we at last find Alex, who probably never assumed that he’d have to worry about leg thieves on top of everything else he’s been through. And, characteristically, leg theft is far from his biggest worry in today’s lineup of events. There’s also murderous sibling, murderous parent, love of his life in danger of both regular death and death by hypertargeted ethnic cleansing...the list goes on. What a fuckin’ year, huh?

Their reunion is brief but tender, and no sooner has Michael fallen not entirely platonically into his arms than he’s added another problem to the list: Helena’s version of fighting from the inside is to swap components in the building process. Her target is Maneses; Jesse specifically, as Jim’s murderer, but she’ll be happy to take Flint down with him. Presumably, those of his sons outside the blast zone will be spared. Michael, for Alex’s sake, still intends to try and do something about the attack - but also for Alex’s sake, refuses to rescue him just yet. Ah, a classic lover’s quarrel.

In the lull before the big CrashCon showdown, we have time for another, rather worse, one. Max says Jesse Manes is a murderer (and was planning on adding to his body count) and deserves what’s coming to him, even if Helena’s methods are extreme (true). Liz says any crime committed by a member of a marginalized group gets fixated on, and creates backlash against, that group, and she has a right to be terrified and upset about the idea of her mother getting caught (true). Liz says that anyone who is a member of the acceptable class or can pass within it cannot possibly ‘get’ the experience of someone who can’t or doesn’t (true). Max says Liz’s attempts to gain recognition through her scientific work smack of glory-chasing and that she can’t exceptional-minority-myth her way to world-saving happiness (...true). They’re getting further away from the task by the minute, and closer to the crux of the problem between them. Liz’s perfectionism and sense of achievement have always been about both fear and obsession, but she’s not the only one with a chip on her shoulder about saviorism. I mean, it’s Max. The impasse is creeping - no, hurtling - into sight.

And then we’re in the home stretch’s home stretch. In the course of their argument, Liz talks her way into one of the biggest flaws in her mother’s revenge plan - it can’t be turned into a quiet affair. Jesse’s a noted glory hound himself, and he would receive no recognition from the deaths of a few small-town citizens of seemingly arbitrary causes, especially since this first group of targets can pass for majority. He would want his work, and his reasons, noted and agreed with. He would want funding and approval, would want to ensure that he could keep using his weapon, for whatever purposes he deemed fit. He would need the genuine article if he wanted to convince his public that the threat he’s ‘defeating’ is real. And he has one: the rebuilt remains of Nora’s last project, now in the hands of that annoying museum curator and on full display in the middle of the fairground. Max reckons he knows what it is (remote for a ship; Michael gives him the most incredulous ‘what’ which seems more to do with the fact that he’s being shown up on alien mechanics by Max of all people) - but what it is seems far less important at this juncture than what it does, which is, historically, to explode very easily. It’s being stored in the most fire-hazardous way possible, the better to discreetly set it off. The blast will create the right environment for Jesse to launch his DNA bomb, and the paper trail he’s laid out will lead straight to his victims. One has to assume that Helena did not know the full extent of this plan; for all her impulsiveness, lack of foresight, and personal weaknesses she is not the kind of person who would allow a collateral damage as large as we’re looking at just to ensure the death of one man.

Speaking of, let’s talk about villain motives. Last year’s villain was one man, who used his relative anonymity to manipulate, abuse, and kill individuals who were equally as overlooked as he was. His death and the aftermath of what he’d done could only be talked about freely among a small group of people, most of them his surviving victims. In a small-town story, even the most brutal struggles exist on the micro scale; conflicts are between individuals, and perhaps that’s why it took me nearly as long as the characters to fully grasp the impact of this new antagonist’s motives. Even though Jesse Manes started out talking about large-scale things, he had gradually fallen into the general background layer of feuding and rivalry, and just like his son, I underestimated him. The conflict is bigger than his attempts to live up to what he perceives as his family’s legacy. It is bigger than a grieving woman trying to end him in a way she feels is fitting to his crimes. It is bigger than his hatred for a specific group of three people living quiet lives in Roswell.

If he fails tonight, he will likely hardly suffer. Sure, he’s literally planning a terror attack, but he is a white, resspected veteran, and society will find a way to excuse his actions even as our heroes, lest they risk exposure, struggle to provide proof of what he’s capable of. Succeeding, he will harm, probably kill, dozens of people (and that’s a conservative estimate), adding to the already boiling atmosphere of xenophobia and intolerance that informs not only his worldview but that of half of his children, many of his neighbors, and absolutely his authorities. The stakes are not tidy or personal now.

I’ll admit, I was surprised to see ‘conspiracy thriller’ win out over ‘revenge killing’ - though not displeased. This show sometimes stumbles into or out of its forays into social and political commentary, but in the final stretch of the episode it fires on all cylinders. Our little Scooby Gang isn’t the cast of Person of Interest; they’ve never had to thwart domestic terrorism before. They’re a bunch of mostly-unemployed twenty-nine-year-olds, and the only one with anything approaching experience is chained up miles away so he doesn’t die in Helena’s counterattack. But not for long. Our local cinderella man (trapped by a cruel family, wants to go to the festival, looking for a lost foot shoe) is fully fed up waiting. When Flint next comes in to taunt him, he figuratively jumps at the opportunity. First he appeals to compassion - not that Flint has that anymore. Then he tries heritage - it sounds like once upon a time his big brother used to have softness and creative impulses of his own. “When was the last time,” he asks, “that you made something that wasn’t supposed to be destructive?”

But Flint doesn’t have any respect for weaving, or stories, or the quiet pleasure taken in giving life to something that’s just nice to look at or comforting to wrap around your shoulders. He doesn’t hum new bars of music to himself to while away the captivity. He doesn’t take out his pent-up trauma on something useful, like firewood. He’s got one hobby, and that’s being the best Manes man he can be. Dad didn’t mess him up! It’s just Alex that’s that way! Alex is the pathetic one. He and Clay turned out fine! (Up to this point, I had forgotten Clay existed. This may actually be the first time Brother #4’s name has even been mentioned. Wherever he is, he sounds like a chip off the old block). Even Gregory’s going to CrashCon! By now he is right up in Alex’s face, which means he’s within kicking distance. Cinderella brains Drizella and grabs the keys. Risk of dying in a targeted DNA bomb be damned, he’s getting his foot and he’s getting the fuck out of here.

He arrives after dark, as the rest of the gang try futilely to minimize the damage they know is coming. Liz tears off to the lab, where she concocts something that seems to be working correctly when it explodes a beaker - but she’s followed in secret by Diego, who I guess is already tired of being a tertiary character. Rosa and Maria (and Cam, elsewhere) are trying to figure out how in the hell to evacuate a whole fairground, bumping into Greg Manes (he’s not just your cool brother, he’s a mild-mannered grade school teacher! Good lord!) and awkwardly telling him to get his field trip back on the bus and out of the line of fire. And Michael’s bang on the money when he takes one look at Nora's project and decides Max and his tachycardia aren’t allowed near it because he might accidentally set it on fire.

Then Flint shows up. He’s overpowered Charlie and arrived with Jesse’s bomb canister (the one Charlie was supposed to dismantle). And then Alex confronts his dad. And then Max decides the most useful thing he can possibly do is singlehandedly try to stop Flint from completing the attack and it’s one exertion too many on top of his constant insistence that he’s totally fine, god, guys, quit making such a big deal about the fact that I almost died of heart failure this year!

The fireworks have ignited the Highly Flammable Location. Charlie is trapped in the burning house. Jesse is this close to setting off one bomb canister (the one that’ll kill him and also three-quarters of his family). Maria’s finds the other bomb canister and chucks it way out into a field, but not before she starts bleeding in a super-distressing way. Gregory finds his family at the exact wrong time and so does Michael and a shooting seems very extremely imminent. Max tries to hand-kill Flint??? And maybe succeeds? And then has another heart attack — Rosa and Liz stand frantically over him —

It’s a cliffhanger, folks! We’ll see you next week.

A fun nod to the fact that these characters would swear so much more if they weren’t on network TV from Rosa, who has resorted to saying ‘give a duck’: “Oh, I just found out about autocorrect, it’s hilarious.”

Arturo’s Arturo’s Churros hat. That man loves him some novelty headgear.

Alex, in any situation where he could use Michael’s first name: lastnames him

Liz still with the Mikey: exact opposite situation. Trusted friends and research partners can nickname you but the love of your life will call you what he’s called you since twelfth grade because anything else would either indicate a moment too intimate for words or be too weird

Max, still miffed about not being as much of a Fitness Guy as Kyle and Diego: “I don’t think they drink beers; it’s not keto.” Don’t worry, king, I like your lack of ab definition, and that’s not sarcasm I mean it sincerely. I think you need more of a muffin top.

“I was held hostage, Max! I deserve to ride the Scrambler until I barf cotton candy...and maybe watch a bad man die :)”

In the Manes family, if you are named after a rock or a geographical feature, you’re a really fucked up dude. If you have a basic-guy name you’re chill though

“She...doesn’t wanna kill aliens?” “Nope. Avenging her murdered lover.” “Oh my god, I love a good telenovela.” This show is a great at being a novela, and I can’t believe I forgot that

One last ominous nugget to stay up with at night: Jesse tells Alex he should understand collateral damage ‘better than anyone.’ Is he talking about the obvious: he’s missing a limb; he is collateral damage? Or is he talking about some shit Alex did over there that we still don’t know about?

#this one took fucking forEVEr because the last time i was watching tv was sunday and then i didnt sleep #so i had to take a break for my fucking health #absolutely disgraceful situation that i am in #roswell nm #q #recaps #reviews #roswell: new mexico

2 notes · View notes

withswords · 2 years

Text

Firsts - A Blackbonnet Fic

Title: Firsts Wordcount: 927 Ship: Blackbonnet | Stede Bonnet/ Edward Teach

just some silly comedy-fluff

“Hey, whoa!” Ed laughed into his mouth as Stede kept pushing in to kiss him. The dinghy rocked uncertainly. Out on the open water, the waves lapping at them were high, even under this afternoon’s clear sky. The threat of tipping more than anything was what made him finally back off, looking a little sulky.

“Don’t squirm, Ed, or you’re going to sink us. I thought you were a professional.”

Easing himself back against the seat, Ed spread out with his elbows wide. Between the two of them, they’d managed to row and drift some pretty good miles, and Ed had guarantees that they wouldn’t be looked for until a few days had passed. Whatever they had on the Revenge was contagious, because Stede had taken the first chance at a break to start making moves on him. Cheeky shit had already undone the top button of Ed’s navy regulation breeches, and for his part he was excited to get out of them and into something more comfortable, but. “Do you think you’re rushing a bit? You can’t wait until we’re on solid ground? Or like, not a fucking rowboat?”

“Not if I can help it.” Stede got a very self-conscious expression on his face, adding, “Unless you... wanted to take it slower?”

He shrugged. “A little?”

“Oh! I’d sort of thought, based on your reputation and all--”

“No, I mean, I was thinking, more... romance.”

Stede’s eyes lit up. Fuck yeah. All according to plan.

Just because he’d resolved to put some of his old ways behind him, that didn’t mean Ed didn’t still have a taste for some virgin poaching. Through the night as he’d been readying the boat and bribing the guards he’d been thinking about exactly how he was going to rock Stede’s fucking world. Slowly. You had to be slow with a rookie; anything else was a waste. Stede was only ever going to get for-the-first-time once.

“Besides,” he continued, putting a hand on the back of Stede’s neck. “It’s your first time. It should be special.”

Stede sat back abruptly. He narrowed his eyes and looked at him sidelong, and Ed resigned himself to the terrible mistake he had made.

“First?”

Ed blinked. “Uhh.”

“I had kids, you know.”

Maybe if he played dumb. “Oh. Right, yeah. I’d always just assumed--”

“Assumed?” Stede made some spectacular noises in his indignation. “I was married for somewhere between, probably eight and eleven years, you just assumed in all that time I never slept with my wife?”

Dumb had been a bad call, but now that he’d committed to it, he couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t going to dig the hole deeper.

“Look, some people don’t, you know, that’s your business!”

“Oh my god, you really... I was unhappy, Ed, I wasn’t a fucking priest!”

“Okay, okay! I’m at least your first man though.” Ed pulled his knees in. Was he seriously getting his feelings hurt over this?

“Well, I did go to boarding school. So, no.” Oh god, he was.

“Wow. Seriously? You come off pretty fucking repressed, is all.”

Stede tutted. “Do you think I didn’t know what those gentlemen were doing on my ship? I may be naive in some respects, but I have ears. What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not that I’m disappointed! I just had kinda gotten myself hyped up for it. I-I should have asked, you know, I should have asked.”

“Did you want me to play along? I can, you know, I can...” Stede clasped his hands to his chest in a way he seemed to think was very virginal. Ed waved him off.

“No, Stede, come on, don’t do that. It’s fine, seriously.”

Stede kept at it, pulling up his shirt collar and swooning back into the billowy white fabric. “I may permit you to ravish me, Captain Blackbeard, though you know I’m so, um, extremely delicate and inexperienced. And small!”

“You don’t have to be a dick.”

“But Edward, I’m so small! I’ve never been touched by another living creature!” A rolling wave hit the dinghy, and he had to grab onto the gunwale, yelping, to keep from falling back and braining himself on the oar. He almost would have deserved it.

“You done? You finished?”

“Don’t sulk.” Stede lowered himself down directly across from Ed on the bottom of the dinghy, so that their knees were inches apart. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Theatrics. Bit of Ophelia and all.”

“Who? Fuck, nevermind.”

“Look, we’ll think of something. I’ve... I’ve never done it in a boat before! That’d be a first,” Stede said, so very earnestly. “With man nor woman!”

Ed whined, “That doesn’t count,” and slumped back.

He blinked and pouted, clearly unable to account for Ed’s mood. He couldn’t be blamed for that. Ed found the feeling too embarrassing to put into words himself. Slowly, he shuffled forwards, in little scoots like he thought Ed might snap at him, tell him to back off, until he was practically in his lap. Stede’s hand rested on the left side of his stomach, over the knot of scar tissue and the scab of the most recent wound he’d left.

“It’ll be the first with someone I really love. I think that must count for a little.”

He tried not to sound winded or choked when he replied, “Yeah. I guess that goes for me too.”

Stede kissed him, and Ed realized that he’d been right from the beginning. Sharing something was better than taking.

#our flag means death #ofmd fic #blackbonnet #crying lit noises #throwing up with anxiety about even posting this so jakljlkjflkjfklsdf

37 notes · View notes

hispipsqueak · 3 years

Text

Just One Time

Asahi x F!Reader - NSFW

TW: Angsty, cheating, scumbag reader, manipulation, pregnancy trapping, unprotected sex, sugar daddy Asahi, age gap (reader in mid twenties tho not specified) Asahi in 50′s, unprotected sex, daddy kink

WC: 2.5K

Summary: Asahi’s in a bad marriage and you are there to liven it up...or are you?

A/N: I woke up today and chose violence I guess. @cozykozume and @hiskittyyywrites read this and yelled at me so if you want to yell, I feel that. This started off as a sugar daddy Asahi fic but....we got this instead. Also I really want to hug Asahi. I apologize in advance.

All characters are 18+

It was only supposed to be one time.

Fuck.

It wasn’t even supposed to be one time.

Asahi wasn’t sure how the hell he ended up like this. You were hired to work on his show, doing makeup for the models. His job in the fashion industry put him around beautiful men and women every day, dressing them and posing them. Hell, he saw them naked and yet you, just you sitting there sipping on the glass of champagne at the after party for yet another successful campaign launch had his stomach in knots.

You smirked into your glass as you saw the older designer not so subtly watching you from across the room. Standing up you walked over to the tall man and placed a hand on his chest.

“Great show Mr. Azumane.” You smiled at him. You could feel him tense under his button up shirt.

“Uh, oh you can just call me Asahi. Y-yeah, you did an excellent job on their makeup as well. Your name is Y/N right?”

You laughed, “Oh it’s so sweet you remembered. Most designers never pay attention to the crew...though you are certainly not like most designers.” With this, you slid your hand down his chest. “You’re so built for a fashion designer too.”

Asahi’s face reddened, and he choked on his drink.

“Uh, I uh, used to play volleyball a lot...and work out and stuff...sort of.” He stammered out and you let out another flirty giggle.

“Clearly. You look amazing. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Asahi was hyper aware of your hand on his chest roaming toward his bicep. Your nails grazed his skin. You gazed into his eyes and winked, before finishing your drink and putting the empty glass on the shelf behind him.

“Well...I guess I’m going to head out. Would you walk me out? I’m a little tipsy.”

The next thing you knew, you and Asahi were in the bathroom, his mouth on your neck. Your dress was tugged down below your chest and his fingers made quick work of your bra, throwing it across the room. He groped your tits, pinching and tugging at your nipples. You moaned out and he clapped his hand over your mouth.

“Shh...we can’t get caught.” His dark eyes stared into yours and yours widened.

“Of course.”

Your eyes fell to the silver band on his left hand and your heart raced. Yes of course sleeping with an older married man was probably going to send you to hell, but fuck...it was hot.

You could see him becoming unsure, so you slid your hands to his belt, undoing it before dropping to your knees. You gazed up at him, doe-eyed and Asahi’s resolve crumbled, as he nodded. Your fingers grazed his boxer-clad member.

“Fuck, you’re so big. Can’t wait to taste you.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his lower abs.

Asahi groaned out as you pulled out his cock, stroking him. Your other hand cupped his balls and he bit his lip to stifle his moan. Slipping him into your mouth, you swirled your tongue around the tip, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“Fuck that f-feels incredible.” Asahi’s panted out. He placed his hands above your head, nervous to put any pressure on you. You grinned.

“You can touch me. Let me take care of you daddy.”

You took him further down your throat, and his hands fell to your hair as you bobbed up and down his cock. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to grip your hair tightly.

“F-fuck Y/N. You feel amazing. You’re so good.” Asahi muttered, his eyes closed. It had been so long, too fucking long since someone had worshipped him like this. Your mouth was divine and your moans caused his whole body to tremble. He could feel your throat clench around his cock, as you took him impossibly deeper and he looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy, your lipstick was smudged and you looked so incredibly lewd as you swallowed around his cock.

“Want to make you feel good. Let me have you.” Asahi grunted, pulling you up and bending you over the sink. You met his eyes in the mirror as he lined himself up with your entrance, before digging around in his slacks.

“Shit, condom. What…” He started. You giggled.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You arched your back more and looked up at him.

“Please, daddy?”

Fuck it. Asahi sunk into you and you pressed your hand over your mouth. The stretch burned, and you felt like you were being split in half on his cock. He towered over you as he continued pushing his length into you and finally stilled to a stop.

“You okay?” He asked, seeing your body quivering in the mirror. You grinded your hips slowly as a response, stretching yourself on him. As you moved, the pain subsided until all you felt was pleasure. Seeing you work yourself on his cock had Asahi feral. His hands kneaded your ass and hips, feeling how your body begged for him and craved his touch,

“God, beautiful. You take me so well. You’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered out, slowly pumping himself into you. He looked in the mirror as he fucked you, watched as your lips parted to spill moans that sounded like heaven to his ears. He could see your tits bounce with every thrust and it spurred him on even more. He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t be fucking a girl twenty years younger than him in a bathroom at his party but when you looked up at him in the mirror, your eyeliner running down your cheeks and begged for daddy to fuck you harder, well he could only thrust into you faster and harder.

The sound of slapping skin filled the small room, only broken up by soft pants from both of you in an attempt to keep quiet, though you were failing. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and felt yourself slamming towards your peak as well.

“I’m so close, so close angel.” Asahi mumbled, his hand clutching the counter so tightly you were sure it would break.

“Cum inside me, fill me up. Fuck fuck FUCK!”, you moaned out as your cunt clenched around his cock. His hips stuttered and you felt him shoot his load deep inside your hole. You could feel his cock throbbing as it filled you, and he could feel the fluttering of your pussy as it sucked every drop out of him.

The two of you collapsed in a heap on the counter, and as you cleaned yourself up, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek before sneaking out of the room. Asahi ran some cold water, splashed his face, and tried to bury the memory of this occurrence.

It was just supposed to be one time.

But when he got home to a dark house, he couldn’t help but be consumed by thoughts of you. He quietly slipped into his bedroom, praying his wife wouldn’t suspect a thing. He undressed, slipping into bed.

“Sorry I’m so late, the party ran pretty…”

“Can you just hush? I’m trying to sleep and you have to be so loud.” his wife snapped, turning her back to him.

Asahi mumbled a soft apology, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Asahi, seriously I’m not in the fucking mood, can you just go to bed?” She shrugged him off. He turned to stare at the ceiling.

It was just one time...right?

Days passed and he tried to push past the guilt he felt by going out of his way for his wife. He set up a reservation for a fancy dinner at an exclusive restaurant in the city, The owner had a daughter who was apparently a big fan of Asahi’s designs so he was able to pull some strings and get a table.

“Hey honey, I got us reservations for dinner tonight. You can wear that pretty red dress I like.” He smiled at her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“I hate that dress. Why are we even going out? That place is ridiculously expensive.”

Asahi felt his face get hot.

“W-well okay, what would you like to do tonight?”

Still fiddling with her phone, she shrugged.

“Why do we have to do anything? We aren’t young people. God, you don’t get enough partying with your little fashion stuff?”

Asahi looked down at the floor.

“The place was pretty hard to get in. We really should go.” He stammered out, hoping she would change her mind.

She yawned. “Can’t you just take someone from work or something?”

-----

That was how one time turned to two.

Asahi couldn’t help it. You were so...fun. You hung onto his every word, asking him questions and laughing at his jokes. Your hands were always on him, his thighs, his arms, his chest. You looked at him like he hung the moon.

In turn, he loved spoiling you, lavishing you with high fashion pieces, unreleased from his collection. His guilt for not spending all his time with you led to him making up for it in material goods, which you definitely didn’t mind.

And the sex. God the sex.

You worshipped his cock, begged for him to ruin you. You were adventurous, letting him take control of you, teasing him in public, your fingers grazing his cock through his slacks, shooting him flirty looks as he blushed furiously.

Two times turned into five times, which soon led to a full blown affair. Asahi “worked late” so often, he was sure he’d be caught, but his house was always dark when he came home, his wife in bed asleep.

Yet, his phone had pictures of you, pictures you had taken in his clothes, in the lingerie he bought you that cost more than some people’s entire outfits.

His body still thought about you, the faces you made as you pleaded for his cock. He could imagine the chanting of “daddy” that fell from your lips as he fucked you brainless. Many nights, like tonight, he headed to his shower just to jack off to pictures and videos of your escapades. Your breathy moans filled his ear buds as he gripped the wall, imagining your writhing body underneath him, your warm cunt clamping down on his cock instead of his hand.

He came with a groan, cum splattering on the tile wall. Breathing hard, he turned the hot water on full blast.

Coming down, he watched the water wash his mess down the drain. He hated this feeling, the aftermath of his actions. Knowing his wife was asleep in the next room while he was getting off to his side piece. What kind of man was he? Yes, things had been not so great with his wife recently. But he still loved her...right?

Even if he didn’t want to answer that question and unpack that whole mess, she deserved respect. Not a husband who snuck around behind her back. He had to decide.

His eyes cast themselves down to his wedding band. It felt heavy on his hand.

He had to end things with you.

----

“Y/N, we need to talk.” Asahi’s voice shook, as he sipped his glass of water. The two of you were at his studio, a place he knew his wife would never be at. He hadn’t wanted to be in public when he broke the news to you so he invited you over, though now he was a little nervous to be alone with you.

“Asahi, I feel the same way.” You looked at him, biting your lip.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. This was fun but I feel terrible and I really need to work things out with my wife…”

Your eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?” There was an edge to your voice, something he hadn’t heard coming from you.

Asahi’s dark eyes widened. “U-uh, this affair? We need to end it. Isn’t that what you meant?” His voice stammered as he watched your arms cross over yourself.

“Asahi, I’m pregnant.”

The room started spinning. The overhead lighting became harsh and he felt like he was underwater as those words repeated in his brain.

Pregnant....pregnant...pregnant

“Wh- what?! What about the pill?” He practically yelped, his face heating up.

“It didn’t work I guess. I’m carrying your baby...and you’re trying to leave me?” You asked, your voice rising as you stood up.

“I’m not trying to, I mean, I’m, I…” Asahi fumbled his words.

“You just said you want to work things out with ‘your wife’.” You spat the words out in disgust.

“I didn’t know you were pregnant! Are you...are we…?” He trailed off, looking at your stomach, which obviously had no visible changes and yet had visibly changed everything.

“Are you asking me if I’m keeping our baby?” Your eyes widened and Asahi could feel your anger seeping through the air. He quickly shook his head, desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, no I’m n– I just meant...what should I do?” Asahi’s mouth went dry. His body felt like it was going to explode and he wanted the earth to swallow him, anything to get him out of this situation.

“You’re going to help me raise our child, Asahi. It’s our baby.” Your voice was cold. No longer the carefree, fun person he knew but instead a disconnected stranger, who he was now tied to forever.

Asahi put his head in his hands. He was ruined. His marriage was over. And now he was a father, at the ripe old age of 50 to a 20-something year old’s baby. This couldn’t be happening.

He felt your hands touch his shoulder and he looked up at you. Your eyes glittered with a look he couldn’t identify.

“We have some announcements to make, don’t we daddy?” You smiled at him. He stared into space, before taking your hand and following you out the door.

Your heart soared as you prepared on how to tell his wife that she’d be moving out. Maybe you weren’t pregnant yet, but he didn’t have to know that. It’s not like you wouldn’t be soon enough.

After all, it was never just one time.

#asahi x reader #asahi angst #asahi smut #azumane asahi #hq smut #hq angst #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst

173 notes · View notes

ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years

Text

Kotatsu Table. (Shigaraki x f!Reader; NSFW)

Warning: stepbrother kink

“You are such a damn brat.”

Arms tighten around your waist in a vice-like grip. It forces the air out of your lungs and makes you wince, momentarily losing your grip on your switch.

“You think your game is more important than me?”

“Hypocrite.”

“Shut up.”

Tomura’s legs are tangled with yours, hindering your ability to move. You can only wriggle and pout as he presses himself along your back and grinds his erection over the curve of your ass, incessant and desperate while his hot breath tickles your ear. He had wasted no time in slipping his sweatpants down before sandwiching his cock between his stomach and your backside. The heat radiates through your shorts and pulls the fabric on your crotch with every thrust, forming a wedgie along the seam of your folds as it generates a maddening friction that rubs your clit and forces a gush of wetness to seep out of your empty hole.

The kotatsu table hides this obscenity from view. For all intents and purposes, anyone passing by would imagine a sweet bonding moment between step-siblings. An attentive brother watching his younger sister play her favorite game while they warm themselves beneath the comfortable blanket draped over their waists.

You try your hardest to uphold this illusion. No matter what filthy thing Tomura whispers in your ear, you hold onto the switch for dear life and ignore his demand for you to turn around and kiss him. The demanding neediness in his voice makes you rub your thighs together, and the subtle movement makes him groan and grind into you harder.

Your neck glistens from bruising open-mouthed kisses. His rough lips tickle your skin even as he bites and sucks right beneath your ear, smoothing his slick tongue over the blooming mark to make you shiver and whimper. The wet muscle trails upward and leaves saliva along the rim of your ear.

“Your tongue is like a disgusting slug, nii-san,” you grumble, digging the pads of your thumbs firmly onto the buttons of your switch when Tomura nips your earlobe.

“You like it when I’m gross with you.” He snakes a hand beneath your shirt and roughly squeezes your breast to make you gasp. “You just keep playing hard to get, though. Does it make you wet when I have to behave like this?” His fingers pinch and twist your nipple, relentless even as your hands start to shake and your breath escapes your open mouth in quickening pants. Tomura whispers to you in a low growl, “I bet your dumb little pussy is ready to take me already. And you better let me find out - “ His other hand grips your shorts and wrenches them downwards, giving you little time to react before his thick cock pushes through your soft thighs and wedges its oozing cockhead right up against your entrance. “ - because I’m not in the mood for your bratty bullshit right now.”

“T-Tomu-nii … “

“Don’t act all cute,” he sneers, digging his fingers into your hip as he begins to breach your hole. “Where’s all that attitude from before? Can’t ignore me now, can you?”

You bite your lip and stifle a broken moan as best you can, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the tight fit of his cock. With your thighs closed together and the angle at which Tomura expects to shove into you, the stinging pain forces you to arch your back and writhe against his tight hold. He grits his teeth and tries again, curling his hand under your thigh and tugging it upward to give him more space to fuck into you. The instant your hole sucks in the swollen head of his cock, you jolt and release a pathetic sound, angling your hips away even as he releases a sharp breath and grinds further into you.

“The fuck is your problem,” he huffs, panting against your hair.

“You’re too big, nii-san,” you whine. “It hurts … “

He chuckles, a raspy, aggravating noise that turns into a low groan as he tugs on your abused nipple and feels you clench around him. Your fleshy walls pulsate around his cock as he eases himself into you inch by slow inch, and you can’t tell if the rhythmic tightness wants to expel the intrusion or to suck him in deeper.

Stupid, treacherous body. Your vision blurs from unshed tears as you lose all focus on your game. At this point, you are gripping the controls simply out of the need to hold onto something, anything to help you redirect your tension.

“Oooh?” Tomura purrs, kisses the back of your head, and simply continues to flick your nipple back and forth as he works you open. “Poor baby. If only you had been nice to your big brother earlier.” He shifts his hand beneath your shirt and cups your other breast, holding it tightly while he focuses his full effort on shoving his cock deeper inside. “I would have played with your tight pussy to stretch you open. And if you had been really sweet, I would have let you lay on your back and play your game while I licked your sloppy, drooling cunt.” A flood of viscous juices bathed his cock as you flushed from embarrassment, feeling your chest tighten at the sound of Tomura’s appreciative moan before he continued, “But you seem to forget who this pussy belongs to, so nii-san has to punish you.”

“Nnnh … aaah!” A sudden bite to your shoulder causes you to snap out of your delirious haziness. You pull your knees up in a last attempt to ease your discomfort. By some miracle, it actually works. Tomura wraps his arm around your waist again and follows to close the distance, snapping his hips against your ass with one final thrust that seats himself fully inside you and makes you see stars.

Digging up weeds in your village seems rather trivial at this moment. You can think of nothing other than the way Tomura’s thighs rest flat against yours, the way you feel him all around you and inside you, his heavy cock twitching with each little mewl you release upon every new thrust. He abandons your breast altogether to hold your waist, his shameless moans mingling with your cries as he immediately sets a rapid pace. His torso is practically glued to your back. The only part of him that moves is his lower half, hidden beneath the blanket as he humps into you with short, forceful thrusts.

There is an ache deep inside you, even as you gradually melt against him and give yourself to his demands. You can feel the tip kiss your cervix, each unyielding shove lodging precum in a place it should never, ever be found.

“Should have just cockwarmed me like I asked you,” he grunts, breath leaving him in short puffs. “And I asked you nicely - “ You let out a strangled sound as he delivers a sharp thrust. “But you told me to leave you alone.” His arms tighten around you as he picks up speed, and all you can focus on is the sound of the slick slide of his cock through your squelching pussy. “You told me to leave you alone!”

A tear escapes and wets the pillow beneath you.

You didn’t mean to make him this upset. You didn’t mean to make him feel unwanted.

“Tomu-nii,” you force out, quiet and meek. He reacts to your submissive demeanor almost instantly, cautious and still tense even as he lessens the intensity of his thrusts to a steady rhythm. “Can you … “ You flush, burrowing your face a little into the pillow. “Can you touch me?”

Tomura slows down even more, a contemplative silence falling over him. A smug grin colors his voice. “Touch you where?”

“M-my … ugh, you know!”

He presses his lips to your throat, running his hot tongue over your pulse before nipping it, a gentle hold of his teeth to your skin as they slowly rake a sensitive trail upon letting go. “Tell nii-san what you want,” he purrs. “And ask nicely.”

“ … please … nnnh, can you play with my pussy, Tomu-nii?” A low rumble escapes his throat. “I w-want my big brother to take care of me … “

“And do you think you deserve it after what you said to me?”

“No,” you sob, barely holding onto the switch as you are fucked open again and again at a punishing pace. It is a test, you know he wants to break you, to leave you so overwhelmed and speechless that he wouldn’t have to hear your pleas. The thought of him so unwilling to listen to you makes you whine through it all, needy and desperate and demanding as you hiccup and spew forth a litany of nonsense. “I w-was rude and - aaah, aah, oh fuck, Tomu-nii, I don’t wanna be punished! I want you to love me! Please, love me, n-nnhh-nii-san, please, I won’t do it again, I’ll be your good little girl and a-and I’ll never say no beca - aaahh! - because th-this pussy only belongs to my Tomu-nii - “

“Fuck!”

A hand clamps over your mouth mid-rant. Tomura presses his lips to your ear as he struggles to control his breathing, pounding into you as he rasps through clenched teeth, “Shut up.” You whine and try to shake your head, but his hand locks your head in place with a firm grip. “Shut up,” he repeats. “You’ll make me come too fast, damn it.”

Two fingers push past your lips and force their way to the back of your throat, dragging along your tongue and testing your resolve. You obediently suck the digits and curl your tongue to make them wet, thankful that Tomura had long since fucked the gag reflex out of you. Your muffled moans tease him as you push your hips back against every thrust, desperate to take all of him inside you, even if it hurt a little.

Tomura pulls his fingers out of your mouth, and you are already holding your leg up as high as you can beneath the table to present your aching clit. The firm press of saliva-coated fingers to the stiff peak tears a wordless, silent cry from you, and when Tomura doesn’t even tease you, when he just keeps rubbing your clit in tight circles as his cock relentlessly splits you in two, you begin to babble all over again.

“Thank you, Tomu-nii!” you whine, digging your nails into the switch. “Thank you, thank you, oooh - it feels so good! Aaah - nnh - I h-have the best nii-san in the world, I - I love the way you fuck me, nii-san, I love it so much!”

“No one can fuck you like I can.”

“Never, n-nnh, I won’t let them - “

“I won’t let them,” he growls harshly. “I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

Your cunt tightens at his possessive tone, pulsing and clenching as greedily as you needed him. His sweat clings to your equally filthy body, and a distant part of you hates the humidity building up beneath the kotatsu table, but you can only focus on the warmth coiling inside your body, the way your pussy grips his cock to keep him in, to trap him -

“I’m going to come inside you,” Tomura rasped. “And you’re going to take it all.”

“Yes, please - “

“And you’ll never say no to me again.”

“Never! Never, never, I need you nii-san, I’ll always need you, e-even when I - when I don’t know it - nnnhh, nii-san, punish me more like this, make me yours!”

Tomura chokes on his words, mouth open and drooling onto you, mindlessly jackhammering into your soft, overworked hole until the tightness explodes, uncoils, paralyzes you both with euphoric pleasure and leaves you completely wrung out. You moan as your pussy sucks on the cock buried deep inside, pressed into you without recourse and spitting thick ropes of come right up against your battered cervix.

Neither of you move. Tomura has enough strength to drape his arm over you while he regains his ability to breathe. You stare ahead in a total daze, distantly realizing that you are still somehow holding onto your switch and ruining it with your sweaty palms. The horrors of bodily fluids coating your inner thighs is a problem you immediately resolve to deal with later.

The house is eerily quiet. Tomura breathes through his nose, tickling the nape of your neck until he presses his forehead to your sweaty skin and nuzzles the itch away.

You stare at the screen of your switch and suddenly fight the urge to throw it across the room. Tomura is right behind you. Your nii-san is cuddling up to you and all you are doing is staring at your reflection on the screen. A crushing feeling takes root in the pit of your stomach. It demands a conclusion to your dark desires and guides you to set the switch aside.

Tomura’s hold on your waist tightens in defiance as you try to move. His cock is buried comfortably inside you, stirring to life in response to your wriggling. Loathe as you are to disconnect from him, your urge to face him is too strong to overcome. You twist around in his hold until he had no choice but to slip out of you. Before Tomura can voice his displeasure, you quickly shimmy out of your shorts and swing your leg over his thigh to sink back onto his cock with a satisfied sigh. His come oozes out of your stretched hole and makes a slick sound as he hilts himself deep inside your pussy, coaxing a mutual moan from you both as he palms your ass and gives it a slap.

Reconnected once more. Nothing else matters.

You remove your shirt and settle down beside him. Tomura stares at you, crimson eyes still darkened from residual pleasure. It brings a smile to your lips and makes his gaze flicker to your mouth. You tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him, deep and incessant as you urge him closer and suck on his tongue to hear him moan.

It is only natural for you to resume your perverted lovemaking. Your toes curl in pleasure as the slow drag of his cock parts your fleshy walls, the rhythmic grind of his hips dragging your clit against his crotch and quickly reigniting your need.

Gripping his hair to pull him away from the kiss, you leave a mere hairsbreadth of space between your wet lips as you whisper, “You have my attention now, nii-san.“

His breath hitches, a quiet and vulnerable sound. Carefully, you guide him down as you arch your back and display your abused nipples. The pebbled buds are reddened and aching for proper attention.

“They kinda hurt, you know,” you murmur petulantly. “Make me feel better.”

Tomura follows the command like a man possessed, lavishing your breast with drooling licks and firm kisses before he pops the nipple into his mouth and sucks with just the right amount of soft pressure. His name trails on the end of a sigh as you rest your head on the pillow and hug him close, whispering all sorts of praises that keeps his mouth firmly suckling at your breast and his cock hitting you deeper.

You find yourself on your back eventually. Tomura can barely fit into the space between you and the table, and it only urges him to rest his full weight on you as he snaps his hips against yours. Your legs escape the confines of the table and bend at the knee on either side of him, and even though the blanket still rests along your lower legs and across his back, you shamelessly revel in the chance to finally look down to see his thick cock pushing in and out of your cunt. The sight of it makes your mouth water, knowing that for every bit of come that had escaped and trickled down your ass, Tomura would make sure you fill you up again.

The pace is somehow calmer. You cling to each other and share endless kisses in the midst of unhurried thrusts. It allows Tomura to regain some of his senses, and a question on the tip of his tongue finally escapes after you release a high-pitched moan.

“Aren’t you worried someone is home?” he murmurs mid-kiss, and kisses you again instead of letting you answer.

You giggle and lick his bottom lip. “Everyone left a while ago. I saw them leave.” Tomura pulls back at that. Not very far, just enough to throw you a mildly annoyed look. You merely smile up at him. “Don’t you think I would have been quieter if we weren’t alone?”

Tomura pauses, thinks about a comeback, and promptly tosses it aside in favor of kissing that smirk off your face. You moan around his invasive tongue and roll your hips to meet his thrusts, fingers tenderly carding through his hair as he holds you possessively to him.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki tomura/reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tw: incest #tw: stepsiblings #tw: pseudoincest #i wrote this in one day dont judge me

2K notes · View notes

bluemoondust · 3 years

Note

Just found your writing and it's so good omggg ;u; If you have requests open, would you be willing to write some yandere!Zenitsu getting lovestruck by reader whilst on his travels, kidnapping them and trying to get them to marry him? I'm good with saucy or even dark themes, I just need more of the spaghetti boy in my life, pretty please! <3

✧Lovestruck — Agatsuma Zenitsu✧

♥(✿ฺ´∀`✿ฺ)ﾉ Thank you for the compliments! I'm glad you enjoy my writing. And yes, I'm absolutely willing to write for Zenitsu; he definitely deserves all the love. He's my favorite of the trio.

Note: Zenitsu is obviously aged up.

Warning(s): Obsessive Behavior, Borderline Devotion, Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Delusional Behavior, Unhealthy Mindset

Zenitsu has always deemed himself unworthy of becoming a demon slayer, yet he still persists towards the road of that title. All he wants is to feel loved, appreciated, and warmth when he needs it the most. The world is definitely scary and he's honestly surprised that he's made it this far when he's so... Average. Dull in comparison. Could he even amount to being a demon slayer in comparison to others like who are braver and much stronger than him? How was he supposed to stand beside them when he is just a coward who could never hold a candle to them?

Even so, he keeps going. He keeps going along the path he set off on in the first place. All he can think of, besides surviving, is what purpose could he possibly uphold. That is, until he met you. It was a meeting that happened by chance and certainly one that Zenitsu did not see coming. Of course, that's how life was after all. But instead of it turning out to be for the worst, it was possibly the best he could ever ask for. You were a kind soul; that was the first thing he took notice of when you aided them during an encounter with a demon. Not only that, but you were simply... Breathtaking and amazing.

He was stunned to say the least and you gently shook him to see if he was alright. You probably thought he froze in shock from the attack, but that wasn't the case. After the matter was resolved, Zenitsu was insistent on you traveling with him. He just couldn't let such a wonderful person like you leave, only to never encounter you ever again. He had to keep you around. He practically trembles in happiness when you agreed, finding his eagerness to be cute. Besides, it's better to travel with others than alone, right?

Zenitsu wants to know everything about you. Nothing you talk about loses his interest as he takes in every word you spill to him. The more you around him, the more he clings to you. Showing no sign of pushing him away just digs a deeper hole for you, darling. But how can you say no to that face? It would be like kicking a poor little puppy should you reject any of Zenitsu's offers or requests to come along with you. It should be done so you'd get used to it once the two of you are together.

To make matters worse, if you're the type to express praise and compliment, you've got him hooked. This will only cause Zenitsu to work so much for your sweet words as he eats them up. He loves the look you give him when you swat away those negative comments towards himself. He feels like he's the center of your attention. That no one else matters but him. It honestly makes him want to cry with joy. So, you have his complete devotion towards you. He'd do anything just for you to praise him for doing so good.

The only reason he'd kidnap his darling is when there's so much in the way. You see, Zenitsu has grown so attached to you that he will take your side no matter what. He'll even let himself get hurt if it means you'll be safe. What it means that there is so much in the way is that there are either too many who would try to take you or the dangers are growing too much for his heart to handle. The former would be more likely. Zenitsu is the type of yandere to get delusional and more so as time goes on. Which means at this point, he already believes you two are meant to be. It gets concerning.

"I... Noticed you weren't talking to me. Did I do something wrong? I can't stand the idea of upsetting you." Hurt isn't even the right word to express how he felt when he took note that you were avoiding him. He's sure that you don't mean to. You're just... Busy. Yeah, busy. He makes excuses for you. Eventually you do confront Zenitsu on his behavior and even try to help him. You believe he's too reliant on you for validation.

That... Absolutely does not sit well with him. At all. "What do you mean? My actions are only because I love you! Can't you see? I would do anything for you! I'm even doing better in training just to make you proud!" His words are suddenly getting more erratic and frenzied. Zenitsu suddenly questions if anyone put those thoughts in your head and the possibility of you trying to leave him. No. You can't go. You're everything to him. He suddenly has his hands on your shoulders, begging you to stay.

Soon, everything just goes black for you. It astonishes you once you awaken in a secluded area. Did Zenitsu just knock you out? It becomes clear as you feel the slight pain on the crook of your neck. His hands were on your shoulders, shaking you. There was an opening. You soon realize your situation now as Zenitsu approaches you, apologizing for what he had done. But... You'll forgive him right? Of course.

Marriage suddenly comes to conversation, or what else you'd like to call your questioning him and his pleading of this being for the best. It takes you by surprise, then you try to gently inform him that marriage was too big of a step for you two. This only breaks Zenitsu's heart. What were you saying? You're not making sense. Again he'll make excuses for your answers, disregarding your true words. It's fine. Everything will be fine. You just need some time. Some time to adjust to your— well, your and his new life.

It's okay darling. You don't have to agree to his proposal now. Marriage is a big step, but it won't be so once you two get accustomed to the life you will have until the day death will do you part. You will accept once you see how much of a wonderful husband he can be. Don't worry, he will do his absolute best to show you that everything will be okay. Are you proud of him?

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere demon slayer #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere zenitsu agatsuma #yandere zenitsu #yandere zenitsu x reader #yandere

234 notes · View notes

jean-kayak · 3 years

Text

A Little Courage To Confess

Summary: Maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad

Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x black!fem!reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, confession of feelings, (smut 18+!!), fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, overstimulation, college!au, modern!au

Word Count: 2186

A/N: I hadn't originally planned to write a Valentine's Day fic, but I kept seeing them on my dash, so I caved lmao, and this is my first time writing for Jean, and I wanted to start writing for aot anyway so I thought I used this fic to break myself in lol, also this is lowkey self indulgent but nevertheless, enjoy!

All characters are 18+!!

"I hate Valentine's Day," you grumble as you throw your arm over your face, listening to Jean chuckle in response.

"You say that every year," he says, and you scoff, not moving your arm.

"That's because it's stupid. Everyone expects so much on that day, but you should be getting that amount of affection every day in a relationship," you rant, and Jean listens intently even though he's heard this spiel many times.

"That's fair," he offers as he looks down at you. "Or is it because you've never had someone to celebrate the holiday with."

"Fuck off," you respond with no heat behind your words as you lightly slap him on the chest. "The only good thing is that the candy is basically free." You finish the sentence by opening your mouth, and Jean sighs before he digs into the bag of chocolate before dropping it in your mouth.

You swallow thickly as you move your mouth around to get out the candy stuck in your teeth. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'll never get to celebrate it with anyone. I mean, I didn't think I was that ugly," you joke, the self-deprecating joke not even phasing you anymore, it's the one you always use whenever you're on the subject of your least favorite holiday.

"Hey, you're not ugly," Jean opposes firmly, and you smile softly.

"Thank you." He moves your arm from your face, and you open your eyes, blinking as they adjust to the light.

"I mean it. You're beautiful." You feel your face heat up as you give him a shy smile, and he feels his heart skip at your reaction, and he's reminded again of his dilemma.

He's been in love with you since he can remember, the only issue is that it's one-sided, and he hates it. You're in your dorm, both of you laying on the tiny twin size bed. You're laying on your stomach while Jean is laying on his side, propped up with his elbow.

He's so close to you that it's a little unsettling for him because he's afraid that you'll be able to feel every time his heartbeat changes, and he can see and feel that you're not wearing a bra, which does absolutely nothing at helping his situation. Every year you complain about Valentine's Day and how much you hate it, and he also hates it because every time it rolls around, he finally gets the courage to say something to you only to chicken out.

You've both basically made it a tradition to hang out on this day, sharing the candy that you brought for a ridiculously cheap price and he listens to you rant. And that's the routine. But he wants to change it.

"Any guy would be lucky to have you," he says, and he feels a ping of jealousy in his chest at the thought of another guy being the one to steal your heart.

"You say that all the time," you respond with a roll of your eyes. "I'm just convinced that no one will ever go out of their way to confess their feelings for me."

I would. In a heartbeat, Jean thinks, almost says it, but he keeps himself from spilling by shoving another piece of chocolate in his mouth. He grabs another one to focus on anything but the close proximity of you two, and you open your mouth to stop him before he can put it in his mouth.

He rolls his eyes again but moves his hand over, and you lift your head to meet him halfway, and his breath hitches when your lips graze his fingers, but you don't seem to notice, humming happily as you close your eyes, chewing soundly.

You don't notice him staring at you, but his resolve is starting to weaken. So what if he confesses to you and you don't feel the same? What's he gonna lose? Many, many years of friendship? That only nearly makes him shut up, but his head is screaming at him to say something.

You hum when he calls your name softly, and you open your eyes when he doesn't speak right away. "Please don't hate me for what I'm about to do."

You frown in confusion, but he's leaning down, his lips brushing yours and he hesitates for a second but finishes the contact anyway, and you make a surprised noise as you kiss him back, your hand tangling into his hair.

He shifts so that he's hovering over you, the bag of chocolates resting on your stomach falling to the floor, but neither of you pays it any mind. He brings his hands to rub at your sides as he deepens the kiss, tasting the chocolate on your tongue as he moves a leg to rest on the other side of you, caging you under him.

He moves down to your neck, snaking his tongue over the junction between your neck and your shoulder before pulling the skin between his teeth, making you keen as your grip tightens on his hair lightly. He moves to the other side doing the same thing a few more times before you pull his face back to yours, crashing your lips onto his has his hands run up under your shirt.

He pushes the material over your chest, his hands running over the exposed skin, rubbing your nipples until they're erect before breaking the kiss to let his mouth have a turn. You moan as soon as the wet muscle circles at your nipples which makes Jean groan, his pants too tight to be comfortable.

You start to become impatient while he's working on the other one, your hands pulling at his shirt as you struggle to get it off. He sits up, quickly stripping off his shirt before resting his hands at your shorts.

He looks at you for permission, and you nod quickly, lifting your hips to help him pull down your shorts, slipping them off your legs, the soaked clothing landing with his shirt on the floor. He groans loudly at the sight of your pussy shiny with your slick, and he doesn't wait any longer to move down, his face inches away from what he's been dreaming of.

He licks an experimental stripe up your folds, and he revels in the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head, and it makes him eat you out with more zeal. The pretty sounds you're making go straight down to his dick, the feeling of your thighs making his ears even warmer.

He pays a generous amount of attention to your clit as he nudges a finger at your hole, groaning when he slides it in, feeling how tight you are around his finger. He adds another, spreading them apart to stretch you out as you get louder.

This is what he's been thinking about for way too long, and he thinks he might just pass out from the fact that he's finally getting to taste you. He curls his fingers, hitting the spongy spot inside of you, causing a gush of wetness to seep out, and he quickly laps it up, moaning at your taste exploding all over his taste buds.

"Jean, please," you beg, practically breathless as you try to push him off of you which he does reluctantly, and he mentally takes a picture of the blissful look on your face, your skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

He's taking off his sweats along with his underwear, grateful that he isn't being constricted anymore when his dick slaps against his stomach, and he feels pride bubble in his chest when he sees your mouth fall open slightly at how big he is.

"Jean," you plead desperately when he rubs at your folds with the angry, red tip, and he lines up with you, throwing your leg over his hip.

"I know, baby, Daddy's gonna take real good care of you," he murmurs as he lines himself up. Your nails dig into his arm as you already feel stretched out from the head, your breath feeling like it's being punched out of your lungs.

He's whispering praises with soft caresses on your hip as he slides in slowly, your walls so tight around him, he thinks he might cum before he even gets all the way in. He groans into your neck when he bottoms out, his chest rising and falling quickly at how your snug walls pulse around him.

"God, Daddy, you're so big," you wheeze. He's even bigger than you ever imagined, almost forgetting to breathe. He whines into your neck, his grip on your hips turning from soft to bruising.

"Please tell me I can move," he groans, trying to wait for you to adjust, but he can't hold back for much longer. He feels you nod quickly and before you even finish, he's pulling out and slamming back into you, making you cry out loudly.

He lifts his head to see nothing but ecstasy on your face, your body jolting with every thrust of his hips. You've never felt so full, feeling like he's hitting every nerve ending in your body.

Your back arches off the bed when he rams into that spot, and you claw at him frantically as if you're trying to ground yourself. His eyes flutter close when you clench around him, but he quickly opens them to keep looking at you, finding it hard to tear his eyes away.

This is what he's really dreamed of. Having you literally writhing underneath him, but you feel amazingly better than any dream he's had. He lets out a deep moan when you clamp around him hard at the same time you let out a silent scream as your orgasm hits you like a brick.

Your tears blur your vision as Jean keeps moving, and you jump when he fingers your clit. "D-Daddy," you whimper, feeling it hard to keep a grip on him.

"You got one more for me, baby. You got one more for your Daddy, don't you?" he coos, and your breasts bounce with every jab of his hips, and he leans down pulling at your nipple with his teeth as he seems to go impossibly deeper, kissing your cervix.

He does the same to the other as you feel another orgasm building up, your clit puffy from overstimulation, but he doesn't stop his strokes on your bundle of nerves, and you feel like you're going to explode from having two highly sensitive areas stimulated.

"I'm so fucking close," he rasps out, crashing his lips onto yours before his body goes rigid, and he cums with a loud moan of your name just as you do the same, your release squirting all over him. He kisses you softly as he fucks you through your highs, slowing to a stop as he kisses away the tears on your face.

"I love you." His post-orgasmic state makes him lose his filter, and he's so out of it that he doesn't even register that he said it.

"What?" you question, and he pulls away, his blood running cold when he realizes what he said.

"Shit--I," he blanches, searching for anything to say now that he's in the most awkward position. "I didn't mean--"

"How long?" You cut him off and he stops his scrambling to look at you.

"For as long as I can remember," he tells you honestly. There's no point in hiding the truth now that the cat's out of the bag, and this is the part where he gets hit with rejection.

"Really?" you ask, almost in disbelief, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face as he looks at you fondly.

"Yeah. I love you, I've been in love with you," he admits wistfully. "And it's okay if you don't feel the same way--"

"I love you, too." His eyes widen at your confession like he can't believe what he's hearing. You bring a hand up to push some of the hair behind his ear, and then he's leaning down kissing you until you both are breathless.

"Really?"

You nod easily. "Yes, really. I have for as long as I can remember," you repeat back, and if his heart didn't already feel like it exploded, it sure did now.

He pulls out of you, giving you a quiet 'sorry' when you wince before slipping on his sweats, and you watch him walk out the room, coming back a minute later with a glass of water and a washcloth.

You grimace as he cleans you up, the soreness already blooming in your lower region, and he picks up the chocolate as you drink some water. He gets back on the bed, pulling you into his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat starting to lull you to sleep.

"Do you still hate Valentine's Day?" he whispers into your curls, and you hum softly as you shrug.

"Eh, maybe." He chuckles before pulling you closer to him.

You might still have a little resentment towards the holiday, but maybe it isn't so bad.

#jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschtein smut #🛶.hoarny

135 notes · View notes

reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Note

Angst #3 #13 #17

🥺🥺

ship: GN ! reader x Spencer

warnings: mentions of prison arc and violence, lying, i’m not sure of anything else!

word count: 1k

prompts: “how did you find out?” ; “i can’t deal with you right now.” ; “i don’t believe you.”

“Have you spoken to Cat lately?” You purposely keep your voice even, not allowing it to crack even though it goes against everything in your body that wants to break.

“What?” Spencer answers, too quick, too defensive.

“Have you spoken to Cat lately?” You repeat.

He looks at you, deer caught in the headlights eyes. He visibly buffers, his mouth opening and then closing again, completely speechless. It was obvious he wasn’t expecting you to find out, and that only twists the knife deeper in your chest. Had he felt guilty? Or had he felt secure in his ability to hide it from you?

“How did you find out?”

His answer confirms the latter.

You huff out a sarcastic laugh, “How did I find out?”

He swallows thickly, clearly deciding it’s better to allow you to run the conversation than risk pissing you off more. What he doesn’t realise, though, is his silence only serves to irk you more.

“I found out because I, much like you, work for the FBI. I, much like you, am a part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I, much like you, have been keeping an eye on Cat Adams. So you can only imagine my surprise when Penelope called me to let me know you’d been in contact with her.”

“I can explain.”

“Go on then,” You challenge, crossing your arms.

Again, he looks lost. His tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip, and he adjusts his position on the sofa. He looks away from your eyes, staring directly into his lap.

“I-It wasn’t like that.”

You don’t answer, refusing to save him, to give him a shovel to dig himself out of this hole he’s made.

“It’s not anything like that ____. I was worried about her hurting other people and I, well I reached out to make sure she wasn’t planning on doing anything like that. She said she isn’t. I was worried ____, I was worried about you and about us and whatever she might have to throw at us and-”

“Us? She wouldn’t be in our lives if it wasn’t for you.”

He looks wounded. A pang of guilt stabs at you, and you have to remind yourself to be stern. It’s painful, hurts like hell to be mad at him. But what’s worse is knowing you have to be mad at him. That he’s genuinely done wrong.

Anxiously, he fiddles with the sleeves of his sweater, “It wasn’t like that. I really was only reaching out for the sake of a case.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d react like this.”

Anger flares in your chest, “You thought I’d react like this? You lied to me, about speaking to the woman who got you sent to prison, because you thought I’d be pissed if you told me? Well I’m certainly pissed that you didn’t.”

“You’re pissed because you think it’s something that it’s not. You think it’s romantic or...” He trails off, realising his wrongdoing immediately.

“Is it romantic?”

“____ i’m with you. Of course it isn’t.”

“I don’t believe you. You kind of make it hard to believe you Spencer, when you lie to me.”

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you turn away from him to look out of the window, “No. No you really shouldn’t have.”

There’s a silence. A horrible all-consuming silence that gnaws at you, your insecurities and doubts about your relationship a pot in your head that’s bubbling, spitting theories that would be unfounded. That you would have believed were based in your own anxieties. Except they weren’t. Because he’d spoken to her.

“I don’t know what I can do to make this better,” He says, “I don’t know what I can do to make it okay.”

“You can’t,” You snap, refusing to look at him, knowing that the pain on his face will only soften your resolve.

“___ I-”

“I can’t deal with you right now,” You say, turning around but not making eye contact with him, “I’m going to Emily’s for the night. We can talk about this tomorrow. I just," You sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily, "I need some time.”

He doesn’t respond. There’s only silence as you make your way across the room, picking up the bag you’d packed before you decided to pick this fight. It hurts. Sure, you could stay. Could give him a chance to explain himself. But the betrayal of it hurts. The fact he hid it from you hurt. Before prison you could never have imagined him doing this.

You’d expected it to change him a little. Had seen the bruises. Had known he was having the worst time of his life in there, that he’d need some time and space and therapy to get back to the Spencer you’d known before. If that Spencer still existed.

It’s the lies. Yeah, maybe you wouldn’t have been happy if he told you he’d spoken to Cat. But the hiding it from you? Last time he’d hidden it from you, he’d gone to prison for three months.

It makes you feel nauseous. By the time you make it to your car, the sobs are wracking your chest. Your mind racing at 100 miles an hour of all the possibilities: what if Cat decided to hurt him again? What if she decided to hurt you? What if Spencer went back to prison?

You can’t shake the memory of trying to fall asleep in a bed without him. It was cold on his side. Your house wasn’t home without him: his scent, his habits, the smell of burning in the kitchen that never quite seemed to dissipate because of his attempts to cook. It’s not even anger, really. It’s betrayal. To think he’d risk going back to prison, to get back in contact with the person who’d caused all that pain while you’d sat at home. Knowing what was happening to him in there, and being powerless to stop it. Knowing he was innocent, and being powerless to bring him home. Knowing you wanted a life with him, and being powerless to make that happen.

No, as you wipe your eyes and start the drive to Emily’s, you realise it’s not anger. It’s hurt. It's fear.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds #imagine spencer reid #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x you #spencer reid angst

94 notes · View notes

johannas-motivational-insults · 4 years

Text

Catra’s refusal to admit mistakes

Something that seems to baffle much of the SPOP fandom is why Catra can’t just admit her mistakes and try to do better instead of continuing to dig herself a deeper and deeper hole. To be fair, the situation is very baffling. It’s complex. There are a ton of psychological issues in play, and when they interact things can get very messy. I’m going to do my best to explain Catra’s thought processes and hang ups and hopefully not write a fucking novel in the process. (But if you do want a novel that analyzes these concepts in a lot of depth, go check out my fanfic Demons. Shameless self-promotion, whaaaaat?)

I have already gone into how Catra’s external locus of control comes into play, so I’m not going to break it down in as much detail here. To sum it up, though, Catra has an internalized belief that she can’t really control anything and isn’t responsible for her behavior since it’s not her fault she was put in a shitty situation in the first place. She doesn’t believe she had any choice but to be the villain. This is deeply rooted in her fearful and abusive upbringing where she had little to no control over what happened to her. A large part of that is how consequences didn’t match behavior, i.e. she wasn’t rewarded for being good and her punishments were overly harsh as well as inconsistent, affected by external factors.

There’s also the sunk cost fallacy to consider. That’s the idea that you have to get something out of your investments (of time, money, effort, etc.), even if the costs keep piling up. (In terms of money, think of people who gamble larger and larger sums of money out of determination to win back their initial bet.) For Catra, this fallacy has convinced her that if she changes course and gives up on her goals, then everything she suffered in the Horde and all the effort she put into moving up in the ranks would be for nothing. She thinks getting to the top and proving her worth/winning respect would be the ulitmate triumph. Of course, we see her struggle with disillusionment over this in season 4, which helps set the table for what we hope will be a redemption arc.

These are only two examples of the ways Catra’s abusive upbringing affected her ability to admit her mistakes. The effects of abuse (especially in one’s childhood) are pervasive, affecting your thought processes and perception of the world in a million little ways that are hard to undo. I’m going to dig deeper now into some of the other reasons Catra struggles with this. They include an authoritarian environment, scapegoating, toxic leadership, poor behavioral modelling, an exaggerated fear of punishment, and the resentment of injustice.

(Please note: in this meta I’m not trying to make excuses for Catra and say she should not have to accept responsibility for her mistakes because she was abused. My aim here is to explain why it’s so difficult for her to shoulder blame in hopes that people will better understand her.)

Also under the cut, I’m going to finish this meta by examining how Angella and Glimmer are foils to Shadow Weaver and Catra, how Glimmer had a better example set for her and has now set an example for Catra.

Authoritarianism, injustice, and fear

It’s important to understand that Catra was raised to believe that apologizing or changing course makes someone a weak person or, worse, a bad leader. As Adora says, displays of weakness are strongly discouraged in the Horde. And in an authoritarian, militarized environment like the Horde, admitting mistakes is seen as a sign of weakness. You will very rarely, if ever, see authority figures admit they were wrong, let alone try to make amends for it. And since rank/pecking order is so important in these environments, that behavior filters down because no one wants to be at the bottom.

Fact is, no one who was raised in the Horde is good at admitting they were wrong (except maybe Scorpia, but she’s Scorpia). Even Adora is bad at this. She takes on responsibility for everything and blames herself when things go wrong, but that self-flaggellating catastrophizing is not the same as critically evaluating one’s actions and their effects on other people. That in particular is something she struggles with.

This may be a problem in the Horde at large, but it’s even harder for Catra to admit her mistakes because she has been blamed for a lot of things unjustly, as well as bullied by her peers and abused by her superiors. Accepting blame for anything feels unfair because she has already suffered the consequences of many things she did not do. In her mind, hasn’t the world punished her enough already without humiliating her over the mistakes she has made? Her defensiveness makes sense, in this regard.

Not only do abuse survivors tend to be defensive and angry at the world for the unfair lot it gave us, we have a very hard time being vulnerable with anyone. Because what if they hurt us too? Admitting mistakes and accepting their consequences puts you in a very vulnerable position, and when you are used to being punished unnecessarily harshly and/or undeservingly, submitting yourself to someone else’s judgment is terrifying. These experiences (especially when they occur at a young age) wire people a certain way, make you constantly afraid even when there is no need.

Toxic leadership and poor behavioral modelling

Returning to the environment factor, where do you think Catra learned this behavior of shirking responsibility for her actions? Fact is, Catra never had anyone model to her how to say, “I was wrong, I’m sorry, and I will try to fix it.” Militarized environment or not, Shadow Weaver and Hordak aren’t the type of people who are willing to admit their own mistakes and failures. They come up with excuses or pass the blame off to other people, usually Catra. Whenever something goes wrong, Hordak blames it on Catra and all her “failings.” Whenever Adora disappointed, Shadow Weaver assumed it was because Catra was holding her back. Catra is their scapegoat. They do not apologize to her, acknowledge any harm they’ve done to her, or make any attempt to fix it.

This is especially true of Shadow Weaver, who raised Catra and was the main adult in her life throughout her childhood. Even when confronted with the damage she has done to Catra, she refuses to accept responsibility or acknowledge any wrongdoing. We have seen this in literally every season in which they interact. Catra is rightfully salty about her unjust treatment but Shadow Weaver brushes off her anger, making excuses or sidestepping the accusations.

In 1x10, Catra throws Shadow Weaver a bit of shade while comforting her after Hordak gives her a scathing lecture. Shadow Weaver immediately deflects with an insult before acknowledging her own behavior but not its detrimental effects or her responsibility for it.

Catra: Don’t worry about that thing with Hordak. I've got loads of experience being yelled at. Mostly by you, actually. You get used to it.

SW: I will not get used to mediocrity like you, and I certainly don’t need your pity! ...I was hard on you, I won't deny it, and I won't apologize. I just wanted to prepare you for the world. I wanted you to be strong.

In 2x06, Catra flat out confronts her about it, and she offers a justification for her behavior, still refusing to show any remorse. When Catra persists, she sidesteps it by responding to another part of her outburst.

Catra: Why did you treat me the way you did? Why was I never good enough for you? Really, I wanna know.

SW: Because you remind me of myself. You always have. Nothing was ever easy for me, either. I wasn’t born to power like Adora and... others. I had to earn my power, fight for it. Why should it be any different for you?

Catra: I was a child when you took me in! What could I have possibly done to deserve the way you treated me? I am nothing like you! You are old, and bitter, and weak!

SW: Ah, but you are like me. And just like me, you’re losing your position with Hordak, I can see that even from my cell.

In 3x04, Catra has all but lost hope, throwing shade and heavy accusations at Shadow Weaver. But she does make one last desperate plea for acknowledgment of the harm done to her, right before she’s hit by the crushing realization that she has once again been pushed aside for Adora. Here, Shadow Weaver doesn’t even react to the emotional content of Catra’s statement.

SW: Catra, there’s no need for us to be enemies. I can help you. I can offer you a way out.

Catra: So, what? You’re on the side of good now? You made me this way, and you get to be the good guy? Do you know what happened to me after you escaped? Do you even care? You couldn’t wait to get away from here, from me! ...But you came back for Adora.

SW: I came back to stop Hordak. I will make sure he’s destroyed. Don’t make me destroy you too.

Saying she came back to stop Hordak is sort of an excuse, but Shadow Weaver doesn’t say it like she’s trying to appeal to Catra, unlike the two earlier conversations. Once Catra rejects her offer (which we know is disengenuous, to boot) she doesn’t even bother pretending to care. Catra’s resisting her manipulation and is no longer someone she can use, so why bother?

Notably, this is right before Catra learns about the dangers of the portal (i.e. that she made a mistake when she resolved to open it) and tasers Entrapta for trying to stop her, then immediately doubles down on that mistake by sending her to Beast Island. She got one more example of refusing to acknowledge her mistakes or accept accountability right before she does it herself. The statement “Adora was right” definitely gets to her too, but she was already in an unhinged state after being tortured by Shadow Weaver, once again with no apologies. Just something to consider.

So, Catra came from this environment where she got blamed unfairly all the time yet never got any sign of remorse from the people who hurt her. As I alluded to above, in this kind of situation it’s really easy to slip into the mindset of “why should I apologize when no one ever apologized to me?” (Especially if you’ve been through a lot of forced apologies, which are always humiliating, but particularly so when you are being unfairly blamed.) This is not an easy cycle to break. When you have this constant sense of injustice weighing on you, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking the world owes you something as payback and therefore you shouldn’t have to try to better yourself or move past it.

This also ties into Catra’s obsession with getting a win when she is someone who seems fated to always lose, no matter what she does. It’s not just about getting back at Adora, it’s about settling her score with an unjust universe that has always given her the short end of the stick. It’s pride and indignation and pain all mixed up in one toxic soup that pollutes the minds of the abused, and it is not easy to get over. Watching Catra hopefully start to do that in the final 13 episodes is going to be incredibly cathartic.

Glimmer and Angella as foils and examples

Full disclosure, I am writing this meta partly in response to people shitting on Catra and acting like Glimmer is so much better than her after I made a gifset contrasting their reactions to realizing their mistakes. So, I want to finish by comparing all of these observations about Catra’s upbringing with Glimmer’s upbringing. Angella is by no means a perfect parent, but she loves her daughter and tries to do what’s best for her. Most relevant to this discussion, she’s willing to admit her mistakes or change her mind when presented with new information.

For instance, Angella flips at Glimmer over the invasion by the Horde soldier in 1x03, but once she learns said soldier is She-Ra she listens and puts faith in Glimmer’s judgment, despite her misgivings. In 1x10 (in a great parallel scene to the Catra/SW one mentioned above), Angella surprises Glimmer by caring more about her well-being than her mistakes, and she admits some of her own: she ordered the battle that got Micah ‘killed’, and she gave up on the first alliance. She literally says, “I am the one who failed.” And in 3x06, she sacrifices herself in an attempt to make up for all the times she failed to act and protect people she loves.

Angella has enough humility to admit her own flaws and consider other viewpoints, and she’s not afraid to change her mind or say she’s sorry. That set a much better example for Glimmer growing up than Shadow Weaver did for Catra and Adora. And now, Glimmer has set an example for Catra. When Catra is at her lowest in 4x13, drowning in her mistakes and self-hatred and wanting to die, Glimmer shows her that she too can change course and try to correct her mistakes.

Like, did you all see the look on Catra’s face when Glimmer says she can’t use the weapon and needs to try and stop it? When Glimmer gets up Catra follows her, because this is such a compelling sight to her, something she’s never seen before. It was almost like she was thinking, “Wait, you can do that? You don’t have to double down on your mistakes?”

This is something Catra has to see, not only for its novelty but because it could give her guidance, and hope. If Glimmer can change course and atone, maybe she can too.

#spop #she ra #catra #child abuse #meta #she-ra #catra and shadow weaver #catra and hordak #locus of control #sunk cost fallacy

946 notes · View notes

frywen-bumbles · 4 years

Text

No More, Please...

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Word count: 5739

More warnings and tags on AO3

Written for Whumtober 2020 prompt:

No 6. Please... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

"Geralt, you're back!"

"Run," Geralt grits through his teeth, stalking closer, his movements stilted, wrong.

"Don't be an idiot, you're obviously hurt, let me help." Jaskier steps closer, lifting his hand to help Geralt sit down. Or that was his intention. Geralt grabs his arm and flings him against a tree hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and before he can even take a breath a hand on his throat pins him to the tree.

"I told you to run," Geralt growls against his neck, nosing under Jaskier's ear, burying his face in Jaskier's hair. The stubble on his chin tickles and Jaskier tries to squirm away, only to be held tighter, a knee pressing between his legs and he can feel something hard against his thigh.

"Ah, Geralt, not that I'm not enjoying myself but what's going on? Are you hurt? Didn't we need to flee?"

"You..."Geralt growls and of all things Jaskier thought he would do, licking his neck was definitely not one. "Smell too good..."

"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries again, trying to push Geralt's hand away, only for him to hold on tighter, choking him, "Geralt, please, you're hurting me...?" he manages to wheeze as he hangs on Geralt's hand, trying and failing to push it away, panic creeping on him as the witcher stays as immovable as ever.

"This was a perfectly fine chemise, you brute!" Jaskier tries his best to be angry instead of scared but the panic starts to raise its ugly head as Geralt's hand travels down his bare chest gripping his waist hard enough to bruise. He's not one to deny lovers even if they want to be rough, but this is not Geralt.

Geralt is always gentle, minding his strength around normal people. Minding his strength around Jaskier, his touch soft, gentle, like he's afraid Jaskier would break. He would never hurt Jaskier, not intentionally.

"Ah...!" Kisses which are more teeth than lips pepper his neck, his throat, his cheek, his shoulder as soon as Geralt rips the offending fabric out of the way and it feels so good, Jaskier wants to sink onto this feeling clouding his thoughts.

But this is wrong. Something is wrong with Geralt and he can't ignore it even if the hands and lips on his naked skin make him want, make his skin burn with desire like nothing he has ever felt before, make him want to be devoured whole.

"G-Geralt... please, stop..." he whines and is rewarded with a bite strong enough to draw blood and the jolt of pain brings him back to his senses, the earlier panic raising its head again as he cries out in pain.

"Can't," Geralt grits out and licks the blood dribbling down Jaskier's throat and grinds on him, the silver studs of his armour digging into Jaskier's exposed skin and Jaskier shivers but not from arousal.

"Geralt, Geralt, please, talk to me, I'm really not into this and I would very much prefer if you'd let me go right this instant so I can run away as fast as I can just as you suggested, but plea- ahh!" His rambling is interrupted by Geralt pushing a gloved hand into his pants and squeezing his arse.

"Can't... a curse..." Geralt kisses up Jaskier's cheek and Jaskier knows, can feel the exact moment the witcher tastes the first tear on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I know you don't want me... you don't want this..."

"...I do. I do want you..." Jaskier admits, his voice barely a whisper. But he knows Geralt can hear him, can feel him relax just the tiniest bit. "...But not like this... please..."

"Can't..." Geralt chokes out, "can't stop... Thought I'd reach a whore house... but smelled you... I'm sorry..."

Geralt sounds pained, his hands still but his lips keep kissing every bit of skin he can reach like he can't be apart from Jaskier, from his smell, whatever that means. Jaskier can feel Geralt tremble with the effort of staying still, his rock hard cock rocking gently on Jaskier's hip and Geralt whines, a small pained sound. That's what breaks Jaskier, breaks his heart, breaks his resolve. No matter how scared he is, Geralt is in pain. And if there's anything he can do to help he will.

"...It's okay. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't." Geralt whispers in his ear, biting his earlobe, his sharp fangs grazing at the sensitive skin ever so gently.

"I know..." Jaskier draws a sharp breath when Geralt noses behind his ear and buries his face in his hair, "What would... what if you stopped?"

"Can't," Geralt grits through his teeth, "the smell of you drives me crazy... I can't control it... I thought you'd run and... almost lost it..."

"But whoever made the curse, they must have said something? Could I like, give you a blowjob and be done with it?"

"That bastard... wanted me to slaughter the entire village..."

"And instead you just what? Became horny? What the fuck? How does that even work?"

"Jaskier, please... I need... I'm so sorry, I can't... I don't want to hurt you... I feel like I'm losing my mind... Fuck...!" Geralt sounds needy, grinding against Jaskier, every muscle in his body trembling. And still, the hand which strokes Jaskier's cheek is gentle, wiping away the tears. A stark contrast to his other hand, gripping Jaskier's arse with need, pressing himself more firmly against the bard.

"If you could... there's oil in my bag... please..."

"You shouldn't..."

"Geralt you're literally holding my arse hostage. If we're doing this I'd much rather enjoy myself," Jaskier says with as much bravado as he can muster. It's not much. Especially when his voice wavers. He has no idea what he has promised himself into. But Geralt needs him, needs him more and more and who is he to deny him.

Geralt drags him to their bags, his hand curled firmly behind his neck, like an animal dragging its young where they belong and as much as Jaskier wants to touch Geralt, to ease the pain he seems to be in, he has priorities. He unlaces his trousers as fast as he can. They are very nice trousers, no need to ruin them just because some idiot cursed his witcher horny. He only hopes there's still something left of him after tonight to wear the trousers again, but that's a worry for the morning him, not the current him.

He barely has time to step out of the fabric pooling at his ankles before he's pushed against a tree, face first, and a generous amount of oil is poured over his arse. Geralt pins him against the tree and he can feel the witcher's massive cock press against his arse and he won't survive this. He can't even see but even feeling the cock against him tells him there is no way he'll walk away from this unscathed.

"G-Geralt...?" he tries, not daring to even hint at escaping, the witcher's earlier words clear on his mind. He will not survive if Geralt loses it. Even if being fucked to death sounds great in theory, that is no way how he wants to end his days, thank you very much. So he stays very still, trying to relax while a very large, very strong man grinds against him, intending to fuck him until whatever curse this is has run its course.

"I'm sorry..." Geralt whispers in his ear as he pushes Jaskier's legs together, his oiled cock slipping between them the same time a well-slicked finger pushes into his hole, too fast, too much and too little at the same time, the finger pushing deeper on every thrust of Geralt's hips.

"I'm so sorry..." Geralt whispers again, while biting his ear as another finger pushes in, working him open, stretching his slick hole and it feels good but also too much, and it's definitely too much when a third and then fourth finger slips into him, and Jaskier cries out but Geralt doesn't let up, doesn't slow down, but he apologises over and over again and Jaskier can't even reply, all he can think of is the stretch in his hole, of the fingers, the hand slipping in in-sync with the thrusts of Geralt's cock between his thighs.

Geralt bites hard down his shoulder, muffling his groan and Jaskier feels him spill on his thighs and he thinks he can get a moment but to his horror, Geralt stays rock hard even after all his seed has spilt.

"I'm sorry..." Geralt murmurs again as he lines his cock against Jaskier's hole and kicks his legs apart, spreading his cheeks wide and pours more oil. Geralt grips tight on Jaskier's hips so he couldn't run even if he wanted to and he sheaths his entire slick length in on one push and Jaskier cries out, digs his hand on the tree to hold onto something as Geralt slams into him again and again, his cock so hard and big fingers could have never prepared him enough even if they had more time.

It's too much.

Too much.

He can't take it.

He thought he could, but he can't. It's too much.

"Get it out, stop, please...!" Jaskier sobs, desperately trying to relax despite the onslaught, but Geralt only holds his hips tighter, pulls his ass up and fucks into him harder than anyone has ever before and growls.

In any other circumstances, Jaskier would find it hot. So hot. But now? Being devoured by a cursed witcher? He does not. It makes shivers run down his spine and Geralt must have felt it because the bruising grip he has on Jaskier's hips eases and he leans to kiss between his shoulder blades despite maintaining the brutal harsh rhythm.

"Can't... stop... sorry..." Geralt grits out and Jaskier feels as he trembles. This is not Geralt's fault, he reminds himself. Or tries to. But it's hard. Despite Geralt not being the cause of it, it's still Geralt's body holding him down, Geralt's cock slamming painfully hard into him and no amount of kisses on his back will make it better.

"G-Geralt it hurts..."

"I'm sorry... I'm trying... I'm so sorry..." Geralt sounds pained, sad and it breaks Jaskier's heart, but it hurts and he can do nothing but to try to stay still and hold onto the tree.

"Please... no more... please..." Jaskier pleads with every thrust but the onslaught just keeps going until finally after Jaskier doesn't even know how many pleases Geralt stiffens behind him and thrusts one last time.

Jaskier could cry. He thinks he does when he falls to his knees on the ground as soon as Geralt lets go of him. Geralt tumbles after him, turning his face towards him, hands on his cheeks, frantically wiping the tears still falling.

"Jaskier? Jaskier? I'm so sorry I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted this to happen, blame me all you want, I deserve it, I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry..."

Jaskier looks up, at golden eyes staring at him with pupils blown wide, worry and terror and guilt written all over his stoic face and he wants to do nothing but relieve those feelings but he can't. He can't, the horror of the situation is still firmly on his mind and he can feel himself tremble, the torn chemise bringing no warmth to his bruised skin and he hugs himself, willing to take any comfort he can.

"Is it over...?" Jaskier asks, his voice a hoarse whisper he knows Geralt can hear.

"...No. It isn't. This is all my fault. If I... if we survive this you'll never have to see me again."

"I... Geralt, that's not what I want. This is the fault of... of whoever made that curse... but please... I can't... not like that, not again, please... I could run now, be as far as I can before the curse takes a hold of you again... could I?"

"...No. It's... I could kill you if you run. Even the idea..." Geralt growls, a deep sound in his chest and he collects Jaskier in his arms, gently, carefully, but giving Jaskier no way to escape. "I can't... you should hate me..." Geralt buries his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier revels in the moment, just for a while, it feels safe to be held in strong arms, in the arms which have protected him more times he can count, in the arms of the man he has loved for so long.

The moment is all too short.

Jaskier can feel Geralt's cock poking at his thigh, ready for another round and Geralt holds him just a bit tighter, kissing his hair, drawing soothing circles on his back, hand securely over his chemise as he whispers, "I'm so sorry... I'll be gentle this time... as much as I can, I promise..."

Geralt lifts Jaskier carefully off the ground, grabbing the bottle of oil and lays him out on his bedroll. He slicks up two fingers and pours more oil on Jaskier's abused hole, massaging gently on the rim. Jaskier can feel every muscle in his body tighten, anticipating the pain sure to come. But Geralt leans forward and presses his forehead on his, hand flat on the bedroll beside Jaskier's waist and hushes him like a frightened animal and somehow it works.

Jaskier spreads his legs wider, giving Geralt more space to work and given how sore he is, it takes surprisingly little time for Geralt to insert one finger without any pain. Geralt loosens him gently, methodically and soon three fingers are in him, spreading him, preparing him for the onslaught sure to come.

Jaskier almost cries when Geralt's fingers leave him. They felt so good, so gentle and he was so relaxed, so turned on, but all good things must come to an end.

"Geralt..." Jaskier gasps when the witcher grabs his legs to spread them even wider and Geralt looks so pained, so guilty, his fingers pressing too tight on Jaskier's skin and Jaskier can see the sweat beading on the witcher's forehead, can see the painfully hard cock between his legs. "It's okay... I forgive you."

"You shouldn't..." Geralt murmurs and closes his eyes. "We don't have to... when you can see me. Or do it any way you can feel it's easiest to relax."

"This is alright, Geralt. Come here." Jaskier reaches his arms and Geralt falls into his embrace surprisingly fast. He trembles in Jaskier's arms, even when he lines his cock with Jaskier's hole and pushes it inside, slowly, only a little bit at a time before he pulls out again and with every slow, shallow, gentle push Jaskier can feel him tremble more and when finally, after what feels like an eternity, at least for Jaskier who is so slowly and carefully worked open, Geralt whines, a sound full of pain and restraint about to snap, his cock almost fully sheathed in Jaskier.

"Jaskier, Jaskier... I need... I'm sorry... I..."

"Hush, it's okay," Jaskier cups Geralt's cheek, trying to soothe him, trying to ease his guilt and Geralt grabs his leg, lifting it up under the knee, pushing deep, deep inside of him, and Jaskier cries out, the feeling somewhere between pain and pleasure and something seems to shift in Geralt who thrusts again, just as hard, just as deep making Jaskier cry out with every thrust.

"Geralt...! Geralt! Just a little slower, please, I can't... I'm..." he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, just that it's too much.

"I'll try... I'm so sorry... Jaskier..." Geralt soothes him, presses their foreheads together and pounds into him just as fast, just as hard and Jaskier moans, tears falling to his cheeks, his hard cock rubbing against Geralt's jerkin.

"Ah! Geralt... please... please...!" Jaskier's not even sure what he pleads, just that he needs, wants, desires.

"Can I..." Geralt starts but Jaskier grabs him, holds his cheeks in his palms, buries his fingers in Geralt's hair and tugs.

"What... what do you need?" Jaskier manages to choke out and opens his eyes to look at Geralt. The witcher looks guilty, sad, pained and it breaks Jaskier's heart.

"Can I... can I kiss you?" Geralt asks, so ready to be dismissed, to be rejected.

"Only... only if you really mean it... I can't... not if you don't mean it..." Jaskier says, not expecting anything to happen. But Geralt kisses him, desperate, passionate, like he wants, needs to devour Jaskier whole and he pulls Jaskier to sit up in his lap, still impaled on his cock and he holds Jaskier's hips still, pushing up, up incredibly deep, his lips never leaving Jaskier's lips, not even when he tangles his hand in Jaskier's hair and holds him still and there's not a hair's width between them and the silver studs dig into Jaskier's skin but he doesn't mind because Geralt is kissing him.

Geralt is kissing him and fucking so deep into him Jaskier feels like he'll lose his mind, like at that moment he would do anything Geralt asks of him, anything to make this moment last longer, to make Geralt his if just for tonight.

He has no words, no desire to speak, all he wants to do for eternity is to kiss Geralt, kiss Geralt until he knows nothing else and he whimpers, whines into the kiss.

Geralt pulls back like struck. "I'm so sorry..." he pulls Jaskier to him, burying his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier can hear his ragged breath in his ear even though all of the moans every thrust forces out of him.

"Geralt... Aah...! Geralt..." Jaskier moans and grasps Geralt's hair to tug him back, to look at him and he comes willingly, his eyes so full of guilt Jaskier can't take it. "Can I... a-ah! Can I take off your- Ah! Your clothes... It's awfully unfair... Ah! Unfair to be the only one... the only one naked...!"

While he is, in fact, not fully naked, the torn chemise still on his shoulders, he knows Geralt will not point it out. Instead, Geralt lets go of his hair and Jaskier hurries to hold his hands around Geralt's neck, as Geralt strips surely and efficiently and soon Jaskier can feel the witcher flush against him, his cock getting trapped between them as Geralt renews his hold, pulling Jaskier as close as he can.

Jaskier tangles his hands in Geralt's hair and kisses him fully on the lips, moaning into his mouth with every thrust and he's so close, so close.

Jaskier pulls Geralt's hair and he can feel the witcher tremble, a moan escaping his lips between kisses and Jaskier can't help himself. He reaches between them and takes his cock in his hand, stroking in sync with every thrust and he can feel Geralt lose it when he squeezes around the cock inside of him. Geralt grabs his hips and slams into him, holding him still in a bruising grip but Jaskier doesn't mind, all he can think about is the pleasure building inside of him, of the cock ramming into him, of the witcher kissing him, devouring him and he comes, spilling his seed between them, screaming.

Geralt doesn't let up, not even when Jaskier can feel cum drip from him with every thrust, the witcher holding him like his life depends on it. And maybe it does, Jaskier still hasn't got the slightest clue what the curse was about, only that whoever cast it wanted Geralt to murder an entire village.

"Geralt... Geralt... Geralt... I need... I need a break..." Jaskier begs, digging his nails in Geralt's shoulder, trying to hold on, to stay sane when every hard thrust hits him just painfully right, his body trying to respond in vain, the overstimulation making his eyes water and he cries out when Geralt tightens his hold, his teeth grazing his throat a low growl rising from deep within the witcher's chest.

"No..." Geralt growls, this time with words and sinks his teeth in Jaskier's throat, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and as hot as that is, as much as Jaskier has fantasised of those teeth in his throat, he cries out in pain.

Geralt looks up, startled, and Jaskier can do nothing else but to kiss the sadness, the guilt away from the witcher's lips, holding onto Geralt as best as he can even when he feels like everything is too much, too fast, too... everything and he knows he whines, whimpers into the kiss but still, despite that, despite everything he never breaks the kiss, not even when he feels Geralt stiffen under him and push into him the last few times and he could cry with relief.

Geralt all but collapses on the bedroll, Jaskier underneath him, all that's preventing the mountain of a man crushing Jaskier are Geralt's forearms beside his head, his elbows on the ground and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath on his face, small, fast puffs of air.

Jaskier looks up. Geralt's eyes are closed, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, his breath ragged like he'd run ten miles with a gryphon chasing him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks. Geralt doesn't answer, doesn't acknowledge him but Jaskier keeps going, "Geralt, are you alright?"

Geralt hums in response and shifts, his softening cock slipping out of Jaskier and collapses next to him, nuzzling his hair, an arm slung lazily over his waist.

Jaskier lies very still.

He doesn't dare to move, frightened he'll awaken the witcher from his slumber. His body feels like it's wrung dry, like he wrestled with a witcher... which he sort of did. Wouldn't mind doing again. But in very different circumstances.

A snore at his side startles Jaskier out of his thoughts and he dares to take a peek. Geralt looks peaceful. The light of the dying flames of their campfire illuminates his white hair, half of his gorgeous face and Jaskier can't help but admire him.

"I forgive you, my wolf..." he whispers, running his fingers whisper-light on Geralt's cheek. Geralt doesn't even flinch. He's deep asleep, more relaxed Jaskier has ever seen him. Even in his haze, Jaskier notes, Geralt has set himself between Jaskier and the forest, providing defence from whatever might lurk in these woods.

Valiant, Jaskier admits.

But tonight, the scariest thing lurking in the forest is the cursed witcher fast asleep next to him and despite what he wants to feel, Jaskier is scared, terrified, of what might happen if Geralt woke up again. Terrified of how long the curse will last, of what would end the curse.

He makes it to the other side of the camp, trousers barely on (after all one cannot run around the woods naked) before he's caught, tackled to the ground by a deadly silent attacker. He doesn't have time to scream, to protest, to make the terror freezing his body known before he hears a growl, a deep sound no human should be able to make, despite the clearly human hands holding him down by the scruff of his neck, despite the human hands ripping his trousers to his knees.

"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries, only to be responded with another growl and icy cold dread freezes him, tells him to run, to escape from the monster behind him and he tries.

Oh, how he tries, his fingernails chipping when he claws the ground, claws the hands holding him down, kicks behind him but it's all in vain.

"Geralt!" Jaskier tries again, desperate, but all he gets as an answer is a growl. "Geralt, please... please..." Jaskier begs, begs as his ass is hoisted up, begs as his cheeks are spread to reveal his hole.

"...Please..." it turns into a moan as a wet flat tongue licks him as if to taste.

"Please... please..." Jaskier begs, moans as he is slowly, meticulously licked, teased, fucked with a tongue, held firmly in place by strong hands and it feels so good.

Jaskier would rock his arse into Geralt's face, but he's locked in place, forced to take anything Geralt wants to give him and he whines, whines with fear, with lust, with frustration, with confusion all at once. He can't move to touch his aching cock but it doesn't matter because Geralt fucks his tongue into his hole and he comes undone, crying aloud as his cum spills to the dirt.

He doesn't even realise the witcher has moved behind him, too focused on his afterglow, on the pleasure still running through his veins and suddenly, it's too much.

"Geralt! G-Geralt no, it's too much... too much, I... I can't... I'm only a human... please stop, please, please... no more, please..." Jaskier knows he's blabbering, knows half of the words he's saying won't even make sense but he can't.

Geralt's knee is firmly between his legs, pushing them apart as much as the fabric of his trousers bunched at his knees allow, his cock already halfway in Jaskier's spit slicked hole, rocking back and forth, every thrust going in deeper, deeper until Geralt is balls deep in Jaskier and Jaskier cries out.

"Please, Geralt... please, please, get it out, I can't... I can't anymore... please..."

Geralt growls again, but this time, there are words, or at least a word, "Mine..."

"Yes...! Yes! I'm yours but I can't, it's too much...!"

Somehow, Jaskier buries his face in his arms to muffle his cries, his moans and whimpers and whines. To hide his shame and fear and confusion at the utter betrayal of his body, of his mind because he enjoys this, enjoys the rough hands on him, enjoys the borderline painful overstimulation and above all when Geralt called him mine he was sure he was losing it.

A hand on his hair tugs hard, pulls hard enough to force his head up from the safety of his arms and Geralt leans over him, bracing his weight on the ground, hand on the ground behind Jaskier's arm so he can't move and the new angle hits him just right, tears streaming down his face at the overwhelming pleasure, lust and when Geralt growls in his ear only a single order Jaskier is sure he will die.

"Sing."

Jaskier cries, moans, screams. Every sound he makes drives Geralt on, his cock slamming hard into Jaskier, hard and fast, the hand on his neck holding him tight enough he couldn't escape even if he tried, even if he wanted to.

"I'm yours... I'm yours... please... have mercy..." he begs and moans, Geralt's breath hot on his shoulder and he knows Geralt can hear him, can hear every plea, every affirmation, every sound he wrings out of him.

Jaskier doesn't even know what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, but he obeys his witcher, sings, until his voice is hoarse, until his body can't take it anymore, until everything turns black.

***

Jaskier wakes up, slowly, blinks his eyes open, trying and failing to understand what he's seeing. He's not in their camp. He's not in fact outdoors at all, but in a decent straw bed, in a warm house. A woman is sitting next to him, watching over him, but it's not her he wants to see.

The woman sees he's awake and points towards a corner.

Geralt.

Geralt sits in the corner, deep in meditation, no emotion visible on his face.

"Is he..." Jaskier's throat feels raw, the pain stabbing him with every word but he forces it down. He doesn't know what he wants to ask. Obviously, Geralt looks okay, looks unharmed.

The silence stretches on and Jaskier tears his eyes away from Geralt, to look at the woman. She has a frown between her brows and she looks sad as she pets his hair with gentle strokes.

"I can help you. Whoever did this to you, you can't go back to them. You were lucky the witcher found you and brought you here. I will give you everything you need and help you to leave, okay?"

"I... It's not like that..." Jaskier tries to deny, his voice rasping in his throat but the woman's eyes turn sharp.

"It never is. Until it is the next time. And the next."

Jaskier looks over at Geralt who hasn't moved an inch. But Jaskier can see he's no longer meditating, but listening to every word as carefully as if he were on a monster hunt.

"How long... how long do I have to stay?" he asks, dreading the answer. Sure Geralt is here now, but in an hour? Tomorrow?

"At least a couple of days. You took quite a beating, it'll take a while for you to heal."

"No, I need to..." Jaskier tries to get up, but moving hurts, hurts everywhere, in places he didn't know could even hurt, in muscles, he didn't know he had and cries out.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul you're here, no matter who comes to ask."

Jaskier isn't looking at the woman, his eyes are fixed on Geralt, who's standing up, eyes open and alert, silent as ever. The woman looks over at Geralt and frowns.

"Ease up, Witcher. He'll be fine."

"That's not..." Geralt starts but stops himself. He looks like he's searching for the right words, not sure what he needs to say. "Could I talk to him? In private?" He finally asks.

"I'll go get some food and painkillers for you, love," the woman pats Jaskier's arm gently. "I'm just over there, shout if you need anything."

Geralt looks as the woman walks to the next room, leaving the door ajar.

Jaskier doesn't even dare to hope, to wish for Geralt to look at him like he used to, with kindness and fond exasperation. And he isn't wrong. The short look Geralt gives him from the other side of the room is so full of guilt and fear Jaskier feels it'll suffocate him.

"...You stink of fear." Geralt says, never stepping closer. He isn't wearing his armour, only trousers and a shirt, swords laid against a wall.

"I'm not afraid of you," Jaskier says, more out of habit than anything. Geralt takes a step towards him and in an instant, his heart is in his throat, hands grabbing the blanket laid over him, feet kicking him further away from the witcher.

Geralt backs away and sits against the wall, as non-threatening as he can appear. It calms him. Despite him knowing it's all false, Geralt could leap at him in an instant and there would be nothing he could do, it still calms him.

"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier asks. Geralt closes his eyes and... slumps, covering his face with his hand.

"...I'll come back and pay Aniela after you're gone."

"That's not what I asked."

Geralt doesn't answer.

The woman, Aniela, Jaskier guesses, comes back with a bowl of stew and a vial of... something.

"Eat. And drink this, it'll take the edge off the pain. And hopefully, keep the nightmares at bay." She helps Jaskier sits up and places the tray on his lap, keeping a keen eye on him until he has eaten everything. It takes surprisingly little time for Jaskier to get sleepy, his eyelids heavy, but he doesn't want to close his eyes because when he'll open them up again Geralt will be gone.

"The witcher won't bother you, I assure you. He's as good as they come," Aniela assures him, "He saved you, brought you here. Wouldn't stop pestering me until I told him you'd be fine with some medicine and a bit of rest."

"Yeah... okay... good..." Jaskier mumbles, sleep threatening to overtake him. Aniela pets his hair and leaves again leaving him with Geralt.

"Geralt...?" Jaskier asks and untangles his hand from his blanket, "hold my hand?"

Geralt gets up and walks to him slowly, every step making a sound on the wooden floor. Jaskier can feel his heart hammering in his chest, fear tangling his insides in a freezing knot but still, he holds his shaking hand to Geralt who kneels at the side of his bed and takes his hand like it's the most delicate thing in the whole world.

"It's over, right?" Jaskier's voice sounds small in his ears but he knows Geralt can hear him just fine. He can't look Geralt in the eyes. It feels like too much, too soon. So he looks at their joined hands, focuses on Geralt's warm hand in his and tries to imagine everything is just like it used to.

"Yeah."

"And the... who did it..." Jaskier doesn't know how to ask. How to use words which is ridiculous because words are his thing, it shouldn't be this hard but it is. He doesn't know what to say, what to ask, every word feels wrong in his tongue, hurts his throat like poison.

"I'll take care of it."

"...Good." He doesn't have any other words. He doesn't even want to know. Whoever did this can choke on their tongue for all he cares. They deserve whatever Geralt decides to do and he won't ask.

"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier needs to know if it was real. If Geralt wanted to kiss him. He dares to look into Geralt's eyes, into the deep golden glow he loves so much it hurts. Geralt looks back at him, this time with gentleness and guilt and Jaskier can't help but feel frightened and hopeful, not sure which feeling is worse.

"...I did." Geralt admits. He holds Jaskier's gaze and Jaskier blinks to stay awake, to memorise this moment he thought he'd never get and smiles at Geralt, fear melting away one drop at a time and when Geralt reaches to pet his hair, slowly, giving him enough time to refuse he lets his eyes close, too tired and happy to fight it anymore.

"Go to sleep, Jaskier," Geralt tells him, voice gentler than Jaskier has ever heard.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Jaskier murmurs, voice already heavy with sleep.

"If you want me to be."

"I do."

***

Partially inspired by amazing art by @spielzeugkaiser in tumblr

Thank you @kazeetease for betaing!

@whumptober2020

#whumptober2020 #no.6 #Please...#the witcher #fanfic #rape tw #noncon tw #nsfwhump #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier

33 notes · View notes

leobashi · 4 years

Note

Consider.... Henrik is hired to make peace with a ghost who had been miserable their whole lives. They just kept digging that hole of misery deeper and isolating themselves from everyone who cared. They died, cold and alone, and they regret never truly being happy. Henrik has to make them laugh, to show them there's still good times even if they are consumed by sorrow, to help them move on.

He often doesn’t deal with getting rid of the spirit. He is the middle man, most of his work consisting of doing all the necessary background research like interviewing people or searching up old city records. Investigations are only to confirm who or what he should be looking into. He can confirm what spirits are there and possibly why in order to make it easier for the next person to determine the best method to get rid of them. He collects evidence and complies it. He can do a basic exorcism, but stubborn spirits are the ones he won’t deal with. He has connections to churches, mediums, and shamans who can get rid of the spirits and he passes the case onto them, giving them all the research he did. He determines if they even need to be called.

He is however usually the first to deal with the spirits. He might be the first to truly interact with the spirits after so long so this has led to a lot of different interesting situations.

Most are usually very confused, stuck in a time loop and not fully understanding that they are dead. Henrik tries his best to act of that time so as not to freak the spirit out. If they do get suspicious of him, he will just say that he’s an immigrant and pretend that his “strange behavior” is because he’s from Germany. This is all in the US btw. The spirit usually buys it. The accent sells it. It was difficult when he ran into an actual German immigrant, but it’s only happened once. Also, spirits who lived through WWII don’t take very kindly to him. That’s just the reality of it and he tries to make those investigations quick.

Other spirits that do know that they’re dead will probably get clingy to him. He can see them, hold a real conversation with them. They crave that so they’ll follow him, but they are limited by what they are attached to. I mentioned before that there are lost souls who don’t attach to anything and become formless blobs that move to the great beyond. These spirits that Henrik meets are ones who are too attached to something still on the mortal plane so they keep their shape. They usually attach to an object, person, or place. Knowing what they are attched to can be helpful for freeing the spirit and allowing them to move on.

If Henrik ran into a spirit like that, they are most likely attached to their regrets. It weighs on them like a chain and keeps them in the place where they passed. He finds out that the only way for this spirit to pass is to resolve the issues that they had when they were living. Maybe this case doesn’t need to be passed on to someone else. Maybe he can deal with it here. He talks to them, starts a conversation, and already it seems to lift their spirits (HA). It ends up being one of his longest investigations, lasting through the entire week. Although he has to leave to rest, he comes back again to continue where they left off. He helps them come to terms with what they did in their life and it leaves an impact on Henrik. The spirit is content when they realize that, they changed someone’s life. It’s enough for them. They detach and start to lose their form. They’re ready to let go.

#idk about henrik tho #probably wasnt an easy process for him #hes not great with death #but what about this?#a spirit moving on?#hmmm #ghost hunted au #ask #anon

33 notes · View notes

iwantutobehapppier · 4 years

Text

So You Made Some Bad PSA’s

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve’s continuing embarrassing behavior towards and about you deserved equal punishment right? Maybe showing Bucky the PSA’s Steve did a while ago wasn’t such a good idea. Super Soldiers never half-ass anything.

Warnings: Just cursing and some implied violence I guess? Pinning? Once saw something that said aggressively continues to ignore canon, yeah sames.

Word Count: 4,280

A/N: I was watching the Rappin With Cap videos on youtube and wondered how much crap Bucky would give Steve if he found out about them. I hope this is as funny of an idea as I thought it was. Tagging my lovely waifu @sagechanoafterdark who said she didn’t know she needed this until I brought it up. Hope you enjoy lovely.

"You need to calm down," Steve's snooty tone only fueled the flustered feelings he had brought. By now you were red from your chest to your ears with embarrassment. With a huff, you spun on your heels and left him dumbstruck.

"It's not that big of a deal!" He called out only digging himself deeper into the proverbial hole.

You had never been so embarrassed in your life!!

“Self-righteous asshat,” you grumbled making your way to the gym to blow off steam instead of slapping the aforementioned asshat. Who said things like that around mixed company? What that man lacked with tact he held a surplus of righteousness.

Shoving the gym doors open you missed how your entry caught Bucky’s attention, sitting up on the bench press.

When you made a straight shot to the punching bag muttering "Star-Spangled douche" Bucky's suspicion of your explosive entry into the gym was confirmed.

Watching you wrap your hands he lifted a brow picking up the soft "Captain No Ass America". He laid back down and returned to his nearly maxed barbell, decidedly steering clear from your unpleasant mood.

The gym would have been peaceful for Bucky’s much-needed energy-burning exercise except all he could focus on was your insistent mutterings coupled with the sound of air rushing from gloves as you hit the bag with all the weight of your body.

You were all consumed in imagining Steve’s stupid face on the bag were you fists landed that when Bucky called your name out you jumped back startled.

“What’s got ya’ so riled up little spitfire?” Bucky’s arms crossed over his chest as he watched you in amusement. There was a multitude of things his punk of a friend did this time to jostle you so much. He was never good with dames.

“Your friend has no tact,” Bucky could only nod in agreement. “He doesn’t think before he opens that stupid perfect mouth of his!” He ignored the perfect part but certainly cataloged it for future proof of the fact you two were into each other. Which is often the cause of these semi-occasional fits.

“Has no regard for how embarrassing he can be sometimes,” you drug the palm of your hand across your face in exhaustion of both Steve and the energy you exhumed on the punching bag.

“Ya’ know how to get back at him right?” You looked at Bucky from between your fingers with growing curiosity.

“Embarrass him,” he pulled his arms out far “And I mean BIG time.” Bucky continued on. “I’m talking ‘bout something that will last for a good while.”

“I love the punk, but he never learns unless he gets a taste of his own medicine.” Bucky knew that wouldn’t really resolve the situation if anything it’d make the tension between you two worse but he was willing and giddy to watch this escalate.

You stood there mulling his idea around in your head. What on earth could you do that would sufficiently and irrevocably embarrass Captain America? The man ran around in star-spangled leotard for years. What could possibly be more embarrassing than the less than flattering renditions of his uniform?

And then it hit you.

“Hey, Bucky?” You questioned with a saccharine voice most men should fear coming from a woman’s ire. Buck raised an eyebrow in question.

“You ever see the PSA’s Steve did?” Bucky’s eyes lit up with uncontained wonder.

~*~

Steve sat in the group kitchen eating one of the many grilled chicken breasts and vegetable platters you had prepared for him to reheat later. Debriefing for the next mission was in a few hours and he hadn’t seen you or Bucky all day. You tended to stay to yourself in the mornings but Bucky would normally meet him in the gym after Steve’s morning run.

But last night you and Bucky had been up late together. In your room. With the door closed. Not that Steve walked by or anything. He definitely didn’t walk by 5 times within one hour. No, not him.

Steve couldn’t figure out which was worse, the fact you were in your room late with Buck or the fact you two spent most the night laughing endlessly. Honestly, Steve was more than hurt that he wasn’t invited to whatever fun-filled evening you two had. He knew you were upset with him but normally you’d go to the gym or run around the lake on the compound grounds and come back later. He would apologize, not sure what most the time but he knew he felt bad for hurting your feelings.

If he was honest, and Steve Rogers prided himself on his honesty, he did like watching your ass bounce when you walked away, upset or not.

As if his thoughts manifested the two of you, you both walked in whispering and giggling.

“What are you two conspiring about?” Steve couldn’t help as one side of his lips lifted, he did enjoy seeing Bucky bonding with people and if it was with you even better. You were after all one of the sweetest people Steve knows.

You and Bucky stopped talking, looking at Steve in a way that made him squirm in his chair. Specifically, the disconcerting look Bucky directed at him.

“Steve, what would you say is the toughest enemy you ever faced?” Bucky’s question confused Steve more than he could say. What was he getting at? His tone sounded more rhetorical than inquisitive.

“Well Buck, I don’t know,” He answered. Bucky stroked his chin with his metal thumb and forefingers.

“Oh, you wouldn’t say its tooth decay?” He grinned back at his dear friend since childhood enjoying the torture he was going to surely bring upon him.

Fear, unrelenting fear and embarrassment struck Steve to his core. Suddenly the two of you laughing so much made sense. His face paled and eyes narrowed in on you, but the innocent face you played so well failed to hide what he knew happened.

“Please. Buck. No,” Bucky’s grin turned maniacal at the soft blush now growing on Steve’s cheeks. “Oh, Steve yes!”

Before Bucky could start back up Steve went on the defense.

“I thought it would be helpful, remember the PSA’s in the theatres?” Desperation for his friend to understand and drop this clear in his voice.

“Yeah, they were stupid you bozo and so are these.” Bucky turned his gaze to you leaned against the kitchen island watching the exchange between the two of them. This was solid gold, and only going to get better if Bucky’s words of encouragement earlier held any truth.

“I really need something to give me an edge for today’s debriefing.” Bucky began again. Steve could feel his face turn red with every passing moment. His best friend was never going to drop this.

“I know just what you mean Buck.” You chimed in, Steve turned his head down. Did you two find them together? Did you know about them and show them to Bucky?

“Can you make me a hot lunch Steve?” Bucky faced his good ol’ pal once more, rubbing his stomach for emphasis.

“Yeah, a well-balanced diet keeps your body healthy.” You rested your chin in the palm of your hand, eyes bouncing between the two Super Soldiers. Steve raised his head back up, his blank face directed at Bucky.

“Tell us about the food pyramid so we can find that balance we need,” Bucky could feel his cheeks start to hurt. The tortured look on Steve’s face while small was enough for him to pick up on and it was everything Bucky needed.

“Bucky please,” Steve lamented but Bucky would have none of it.

“Isn’t this like that stupid Bonds selling they had you do back in the war?” Buck accused.

“This was different, it was for the kids.” Bucky nodded his head,

“Right, right the kids,” Bucky paused “Did you even read it before they started filming?”

If Steve’s face could get any redder it would have. “Listen I didn’t totally understand it, but I was assured it was for the kids.” Before Steve could suffer any more embarrassment he abandoned his meal and the kitchen.

“Also why was it called ‘Rappin with Cap?” Bucky called out to Steve’s retreating figure. “Missed opportunity for Rappin’ with Cappin’. Who do I talk to get that updated?” Steve threw his hands up in exasperation continuing his retreat.

“Buzz off jerk!” He hollered back at Bucky.

“What would the kids think, Steve?!” You and Bucky laughed, your sides ached double time from the work out they got last night from all the laughing then.

“Ah that was good, he was definitely embarrassed.” You smiled at Bucky wiping some tears in the corner of your eyes. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“Oh, we’re far from finished.” You blanched, you suddenly felt precarious about the continued punishment. You knew Steve needed to learn the lesson, Bucky had assured you it would work. But you were losing confidence in continued torture as Steve’s face of embarrassment resurfaced in your mind.

“How long were you going to carry this on?” You muttered chewing on your bottom lip.

“I don’t know probably until it stops being funny.” His side grin did nothing to ease your worry about how much Steve would suffer through this.

“Which will be never.” Bucky chuckled going to the fridge for some lunch. “You want anything?”

~*~

Bucky sat across from Steve eyeing him during the customary post-mission group meal. Wanda sat next to him while Nat and Clint posted up at the end of the table. Bruce and Tony at the other end discussing the level of science others could barely understand.

You were finished loading up a plate of food about to find a spot on the large meeting table turned into the dining table when Bucky’s voice carried over loudly in the room.

“Ya know,” Bucky leaned back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the floor. “This mission went really well, we all followed the rules.”

Steve lifted an eyebrow at Bucky’s words trying to discern the trajectory of this out of character comment.

“Wouldn’t you say so, Steve?” Bucky looked at Steve biting the inside of his mouth to stop his smile. Steve jaw ticked, he understood now. Everyone at the table was looking between the two of them.

“Yeah Buck, the mission went well.” The blonde’s gritted out between clenched teeth.

“I mean the only way to be cool is to follow the rules. Right Cap?” Tony chortled at Bucky’s words quickly picking up on what was occurring. Of course Tony had seen the videos too.

“Steve, weren’t you a war criminal?” Bucky couldn’t hide his smile any longer, glancing at you then back to Steve causing the Blonde Soldier to look your way. You covered your smile with your free hand, holding your plate with the other.

“Bucky,” His tone anything but indulgent to Bucky’s antics.

“You must not be that cool, way to break ALL the rules, Cap.” Steve palmed his face with one hand and gave an exasperated breath.

You sat down next to Steve and began to eat just as Steve stood up. Taking his unfinished plate he began to leave the meeting room.

“Hey, punk!” Steve turned his head towards Bucky, everyone watching the exchange between the two Super Soldier brothers still.

“Since ya break so many rules,” Bucky paused “Know where I can get some illegal fireworks?”

“For fucks sake Bucky,” Steve walked out after that.

"Language!" Tony quipped, Steve’s shoulders sagged as he exited.

~*~

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since you unknowingly unleashed Bucky hell on Steve.

Sure the two of them picked on each other and often lead to heated words but it would always dissipate with ease. This was a whole other level.

Maybe, if there hadn’t been SO MANY videos for Bucky to antagonize his best mate with it would have stopped by now. As it where Steve did more PSA’s than he remembered and every time Bucky had the chance, he brought them up. In subtle and not so subtle ways.

Steve’s face was either red with embarrassment or rage when Bucky was in the room. Most times he stomped out, others Bucky left laughing the whole way out of the room.

You had been staying out of it, for the most part, being a bystander like the rest of the Avengers. Unlike the rest of the avengers though, you were always left with this rock in the pit of your stomach knowing you were solely responsible.

Entering the debrief room you noticed everyone was there assigned to the upcoming mission except your righteous leader, Steve.

“Anyone know where Steve is?” You voiced your concern, he was never late to debriefing in the entire time you’d been an Avenger. FRIDAY answered before anyone else in the room could address.

"I've been advised to inform you that Captain Rogers will not be attending any meetings that include Sergeant Barnes until he refrains from goading Captain.” As the AI spoke your eyes cut to Bucky with a pleading look.

This had to stop.

Walking right out of the room you made a beeline for Steve’s office, the Winter Soldier hot on your trail. When Bucky’s hand made to open the door to Steve’s office you swatted at it glaring up at him as you knocked on the solid door. Bucky rolled his eyes at your etiquette.

“Come in,” Steve paused, “Unless it’s Bucky.” he continued. You stuck your tongue out at Bucky before entering the room and shutting it behind you and locking.

Steve looked up raising an eyebrow at the locking, his face a little flush at the potential implication.

“Bucky,” You explained and he nodded face sullen.

“I wanted to apologize Steve.” You started and he raised his hand up to stop you but you ignored him.

“Had I known how far and long Bucky would take this I would have shown him maybe only one or two videos.” Steve frowned. “Definitely not all of them.”

“Well thank you for that apology,” His deadpan delivery less than stellar for the rock still sitting in your stomach. He stood up and reached past you to unlock the door. You couldn’t help but breathe in his cologne and the smell that was uniquely him.

With Bucky and Steve avoiding each other leading to Steve avoiding you, you had almost forgotten how wonderful he smelt. You also had not been on the receiving end of his embarrassing lack of tact with the subsequent avoidance but you had forgotten that too at the moment.

“I really am sorry,” You muttered out, Steve stalled opening the door at the remorse in your voice. He said your name with a sigh, his breath fanning against your face your body hair breaths away, his hand lingering on the door handle. The warmth of his body could be felt even through your clothing.

This sensation was a reminder of all the times you two would spar, trying hard to ignore how well he felt against you, instead of focusing on winning a match against the perfect soldier. You had to ignore it, after all, he was your Captain, and you were just you.

“I know you are, but you did it none the less.” The finality in his words made it clear your apology was not accepted and you really couldn’t blame him with how far Bucky had taken this.

Finally opening the door Steve’s eyes narrowed in what could only be described as a death glare to the chaotic soldier behind you.

“Bucky,” you turned around as Steve addressed him as you made your way out of the room.

“Steve,” Bucky mimicked the serious tone Steve gave, only his face held that Cheshire cat smile unlike Steve’s.

Before either of them could startup you attempted to mediate. “Come on Soldiers, we’ve got a debriefing to attend.” Grabbing Bucky by his metal arm you tugged him along, fearing rejection from Steve if you attempted the same.

~*~

Bucky had been away on a mission with Natasha for the past month and Steve had enjoyed the much-needed reprieve from his friend’s torture. He was hoping the passing of time would wear off the novelty of teasing. Steve ever the optimist.

Bucky was catching up with you in the hall after finishing his debriefing jokingly scolding you for not carrying on his torture.

“Come on, he’s almost learned his lesson.” Bucky elbowed your arm smirking at you.

“I don’t think this is a lesson by fire situation anymore. Maybe it never was going to work leaving you to deal out the punishment.” You folded your arms over your chest settling your narrowed eyes on the brown-haired chaotic neutral incarnate.

“It’s all in good fun,” Bucky justified, knowing full well he was pushing his luck with Steve. He was sick of Steve’s silence regarding his feelings for you and if he could punish him for the mounting sexual tension he had to suffer between the two of you then he’d deal it out on the regular.

Steve caught the sight of the two of you and couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips when you flagged him over.

“Hey Steve,” you greeted his dopey smile contagious. Steve nodded his head towards you before looking at his friend.

“How was it, Buck?” He inquired and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Come on man you can read it in the reports you make me fill out,” Steve returned the eye roll.

“Are you joining Bucky and me for movie night?” You inquired with hope towards Steve, wanting to prevent any escalation between the two as well. Maybe a peaceful movie night would help the damage you did with those videos.

Steve scratched the back of his head starting to stumble on his words. Bucky couldn’t stop himself, well he’s sure he could but why would he when his friend was starting to make a fool of himself.

“Do you feel an itch, Steve?” Steve’s hand froze at Bucky’s words. His face falling at this line of conversation. Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

“I hate you so much Buck,” Bucky’s Cheshire cat smile returned with a vengeance, your brows rising in confusion. What was? No Bucky wasn’t doing it again?!

“You could have lice,” Bucky’s tone a face concern.

“Bucky stop,” Steve’s tone dangerously calm.

“Stand up and be a hero Steve.” Before Bucky could start his signature peals of laughter at his friend’s embarrassment, he blew up.

“That’s enough!” Steve’s face turning red. This was the limit, apparently. He pointed at Bucky then swung the accusatory finger towards you, “I don’t know what I did to deserve the two of you ganging up on me like this.”

“Com’on Steve this isn’t on her,” Bucky interjected, wanted to take the heat off you. His plan wasn’t going to work if Steve lumped you in with his anger. “I was gonna find those videos eventually,” Bucky went to your defense but it was unnecessary as the dope had hit a nerve.

“You don’t know what you did to deserve this?!” Steve was incredulous. How could he be so daft to his actions?!

“You say the dumbest things to me.” Your hands gestured around wildly “And in front of me about me at the worst times!” You took a step towards Steve whose fire was being dampened by your growing temper. “Embarrassing the crap out of me in front of staff or even the team!”

You nearly blew a gasket at how bewildered Steve appeared. “I didn’t know I did that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” His eyes narrowed at your growing condescension. “Because you don’t pay attention to how your words affect others!”

Bucky watched the two of you with what was at first amusement but rapidly turning to worry when Steve squared his shoulders. You both had tempers known to be nuclear when opposing.

“Don’t pay attention?!” Steve threw his hands up in the air, the loud clap sound of them falling to his sides at his words make you flinch. “All I do is give you my undivided attention.” His gaze levels on you, both of you oblivious to your audience.

“For years.” Steve’s voice strained, trying to express what he longed to say without actually having to put himself out there.

“Wait, what?” You shook your head now you the one befuddled between the two of you, his words washing away your indignation.

“Where has that gotten me huh?” Your confusion only fueled Steve. Of course, you don’t understand what he was trying to say. Steve was pas the point of reasoning now.

“My best friend seeing some of the most ridiculous things I did freshly out of the ice,” his eyes darting between the two of you, “And you two exploiting it!” Taking a deep breath closing his eyes Steve tried to calm the storm inside him.

You took a step away clutching your chest at the venom he spewed. How fast a playful way to take self-righteous Steve Rogers down a few pegs put you on the top of his shit list.

“Steve-” You started only to stop and try again. “I-” Steve’s eyes snapped open narrowing on you fumbling your words, hands wringing in front of you.

“JUST STOP!” You let out a soft yelp at the volume his voice hit. “You’ve done enough don’t you think?!”

You wanted to defend yourself but thought better of it. Nodding your head you walked off with short paced steps to escape.

Steve watched your retreating figure, face softening with each step you took. He went to follow you but stopped himself. He had made enough of a mess. Looking at Bucky he groaned at the disappointment written all over his face.

Without another word, he left Bucky alone in the hall seeking solace from his embarrassing temper tantrum.

~*~

Bucky entered Steve’s office without knocking, he assumed if Steve truly didn’t want to be bothered he could have easily locked the door or had FRIDAY bar anyone from entering.

Steve sat with his head in his hands, taking in deep breaths trying to find some kind of solution to the problem that ever was you.

“So you acted like an idiot because you don’t know how to talk to women?” Steve looked up at Bucky’s words and held back the desire to flip his desk right at him. Bucky had turned the chair across from his desk around and was straddling it facing him. Arms crossed over the top of the backing. Just like he did in those stupid videos. Videos you had watched countless times by now.

“Buck,” Steve’s strained voice conveying enough to Bucky but not enough to get him to sit properly in the chair. “Please leave it alone.”

“Listen, man, I’m serious. You suck at women.”

“Gee, thanks, bud.” Steve looked down at his desk in defeat.

“You’re welcome.” Bucky knocked on the table. “Now what are you going to do to fix this?” Steve scoffed raising his head up to face his longest friend.

“Why do I have to fix it?”

“Because you yelled at her,” his words full of disbelief, Bucky was almost in awe at Steve’s inability to at least learn a few things about women without him around to get him a pity date.

“If she hadn’t-” Bucky raised a hand to get Steve to stop before he even started.

“Lemme’ stop you right there punk,” Steve’s deadpan stare did nothing to stop him. “You and I both know this is way beyond me picking on you about some PSA’s.”

“I think its got a lot-”

“Just because you’re all buff doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if you don’t shut up,” Bucky flexed his metal arm, the whirling of metal cogs warming up filled the office, clearly, he was intending to make good on his threat.

“Fine,” Steve was done fighting for the day. “What’s this about then?” His arm gesturing across his desk for Bucky to continue sans interruption.

“You love her,” Buck was impressed at how quick Steve’s face reddened.

“You hate that she’s been spending all this time with me,” Steve went to argue before he could get a word in Bucky raised an eyebrow rolling his left shoulder back.

“My silence doesn’t mean agreement.” Steve just didn’t want his office wrecked or the rant Tony would give him for the cost of repairs.

Bucky huffed rolling his eyes, “Man, what does she even see in you?”

“What?”

“Come on, you two can’t be this oblivious?” Buck leaned forward pushing until the chair only had two legs on the ground and he was leaning over Steve’s desk keeping eye contact.

“You two are hopelessly into each other,” Steve sat up straight shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s sickening really,” Bucky leaned back the chair slamming back to the ground and groaning at the abuse.

“How can you tell, are you sure she likes me?” Steve’s words jumbled in his mouth

“Don’t do that thing, bozo,” Bucky crossed his arms in front of his chest “Where you act all ‘oh she likes me’” He pulled his metal hand out and pointed at Steve, “Just go get her.”

Steve stood up with gust and left his office with the same level of energy.

Bucky stuck his head out the office door threshold.

“Don’t skim on the human reproduction lessons!” Steve chose to ignore his friend’s taunt, determination written on his face. He’d spent plenty of time thinking and talking about all of this. It was time for action.

#steve x reader #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #Steve Rogers #bucky gotta give steve crap #wouldn't you #come on steve #mcu #marvel #captain america #Winter Soldier #captain america x reader #but really its about Bucky terrorizing his ol pal #fanfic

305 notes · View notes

marsandchariot · 3 years

Text

Some thoughts on the natal chart of Heaven’s Gate

William Lilly (b. 1608) popularized the natal chart as a reflection of the individual, but ancient astrology was utilized more as a lens for global (relatively speaking) events like war, agricultural cycles, weather, and the longevity or character of royal dynasties. I love looking at charts in general but I especially enjoy thinking about events’ inceptions as individual narratives that are socially metabolized. Stories jump out of event charts differently than they do from individual charts. If you are someone who considers your own birth chart or the charts of others, make sure also to explore the dates of different events in your life (books, films etc are also fun to examine in this way). Any moment you select is subject to the same archetypal cast of symbols as is an individual life.

This is a bit Aquarian in the idea that we can examine the social through a zooming out from or the collapsing of individual psychologies into macro, mythic surfaces. In keeping with Aquarian themes, I watched a bit of the new Heaven’s Gate doc last night. I wouldn’t say I’m fascinated by cults etc etc, but I can’t help responding to a birth time, and Heaven’s Gate has one! For me this is an ideal reading, where most of what I know about Heaven’s Gate is largely through osmosis. It wasn’t until after watching some of the first episode that I learned that the buildup to what we consider the culminating event was actually ~20 years in the making. I have not studied the progression of--or figures central to--the movement. Some people do their best work when they are immersed in research of a subject; I myself tend toward flash or impressionism, so I want to capture this phase before I continue watching the documentary.

RISING NEPTUNE IN SAGITTARIUS

I’m thinking of this placement less as a moment of inception (the way we might read it in the chart of an individual, as the experience of separation from the body of the parent, becoming a discrete entity) and more descriptive of the way we might encounter the cultural phenomenon of Heaven’s Gate at first glance. It may feel rooted in occultism or obscurity—Sagittarius carries notions of philosophy, education, intellectual magic; I’m thinking of The Magician card and its depiction of a single figure controlling all the elements, convening heaven and earth in their alchemical process of discovery. We often characterize movements as centering around a single idea, or a powerful persona, as with Charles Manson or Jim Jones, but there is always a larger atmosphere to examine. Neptune asks us to look beyond superficial characterizations of events in order to understand their mundanity in equal measure to their mystique. Foucault refers to all research as archaeological in that it is a type of unearthing or excavation, a making-sense of objects that may no longer exist and so deliver not direct answers but different articulations of fragmented meaning. What is important too is that Neptune may represent the illusion of origins and root causes. From Stalker (1979), “I dig for the truth, but while I do, something happens to it.” Obscurity is not dispelled, but re-oriented.

CAPRICORN MOON IN 2ND HOUSE opposite SATURN IN CANCER, 8TH HOUSE

We might think of the moon as the id or the unconscious. Liz Greene describes the difference between the sun and the moon as the difference between aspiration and unconscious emotional need—the former describes an active mode of attainment or embodiment, while the latter is a pulsing lack to which one cannot help but respond. The moon is in detriment in Capricorn, in mutual reception with Saturn, who also experiences detriment in Cancer. This opposition is uncomfortable—the emotional needs are difficult to meet. This difficulty may describe the dispositions of those drawn to the Heaven’s Gate movement; Cancer in 8th may describe one who doesn’t feel “at home”—like the Gnostic subject, who pledges allegiance to the god of an entirely different realm, and must suffer alienation in this realm as a result. The moon’s placement speaks to an unsettled sense of self, a need to strive or work toward a comfortable psychological situation. This moon does not “have enough”—not necessarily in a material sense, but they do feel dispossessed, as if their history and culture do not belong to them, or they do not belong to the history they have been given.

ARIES JUPITER IN 5TH HOUSE

The 5th house speaks to creation, production, a making manifest. What Heaven’s Gate purported to give was a way forward—a strategy, a directive. It doesn’t take particularly complex analysis to guess that for the emotionally listless or dislocated, this resolve would have been seductive. Joan Didion’s collection, The White Album (1979), describes this generation far more incisively and expertly than I will attempt to do here; instead, picture the Aries Jupiter as striding confidently forward without fear, of translating subjective experience into universal understanding, resulting in decisive action. This was not just an idea, but a way to manifest one’s presence in the world; not just about joining a collective, but about using the language of collective experience to articulate higher individual selfhood.

GEMINI MARS IN 7TH TRINE LIBRA MERCURY + PLUTO IN 11TH

With two Geminis exiting the White House next month, it feels important to acknowledge the more toxic stereotypical Gemini qualities at play in tearing the country apart for the last four years (though of course the foundation for such a conflict is deeper-rooted and further-reaching than a single presidential term, as it is unrealistic to attribute the momentum of such movements to simply a demagogue). The Trump argument for a stolen election is one element of what has been described as “mass political disinformation.” Gemini cares less about the truth, and more about how a truth is expressed; less about the effectiveness of an idea, and more about being pleased by its shape. And they won’t be pinned down, held to anything they’ve previously said, if in some later context that thing no longer serves them (if you watch enough Bob Dylan interviews you’ll see what I mean—don’t ask him about folk music, don’t ask him what he believes, don’t ask him where he’s from—if you never tell the truth, then it’s almost like you’re never really lying, you’re just saying things, creating momentum through language).

We can see this stereotype on the one hand as, yes, members of Heaven’s Gate were lied to and manipulated. Gemini’s ruler, Mercury, is a slick operator in Libra. Libra quells doubt, seals holes, soothes unease—all the dynamics involved in the appearance of equilibrium or social harmony. We can see Mercury’s conjunction with Pluto as the god of communication acting in service to the god of death. The rhetoric of Heaven’s Gate is designed to ease its members toward radical sacrifice. The 11th house speaks to communities, groups, friends—the social world, and, in this case, social organization and purpose.

The 7th house is the house of the Other, and is where we may look in an individual’s chart to read their close 1:1 relationships. It would have been important for Heaven’s Gate to discredit the friends and families of their members, to emphasize that these are the people that the members should no longer trust and confide in. The Gemini stereotype here, of manipulation and dishonesty, is projected onto the Other—a Them—to consolidate the self, an Us. Mars here makes the disconnection from loved ones particularly dramatic. Mars wants to cut, to define, to separate; it is the individuating act. It is also worth mentioning Lynn Bell’s description of Mars as the protector of the moon, of the unconscious; if the moon feels threatened, it is Mars who steps in and takes over. If an increased involvement in Heaven’s Gate results in members’ loved one’s questioning their involvement, then it is the deep-seated sense of alienation (the moon) that is heightened, ameliorated by a severing of ties (Mars). If Gemini speaks to duality or two-ness, Mars is about making that division manifest.

LEO VENUS IN 9TH

The 9th House in Hellenistic astrology represents temple work or religious duties, and so for readings of individuals alive today we typically adapt this meaning to describe academic or professional institutions, but here we can really embrace the ancient associations. This is absolutely how the institution of Heaven’s Gate represented itself—transparent, loving, and in loyal service to the good, and to the happiness of its members. The “gate” itself feels as if it refers to a 9th house structure (thinking of heaven elsewhere described as a “kingdom”), with Venus at the threshold guiding members toward an embrace of institutional values. I haven’t looked at the charts for Ti and Do, but it feels significant that they are “the Two”—a platonic pair whose relationship forms the wellspring of the movement, which feels very Venusian. We might place The Lovers card beside the card of The Devil, and see the same figures in both cards. The Lovers’ equivalent in the zodiac, of course, is Gemini.

VIRGO SUN IN 10th

If the moon is the id, the sun is the ego—the conscious experience of the self, the path that is chosen, the disposition by which the self feels most connected to worldly perception. The 10th house, “the crown you wear,” positions the ego identity of Heaven’s Gate; what it thinks it is, as a public organization that is meant to efficiently serve its members—to construct and carry out a plan. It is interesting to think of Virgo and Scorpio on either side of Libra, two weights in balance on the scale; this also describes the Persephone myth, in which Virgo descends to the realm of Scorpio and returns with divine knowledge, incurring the changing of the seasons; whose being is intricately tied to the rotation of the earth. Virgo’s responsibility, then, is to bear the fate of the world in their minute actions. Heaven’s Gate in this way positions itself as serving humanity through a practical, incremental system, which relies on everyone “doing their part.”

SCORPIO URANUS IN 12TH

To me it is difficult to find more aptly conflated synonyms for death, unless maybe you replace Uranus with Pluto. Uranian matters are dramatic, revolutionary. They speak to transformative change—as does the 12th house, as does Scorpio. This placement imbues Heaven’s Gate with such an inevitability of death, but the kind of death that is cosmically resonant in that it has the power to change how death in this context is understood. This 12th house, “the bottoming out,” feels like a reservoir that feeds into the Sagittarian Neptune, the sediment that must be continuously re-worked or rediscovered in whatever form it takes in its periods of hibernation. Neptune in Sagittarius may represent the fossilization process of Uranus in Scorpio. I may have more to say about this once I finish the documentary, but I am looking forward to watching for impressions of how “death” is constructed, or re-made as an artifact of social, extraterrestrial liberation.

5 notes · View notes

kyle-valenti · 5 years

Text

milenti/mylex (drabble)

3k... it’s a long drabble... ao3

"GUERIN!"

The yell is so sudden that it manages to do the impossible and tear Michael's eyes away from the cells echoing the screams of what had to have been his kind, only to still hear the gunshot late. He sees Valenti crumple in front of him and mentally throws the attacker so hard into the concrete wall that he hears multiple violent cracks. Rushing the few feet over to kneel over his former enemy whose blood is soaking more and more of his shirt, he can’t help but snap, “Valenti, you dumbass.”

“You’re welcome,” comes the dry response managed between groans of pain.

“Why the hell would you save me?” Michael grumbles, helping prop him up against the wall of a nearby cell. The blood from his shoulder is pooling so fast through his shirt that Michael is having a hard time putting pressure on the wound even with his powers.

“Doctor’s instinct.”

“Your instincts suck,” he replies unapologetically. “I’m not Max, I can��t heal you.”

Kyle only barely manages to open his squinted eyes enough to glare. “Won’t do it again.”

Maybe it’s out of habit, or more the worry that someone might actually die because of him, but he continues the banter in the hope that it will delay the body’s shock. “If you had let me get shot you could have been the doctor."

"Still regretting it." Kyle says, exhaling a large breath from pain.

"You better be fine 'cause I'm not dealing with you being a martyr," Michael growls. "ALEX!"

As Michael goes to focus on the metal with his mind, Kyle shoves his arm away with his good hand. "Don't remove the bullet. This place isn't sterile and there's stuff I need for it in the car. Just keep applying pressure."

Listening to Kyle Valenti is the last thing Michael ever wants to do, but since the man is a doctor he decides to let him choose his own demise. Alex arrives in the few seconds that they go to bicker again, running down the stairs in a broken pattern to reach them. “Shit, Kyle!”

“I’m fine,” the doctor tries to say, again getting interrupted by Michael. “He’s dumb.”

Alex purses his lips at Michael, eyes following when he gestures over to the unconscious soldier against the wall. “He got shot instead of letting me handle things.”

“You saved Michael?” Alex asks Kyle, eyebrows raised in small surprise. There’s a kindness to his voice that Michael doesn’t like at all.

“Unfortunately,” Kyle replies, causing Alex to sigh and start to lift him up before they get in any more danger. They make it out barely, considering the weight of another man and Kyle’s disadvantage, and the car that Kyle had stowed supplies in became useful.

Alex is the one to take over, pulling bandages out of the briefcase quickly as he tells Michael to apply pressure around the wound. Kyle yells out even louder when Alex douses the wound in hydrogen peroxide and cleansing iodine, hissing as Alex inelegantly tries to stitch the hole closed with a not so thin plastic looking thread.

“Shouldn’t we take the bullet out?” Michael asks.

“No,” both Kyle and Alex answer together, which mildly grates on his nerves. He can’t say he likes that they have shared experience with this sort of thing and that he’s left out. Alex purses his lips as he creates a tourniquet so tight that Kyle all but screams again, but when the pain settles down to less than black-out-excruciating, Kyle gives Alex a brief grateful look. Clearly worried, Alex hovers over him and tightens his jaw as he says, “Don’t let your lung collapse, Valenti.”

Against his will Michael has a slight twinge of worry that quickly evaporates when Alex subconsciously holds on to Kyle’s arm and helps him into the back of the jeep, making it obvious that Michael is supposed to drive them and watch. Before he can stop himself, he slips and asks, “Tired of babying him?”

Sending Michael a warning look from the corner of his eye, Alex shortly tells him off. “He took a bullet for you.”

Michael can’t help but scoff, ignoring the fact that Valenti is groaning on and off from pain. “No, he took a bullet for me so he could impress you.”

“Seriously?” Kyle grunts angrily.

Michael can’t stop now that he’s started, too upset at everything Caulfield had stirred up and even more angry that Kyle is taking the little attention Michael gets from Alex away. “It’s not like you’re straight.”

“What?” Alex asks, looking back and forth between them with confusion.

Kyle looks pale and sweaty, but he still manages to roughly cough out angry words. “If I die having this conversation I’m going to haunt both of your asses.”

“Did you two..?” Alex asks, only to receive vehement and synchronized answers. “No!”

“He stole one of my dates,” Kyle gets out, and Michael bites back, “People dig cowboys.”

“You mean the cowboy aesthetic?” the brunette scoffs. “Do you even own horses?”

Michael shakes his head, his defensive smirk lighting up his face as he turns smug and replies, “Too busy giving people rides of my own.”

Kyle groans in annoyance, but starts to slip more out of consciousness, and Michael hates that he’s worried about one of the people he’s hated most in Roswell. As Kyle’s eyes are closing and Alex is holding him close, Michael tries not to glare too fiercely or jostle the jeep on the dirt roads in anger. Alex looks up at him in the middle of his angst, giving him that familiar judgmental stare that kills him every time.

“Outing people because you're jealous isn't okay with me, Guerin,” Alex tells him firmly. “This whole time he’s been pushing me to tell you how I feel about you, trying to back you up. He took the bullet because he’s not the person he used to be.”

“Getting sweet on me, Manes?” Kyle asks, his eyes still closed, but as soon as the words make their way out he starts coughing, blood now on his lips signalling the type of internal bleeding that’s friends with death.

Alex looks at Michael wordlessly, and even though everything in him wants to just throw Valenti to the side of the road he knows that Alex would never look at him the same. To Alex, Kyle had now become more than an ex-best friend, he’d become the kind of partner worth battle, and after the Alex's time in Iraq he knew he couldn’t cross any line that would affect that. Resentfully, he drives to Max’s cabin faster than possible without alien powers, and by the time they reach the home Kyle is slipping.

“ Max!” Michael pushes with his mind, and his quasi-siblings both rush out to greet them, as well as Liz, who has the most violent reaction as she leaps forward to them. “Kyle!” Searching both Alex and Michael with fierceness in her eyes, she demands, “What happened?!”

“He saved Michael,” Alex says quickly, but Liz is demanding her boyfriend, “Max, please. He’s saved your family.”

Max hesitates briefly, probably at the idea of using his powers again, but then he sees Liz’s face, and just like that his brother is healing Kyle the same way he had healed Liz. As Kyle coughs and shakes awake, Max angrily turns on Michael and Alex. “Want to explain what the hell happened?”

“Shadowy government conspiracy involving our alien families being held captive and tortured,” Michael spits at him, anger rising further and further at the memories. Max’s confusion and Isobel’s startled expression only piss him off more. “You heard me. Our family was still alive, and because you decided to keep us out of it we don't even know what happened.”

Isobel’s quivering lip does get to him as she asks, “What?”

Michael calms only slightly to explain, “There were more of us who survived. Not just Noah.”

“Okay,” she says, starting to find resolve that Michael feels slightly guilty for giving her when Max glares at him. “Okay, I’ll ask him.”

“Izzy--,” Max tries to argue, but she turns and firmly tells him, “It’s not your decision.”

As they leave to go inside the house, Michael hears Liz quietly ask Kyle if he’ll be okay only for Kyle to kindly tell her to worry about her own alien situation. Michael looks to Alex, who is watching Michael in return with either a loving look or a small sense of longing, but there’s a divide between them that doesn’t seem able to be crossed at the moment. Michael belongs taking care of his own world and lineage. Alex currently belongs learning about his.

---------------------------------------------------------------

When Alex and Kyle are driving back to the airstream so that now-healed-Kyle can pick up his SUV, Alex can’t help but flicker his attention back and forth at the doctor. Trying to figure out how to sew together the many variations of Kyle that he had known throughout the years was becoming more and more difficult. When Kyle finally decides to confront the constant staring, Alex interrupts him to head off anything awkward. “Thank you. For saving him.”

Kyle shrugs, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it isn’t.” Alex tells him. “I’ve seen a lot of men save themselves before others. You didn’t. That’s admirable.”

All Alex gets in return is a miniscule smile not even aimed at him. Kyle is seemingly meek, looking out the window with all of his boyish bravado gone. Carefully, Alex decides to take the conversation deeper, too sideswiped by the earlier information. “So I wasn’t crazy in middle school?”

Now Kyle looks at him, and there’s a combination of guilt in his eyes and the slightest bit of curiosity that Alex would even ask about teenage crushes. “No, of course not. I was just a coward.”

There was a lot more Alex wants to ask along that line of thinking, but Kyle adds, “That’s not why I protected Guerin.”

“I know,” Alex said slowly, noting that Kyle had said nothing about whether or not that crush had gone away. Michael was easily jealous, but he was also observant, and maybe Alex had let things slide when it came to compliments like ‘you’re the bravest person I know’. “Michael doesn’t trust people.”

“I don’t blame him,” Kyle responds, looking away again. "What did you find up there?"

Alex sighs. "Torture. Research. Murder. You were right about your father. Killed by an alien because my father pushed him in the cell with a radioactive powered being."

Kyle is silent and still for what seems to be thirty minutes and Alex doesn't dare move or mention the fact that it’s getting dark, not when he feels so much misplaced guilt about something he couldn’t have even stopped. When the doctor gains his composure, Kyle looks over to Alex, dark brown eyes intense as he asks, “Are you going to tell him?”

“That our fathers are responsible for even worse than empty cells?” Alex asks with a deep scoff. “Not sure how I can. Not sure I can even face him. He’s-- he’s a firestorm of emotions and I don’t know if he could look past this.”

“I think you should give him the chance,” Kyle says. “It’s not your fault what your so called father’s done. If Guerin loves you, he’ll look past it.”

“And you’re going to look past your father’s murder at the hand of mine?” Alex asks him dubiously, unprepared for the small nod and gentle eyes. “Of course.”

“Of course?”

“Yes, Alex,” he says, looking a little surprised at himself for the slip of names. “Not much I could blame you for, Mr. War Hero.”

Alex ducks his head, trying to ignore the charge of intimacy in the moment caused by the rush of nostalgia and pre-teen feelings that he thought had deadened ages ago. Kyle Valenti was once his best friend, his first crush, then his nightmare. Now he’s his nightmare in an entirely different way. The last thing he needs is another man complicating his life, not when Michael Guerin is part of the equation.

Kyle clears his throat, maybe picking up on the ill-timed moment as well, giving a small smile as he unlocks the door and leaves, shouting back, “Talk to him!” and gets in his SUV.

-------------------------------------------------------

Michael is busy watching over Isobel, who wasn’t technically fragile but still in need of emotional support after all that she had been through with Noah. They’re sitting at the diner where Liz is currently doing a shift, and when he hangs up the call he had been on with Alex, he throws his phone down on the table a little abruptly.

“Valenti can suck my--,” Michael angrily starts, only to get a raised eyebrow from Isobel.

“I didn’t think he was your type, but by all means--,”

“Shut up,” Michael snaps back at her, mildly disgusted. He is disgusted, he tells himself, because he certainly considers the doctor the absolute last person in Roswell he’d hook up with. Well, maybe not last. There was some stiff redneck, racist, homophobic competition; but he was still very low on the list no matter how many abs the dude had. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“Hm,” she hums, a smirk playing on her lips. “Want to tell me that via mindscape?”

Giving her a severe glare, because there’s no way in hell he wanted to know what his subconscious might feel, he ignores her giggling and tries not to visibly pout. After Isobel had given him a long lecture on bisexual stereotypes she had read online he had tried to be less dramatic. It hadn’t worked. “He follows Alex around like a puppy and they’re constantly in their fucking club house talking about military agenda shit.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Michael,” Isobel tells him with a sigh. “No alien powers are needed to tell he’s still in love with you.”

“Yeah, but just me?” he scoffs, unaware how much he’d been bottling up the emotion until it’s out in the air and Isobel is reaching for his hand. If it was anyone else he would have shoved them away, but he lets her intertwine their fingers like they were children again. Softly, she tells him, “You’re not going to find that out if you’re sitting here with me, are you? Go insert yourself and make them realize you’re not going anywhere just because they’re close again.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course.”

---------------------------------------------------

Not even a full two hours into Michael having joined both Alex and Valenti on their project of eradicating their fathers’ scientific horror research, Michael is jabbing at Kyle every opportunity he gets even though he can see it’s starting to wear on Alex’s patience. After a particularly nasty insult pointed at the dumb doctor that made even Alex angry, Kyle lost whatever calm he had been clenching onto.

“Fuck you, Guerin,” Kyle spat at him.

Michael gave his typical angry, smug grin. “In your dreams, Valenti.”

“You wish--,”

“Oh my god you two. Stop!” Alex yells, making both of them stand immediately still. There was something in the way that Alex never lost his cool that made it that much scarier, and Michael has some anxiety about the way Alex barks orders. “Get the hell out and do whatever the fuck you need to do to stop completely wasting our time and come back when we can actually work .”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Michael asks at the implication.

“You heard me. Leave.”

Kyle’s already gone and out of the building by the time that Michael angrily storms out, but they aren’t far enough from each other not to continue their fight, and Kyle is the one who strikes first. “Ever consider leaving that temper back in high school? Or are we just going to keep repeating this whole thing?”

“Right, and I’m supposed to listen to you because you’re the patron saint of self-growth?” Michael scoffs.

“I’m not doing this.” Kyle huffs, hands in the air. “You can hang out with Alex all you want, he’s yours.”

Without necessarily knowing why he feels let down to the point he needs to continue antagonizing the doctor, he still prods. “Walking away just like that?”

“Why not?” Kyle responds, and the flash of asshole arrogance comes through for just a second as he gets his smug grin thrown back at him. “I know he’ll call me later.”

Michael punches him in the face, striking his lip in the small hope that he’ll knock out some perfect white teeth, but Kyle takes the punch well. They both were all too experienced in fist fights, but what Michael doesn’t expect is for Kyle to regain his balance, wipe his lip, and silently challenge Michael for another punch instead of immediately hitting in retaliation.

A second punch would have worked. Too predictable, though, and Michael hates being that. So he throws it all to hell and kisses the bastard, hoping that will be just as much of an insult, only to have the man kiss him back that much harder. They’re rough and angry with each other, using their hands to perform all the emotions they weren’t currently expressing with words or fists. Neck bites edge to breaking skin, pulled hair was enough to cause full groans, and there were several scratches in varying places before they were both getting hard.

Michael is the one to pull back first, lost in the thought of what to tell Alex, which seems to be the same thing Kyle must be thinking before he clears his throat, adjusts his pants, and goes back into the bunker without a word. Wasn't that supposed to be his reaction, not the preppy doctor’s?

Alex barely looks over when Michael comes in behind Kyle, currently stationed at his computer and seemingly deep in work as he roughly asks them, "All good?"

"Yeah," they loosely echo, and Kyle is a better liar than Michael previously gave him credit for, because he doesn't even look over at him once before going back to the research table, only noticing Alex's smirk creeping up his face when Alex speaks again. "Good."

Kyle gave him one unwavering look before looking both sheepish and offended. "You used the cameras, didn’t you?"

Cameras, Michael wonders in horrifying shock, as he guiltily whips around. "Alex--,"

But Alex is barely holding in laughter sitting down, almost bent over his desk.

"Did you plan this?" Michael asks, not sure whether to be angry or go with Alex's good mood considering he had just made out with Valenti outside. Michael looks to Kyle, who simply looks more confused at Alex's laughter than anything else, although maybe ever so slightly pink with embarrassment.

"No, of course not," Alex says slyly. "I can't predict what you two will do. That being said, your sister did mention--,"

Kyle turns to Michael then, eyebrows high and a grin not so slowly marking his face. "What did Isobel read in your mind that led to that?"

'I’ll be back, I need to go commit a murder," Michael growls.

"No, hold on Guerin, didn't you say I wanted to fuck you in my dreams? 'Cause it kinda sounds now like you were projecting."

"Kyle," Alex warns, a smile still on his lips. "Let me talk to him."

The brunette laughs his way out of the bunker before Michael has a chance to protect something very physical and heavy at his head, and then he's alone with Alex, unsure of how to feel. "Alex, you know it didn't mean--,"

"I know," he answers, getting up and walking over to him. His hands find Michael's and slowly tug as he looks down. "You both solve problems with sex. It was bound to happen."

"It was not," he argues, but Alex only smirks.

Michael frowns, but gets interrupted as Alex turns serious, eyes locking with intensity in a way that always messed him up.

"Look. I am not good with words. I don't know if I ever will be after everything. But you should know I will always love you, no matter how much you drive me insane."

"And Valenti?"

Alex doesn’t flinch, still searching Michael’s face for some sort of response before committing to any words. He still doesn’t know how the former soldier does it, no matter how quick at sarcasm and anger he had become, he still couldn’t help but show every emotion he had on his sleeves. "I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not what I'm asking," Michael says weakly, hating himself for it. "Is there anything?"

"You're the one who kissed him minutes ago," Alex deflects, before relenting with a sigh when Michael starts what would be the beginning of an angry barrage of questions. "I don't know. You were my first actual love. Once upon a time long ago he was my first crush. Never thought that would matter again."

Thinking he’ll need to drink a few beers to remotely be in the head space to process that, he shakes his head, exhales a long breath, and asks, “I can’t ask you to stop seeing him?”

“I no longer take orders,” Alex replies with a warning tone. “He’s been vital to this mission with his father’s information and after everything he’s done I’m not going to cut him loose because it makes you uncomfortable.”

Michael groans, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “Fine.”

“You two need to go finish somewhere, or can we finally get working?” Alex asks in response, eyes lighting up with the same mischievous humor that always accompanies his teasing. They only become brighter as Michael sends him a glare.

#milenti #michael x kyle #mylex #kylex #guerenti #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #mylex fic #mine #my work #who needs plot

37 notes · View notes

whitewolfbumble · 6 years

Text

The Fallout - Part Fourteen (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, language, remembered torture (you know the drill!)

Word Count: About 6k

A/N: We cycle back to some Bucky POV finally! I thought having that in the last few chapters would just be doubling down on the pain but its finally back in this one. Hope you like it! We get some sweet, deep diving feelings at the end here! Wrote and posted this pretty fast, let me know what you think by a reblog, like or message!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART THIRTEEN

“You called me down here to train Steve?” you said, zipping off your black hoodie as you heard someone walk into the training room. “I thought you didn’t think defending myself was the best idea? Hmm?”

But you stopped still when you saw Bucky instead.

Everything at once had paused at his unassuming, quiet presence, your senses leaving you and heart stopping mid beat. The feel of your soft hoodie in your hands, the musty sweat smell of the room, the buzz of the city below all gave way when he walked in.

“Oh, sorry Bucky.” you said quietly, backing away to give him some space, saying your excuses before grabbing your water bottle to leave. “I thought I was meeting Steve.”

“I’m training you.” he said. And again, you stopped still. This time the flow of blood in your ears was all you could hear or focus on.

Turning slowly on your heels you looked at him, eyes wide to met his deep blue ones. What had prompted that? He had been distant. Brooding. Pained at being in the same room as you it seemed. Now he wanted this?

Maybe the Team had gotten through to him. Or maybe you had.

“Um… really? Why?” you questioned, it coming out far more incredulous than you really intended.

“They won’t,” he said. “And you need it. At least if just for now.”

“You do know that they… They’re pretty well orchestrating this?”

Steve and the whole crew had gone to great lengths to try and steer the two of you together lately. They may not know the whole situation but they knew enough. You figured he wouldn't have been so easily won over by their games.

But at that thought, you knew this wasn’t a game to him. It was your life, and maybe having you around now was brutally hard for Bucky, but there was still an enemy out there that no one else in the world knew better than the two of you. He knew what it meant to be defenseless against them.

He nodded, unfazed. “Yes, and they are stupid for playing with your life like that.”

Again, his words were practically yours. A pang hit you in the stomach as you missed the days of silent understanding between the two of you.

“So you and I...” you started, a little hesitant. “We’re talking again? Like friends?”

“Yeah.” he said maybe a little gruffly, not looking you in the eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t resounding “yes” but you would certainly take it.

You had been at it for hours, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing in exhaustion being Bucky himself.

While you were training you were with him, and that gaping hole in your chest was soothed. The second you walked out the door it could disappear. He could slink back into his isolation and leave you aching all over again. So you kept sparring.

It took a desperate amount of time before he slipped back into some kind of easy normalcy with you, able to talk somewhat openly again. It had been like a chess game, the strategy delicately and purposefully played.

You, focusing on technical sparring questions first, then making general comments of the moves to engage him in brief conversation, then digging deeper, then just normal but quick talking points on everyday topics.

That alone had been exhausting enough, you constantly having to gauge and recalculate your words so as not to push too far. It was sapping all extra brain space to do so, keeping you slightly out of focus on the actual sparring that was happening concurrently.

You fell back with a half grunt, half yell as a punch you should have easily been able to dodge landed on your ribcage.

“Geez, are you okay?” Bucky said, stepping over and bending down, hand just barely touching your shoulder.

You were bent over a little, hands on your hips. What you felt most of all was pathetic, not pain. It had not been near full force (none of this was even close), you both going through the motions and trying to get you to perfect each small sequence.

You stood up and waved him off, walking to the bench to grab your water bottle. You took a sip before taking off your black long sleeve shirt, revealing a black tank top below.

“My ego is bruised, not my body.” you said. “I saw that from a mile away and still couldn’t dodge it.”

But Bucky didn’t seem to hear your words, looking instead down your chest and arms. You let him scan over all of your many and varied scars. He didn’t used to notice or care, having more than a few himself, so you could guess what he was thinking.

“You can ask me, Bucky. I promise, I won’t run.”

He complied.

“Those scars… Where are they from?”

You pointed to one on your shoulder, a curved gash that had been from a knife.

“That was from you,” answering the question he wanted to ask, not the one he did ask. “And this one.”

You pointed to another one on the opposing forearm. It was ghostly and a little more jagged.

“I don’t remember how I got all of them, but those two I know. I wish I could fill in the rest of the blanks, save us both from starting me almost completely over.” you said with a gesture to where he was standing, wishing you weren’t such a novice at fighting.

But that statement wasn’t totally true; you remembered a lot of training from the earliest years at Hydra. But definitely not up to the level you had been. It was harder to do it under your own control and not theirs. Eventually they let you more “off the leash” but in the beginning they were the puppeteers. The muscle memory from their control hadn’t sunk in yet.

He nodded, distant. Something else was pooling behind those eyes, words on his lips that he wasn’t saying.

“Tell me Bucky,” you said again, waiting for him to carry on.

You so wished he would. Getting him talking, even about this, was a win.

He looked almost embarrassed and didn’t look you right in the eyes.

“Do you really want to remember everything that I did to you… everything that happened to you?”

“No, I certainly don’t. I’ve read enough to cool my blood til the day my body is stone cold dead too.” you admitted. “But can I ask you something? Something personal?”

He hesitated but gave a terse nod. He leaned back slightly like he was bracing for you fight him or something.

“Can you leave this life behind? Or would you?”

“You mean fighting, training… Everything?”

“Yeah.” You already knew his answer because it was the same as yours would be. He just didn’t understand that yet.

He took a moment, eyes pulling away. You could almost see him create a normal life in his head, living out what his dream situation would be.

“I would.” he started, before looking back at you. “But I can’t.”

“Because even though you could leave, the past wouldn’t leave you behind. It would come after you.”

“Yeah.” he said, almost sad. “Always does.”

“It’s the same here Bucky. I can’t leave this. Maybe I want to now but maybe I don't. I can’t exactly say anymore. But my past? That’s not going to let me go. So I have to stand and fight. And right now I can’t fight. I’m here, defenseless for all intents and purposes. I have to pick back up where I used to be. I may want a fresh start- and maybe I’ll get one in some small way- but I will never be able to truly leave.”

“They would do anything to set that up for you, give you every opportunity.” he countered, voice on the edge of imploring.

He nodded towards the door, motioning to the Avengers scattered through the building behind it.

It was tempting. Asking the Team to pull resources, knowledge, and skills to get you out. To set up a life for you outside of these walls and this life. Keeping you away from a fight that maybe you could have won before but you couldn’t win now.

It really didn’t change your mind on it all though. Your resolve was the same as it had been, even if the fear had gone up to the nth degree.

“Yeah, but I guess I’ve never been good at running away from a fight, only towards it.”

“I could go after them, all of them.”

“Most of the men I know you don’t want around alive Bucky. You don’t need to fight them for me.”

“But I would.” he swallowed. “And it could be permanent.”

The disambiguated voices of Hydra you heard above you as your mind was wiped came back, along with the feel and taste of their brain and blood hitting you.

He had already proved he would do it. That didn't make you feel any better though. Not at all.

“Killing the people who hurt me won’t take away your guilt Bucky, and it won’t change what this is. This is my fight and I think I want to fight it. So will you help me? I don't just mean “for now” like you offered before. But actually train me?”

There was a pause, your requested heavily weighted and thought through as he watched you.

“Alright.”

You thought maybe it was the intensity of the training session with Bucky, but the next day as you rolled into the kitchen, you realized that this painful daze was not from your muscles, but a migraine.

“Where was the party? Shame I didn’t get an invite.” Clint said, mouth full, crunching way too loudly for your ears.

“Don’t worry,” you said, voice sounding a little rusty. You squinted in his general direction, the morning sun streaming through the windows too bright. “I missed it too. Just trying to fight a headache.”

“Who are we fighting?” Nat said, sliding over a coffee cup filled with steaming liquid and a tad bit of cream. The grating sound it made on the counter about made you blanch.

“Headache.” you repeated, and Nat nodded in understanding. She sat down with Clint who was reading the newspaper comics, while she flipped to the politics section.

You didn’t bother sitting, looking down to the subtly rippling mug in front of you for a minute. Something about it was confusing, but you couldn’t figure out why. Your brain could barely put a thought together through the ache of it all.

A ripple moved through the coffee again and you pulled your eyebrows together.

Suddenly you understood, seeing a dark, filmy liquid mix in with the light coloured coffee. Your hand went to your nose, and when you pulled back, your fingertips were covered in blood. You made a surprised exclaim, and that was enough for Nat and Clint to take note and spring up into action.

Nothing like a little blood to snap two spies into serious mode.

“Steve, we’re taking Y/N to the med bay.” Nat said to him, courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y. patching her through.

“Why does Steve need to know about a nosebleed?” you questioned, being ushered on either side by the pair, their hands securely guiding you by your elbows.

But you were ignored.

“We’re just landing now, I’ll be there in two.”

“Steve, please don’t come I swear it’s… Did you say landing?”

“I really am fine.” you reassured quietly to Steve, his arms crossed.

Some saw it as a neutral or casual position for him, but you always thought it was something more. Maybe concern or protection. Or maybe the med bay made him uncomfortable too.

“I know, I just care about you, okay?” he said with a curve of his lips.

“So can you tell me now where you were?”

“Yeah, good news for us. The Black is taken care of, once and for all. Tony and I were at the Raft. We marched the last of them there early this morning.”

“Wow, one enemy down.” you said in shocked, feigning approval.

It seemed a little hollow, not being there yourself. Not after your long history with them, both past and recent. You had always imagined that you would be the one to take them down finally. They were connected to you, they worked with you, you knew how they worked and operated.

And now they were just... taken care of?

This anti-climatic new was fairly disappointing. But you also had a bigger fish you were after whose demise would be far sweeter. You focused on that thought instead.

“How is Tony going to celebrate that?” you said, trying to snap out of your head and back into the conversation.

“I don’t know but I’m already scared.” he joked. “I’m sure he’ll cook up something.”

“Yeah, no doubt.” you said, as the nurse removed an IV form your arm. Whatever it was did wonders for your headache.

“Alright, time to train again I think.” you said hopping off the bed.

“C’mon, you can’t be serious.” Steve responded.

“The Doctor gave me a clean bill of health. A mind-wipe isn’t without some side effects I’m sure. I’ll take a headache and nosebleed over brain damage any day. And The Black might be taken care of, but Hydra certainly isn’t. And I thought you wanted Bucky and I to train together, hmm?”

Steve chose not to respond to that and gestured you towards the door. “Maybe you’ll humour me if we start off slow and go for a run first?”

“You know that won’t tire me out enough to skip training, but sure.” you said, seeing through him.

Skipping that would also mean less time with Bucky, and that was a commodity you weren’t giving up.

Freak nosebleed and migraine occurrences were apparently in full force today. During your run it happened again.

You had been running between Steve and Bucky, the three of you keeping in perfect stride with each other, until you felt a nagging at the base of your neck that began to spread into your head.

The three of you had been running in silence, you and Bucky only exchanging a quick hello before you three set off. You weren’t sure if Steve had planned this or not, but you thought not actually. That left Bucky, who could have left once he saw you or run ahead. But he didn’t.

You were the one to disrupt the silence by saying a “Here, keep going” causing the two to turn to you as you feigned bending down to check your shoelaces. Their steps didn’t falter and when they turned back, you gripped the back of your neck, letting out a pained exhale through your nose.

What came out was both hot air and blood, splattering on the indoor running track and your shoes. In a moment a blinding pain erupted in your temple and you fell to your knees like a rock.

“Bucky,” you called out, your immediate response.

You didn’t think what you were saying, just how you were saying it. You had tried to make it sound like someone politely getting someone’s attention, but this came out far more urgent.

The blinding pain of your migraine made you again squint at the intensity, but Bucky’s hands were on your face in a flash, pulling your gaze up to him.

“Has this happened before?” Woozily you wondered why that was his first question of all things.

“This morning.” you and Steve said at the same time.

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing Bucky kneeled in front of you and Steve bending down to look at you just beside him.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve before turning back to you.

“And you didn’t think to talk to the person who has had their mind wiped before about it?” he questioned you, sounding quite soft.

He gritted his teeth and turned towards Steve, throwing him a glance. Clearly, you weren’t in trouble for this oversight, but he certainly was.

“We just… I guess forgot.” Was his only response, getting a snort from Bucky.

“Here, c’mon.” Bucky pulled you up, keeping you close to his side as he walked you towards a bench. You sat down and leaned your head back, holding the bridge of your nose.

“I’m going to get the Doctor,” Steve said, only stopping at the wave of your hand.

“Please don’t, she’s not my personal caretaker.” you said. “Just tell her what happened and that I’m fine.”

It wasn’t a lie really, your headache was disintegrating by the second. Steve nodded before heading out to the med bay.

“I got this too,” Bucky started, watching you as you watched the ceiling. “Blinding pain, nosebleeds… then flashes of memory. Memories they had wiped away.”

“So this was always a possibility, you just didn’t want to tell me?”

“Your mind wants to heal, to put back the pieces they scrambled. I just didn’t know if it happened to everyone or when. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or down, I guess.”

“Yeah, flashes of tortured memories I’d like to skip, for sure. But I guess you can’t pick and choose, huh?”

You swallowed down another gush of blood and it dripped down your throat.

“No,” he said, and you thought maybe he was smiling a little, as you were still looking up. “You can’t.”

“I don’t think I remember anything new though?”

“And you might not. We don’t have the playbook on this, just one soldiers patchy experience.”

“Well, I’ll still take it.”

There was nothing to be done to stop these episodes, so at Steve’s disapproval and Bucky’s insistence that the enemy was still out there, you carried on with your plan to train. Better than sitting and wondering when your next headache would split you down the middle again. Or when Hydra would show up to kidnap back in your ranks. Or if the love of your life actually was warming up to you again.

Yeah. You definitely needed the distraction.

Steve insisted on staying this time and you practiced fight two attackers at once. Steve was great at defensive skills, while Bucky had a flawless handle on the offensive side. You practiced avoidance and basic counter attacks, building on your session with Bucky the day before.

It was an hour or so into it when you start to feel a bit weird. You pushed it out of your mind, wondering if you last fall to the mat coupled with your two episodes from earlier were messing with you.

But it just continued to grow.

After bending down and sideswiping Steve- the latest maneuver you were practicing- you didn’t get up but stayed there a moment. Steve held out his hand to help you but you didn’t take it.

They both waited, but you were quite still.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked, coming up you and kneeling over to see if something was wrong.

Your eyes stayed to the blue mat, and you almost heard an audible crack. Like something inside of you snapped.

In a flash your hand shot out, grasping the kneeling Bucky’s neck in an impossibly tight grip. Eyes still down while the two stunned men stayed motionless in surprise, it was half a second of calculating before you sprung into action, time feeling like it was slowing down for you.

Your right knee was bent on the ground, with your left leg stretched out behind you. Lightning fast you swung your left leg out powerfully, clocking Steve in the face hard, sending him to the ground. Your leg kept moving, bending just as you hit Bucky square in the chestwith your knee.

The force would have pushed him on his back, air exiting his lungs in a puff, but your grip on his neck was too tight. You touched your foot down only enough to use the ground to propel it back up, one hand on his neck and the other now on his head, bring his head down to connect with your knee with a cracking sound.

As you pushed him down you used him as leverage to spring up over his falling shoulders and kick Steve square in the chest who was coming up behind you. You flipped over Bucky, rolling on your back and sliding expertly near the weights. In one fluid motion you grabbed one weight in each hand and swung yourself around, crouched to the floor and ready use them as weapons.

You watched the scene before you, for some reason not moving, panting as you went from zero to sixty in seconds.

Bucky was on all fours, blood dripping from his nose, and Steve was hunched over beside him, split lip oozing red too.

“The fuck…” was all Bucky spewed, voice strangled.

But something mentally pulled you back from the scene in front of you.

It was slowly becoming clear that there was this nagging numb feeling. Through that whole episode you hadn’t really felt a thing. Your body had been numb to your movements and mind had been shut down to anything and everything. It was familiar, that calculated numbness.

You looked down to your hands, still gripping the weights, though you couldn’t really feel them. It was like they were far away, not at all attached to you or belonged to someone else.

As you watched your hands, you noticed them start to shake, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away.

In a flood everything hit you at once.

You shrieked out at the highest pitch scream you had ever made in your life, closed fist hitting your temple as blindingly hot pain struck you.

It felt like lava dripping through your brain and you were unable to respond to the sudden shock of the overwhelming torment of it. You collapsed back down, hands reaching out to brace you as you felt red hot blood trickle down your face and arm, spilling out from your nose.

Sudden hands grabbed your face on either side, but again, you couldn’t exactly feel it, not like what it normally felt like. You were still coated in that numb feeling, with everything but the agony inside you feeling so distant.

Your face was met with Bucky’s, his angry pained look and voice replaced by concern. Briefly, you wondered if it was his blood that was on you, but you knew it your gut that it was yours.

“Y/N!” Bucky called out, eyes searching yours as the liquid kept streaming down from your nose.

“What’s… happening?” you asked, wondering if your body was just going to float away. You could feel so very little externally right now, completely weightless besides the pain.

Before he could answer you shut your eyes tight, crying out in anguish again as your head was splitting in two. You could have sworn there was another audible cracking sound.

“You’re in shock,” Bucky answered, voice low and strained but wonderfully calm. “I think you’re having another episode. Your nose and ears are bleeding.”

“Where’s Henry?” you asked, his face coming to your head.

“Uh, who?” That was Steve’s voice. Maybe he knew where Henry was?

“He must have just left,” you said, words sounding a little slurred even to your ears. “I hope I didn’t scare him off. He was so nice to me.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Just let her talk.” came Bucky’s voice. “What else do you remember, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to go to the… Where is the lab now? I thought we were going… Wait, don’t! Stop! Bucky!”

Shots of images and memories hit you one after the other, bits and pieces scattered over years of your life that had been blacked out.

Three people strapped to dining room chairs, bodies split open.

A little girl dead in the corner, her friends screaming and crying in their own vomit as you made them watch.

Alone and abandoned in a decrepit warehouse, sobbing in silence.

A man smiling down to you as he sawed through your bones.

Trickling a thin stream of acid slowly up a screaming man’s leg.

“Oh, God, Bucky…” you cried out gripping his shirt and trying your best to focus on him. “What have I done? How could I…”

You braced against him in this storm, waves crashed over and pulling you under. They surrounded you, inescapable. Your lungs filled with it, drowning you in pain and memories and torment.

You tried to anchor yourself in his eyes, focusing on the deep blue as the waves pummeled you. Everything swayed as your mind spilled out in the room around you, swirling and turning. But you stayed anchored to him, riding out this out until you just couldn’t.

You let the waters pull you down into their depths, waiting for the ground to come up and meet you. But it didn’t. Strong arms grasped you and held you, rocking against your dizziness. You felt the sway of his hold on you for some time.

When it ended, you were in Bucky’s arms, still and quiet.

It took some time for you to realize you were not in the training room and it was also no longer day. Despite your training, the panic of a new location didn’t come. It was still and quiet and familiar. You were in Bucky’s room, in his bed again. He was holding you on his lap, blankets pulled over you and his arms wrapping you in close.

You simply breathed for some time, trying to align your breath with his. He made no movement beyond that, no sound to try and push you back to reality. He just waited, holding you until you were able to speak.

“Is it over?” you asked, not wanting the responsibility of that question to fall to you.

“Yeah, doll, it’s all over.” he said.

It might have been a lie but it was a welcome one.

“Does it always hurt this bad?” you whispered, rubbing your chest as you couldn’t quite reach down to the spot of your soul that ached.

It was like a piece of you had been put back in place, sharp and jagged. It felt like you were a little more whole, but it was raw and painful. It made your chest ache with a dull throb and your throat constrict. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Mine came back slowly, in pieces. Maybe I was wiped too many times. Had too many layers to crack through.”

You made a noncommittal noise, trying to focus on the delicious warmth of his chest closing you in all around and not the pain within you.

Waking up was a tangle of blankets and limbs. You briefly wondered if there was a lingering to Bucky’s movements like he wanted to stay close to you, touching you again. Or maybe you just wanted there to be.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here.” you said, a tight smile on your weary face. You felt the need to address this, even if there was no desire too.

His back was to you at his dresser as he pulled out a shirt.

“I didn’t mean to keep you. I’m sorry.” he said, devoid of most emotion.

You sighed to yourself. This distance seemed endless.

“Please don’t be sorry. You were helping me, comforting me. That is well within the realm of okay. And I’m not taking it for more than what it was.”

He kind of nodded, holding the shirt in his hands still.

How were you- someone who’s closest friend used to be a hacksaw and the only real company you kept fleeting because usually you horrendously killed them- supposed to handle emotions? Like real, proper, loving emotions. And with a guy who seemed too hung up on the horror of his past to actually welcome those feelings?

You weren’t a kid from the 50’s anymore. You weren’t a solider or executioner anymore either. You weren’t someone incapable of expressing yourself or standing up for yourself. But how the hell were you supposed to manage actually loving someone? What did that even mean for you and him?

Taking advice on this from anyone else seemed like a waste of time. You weren’t typical and neither was he.

The fact was you were pretty fucking direct with him on your feelings (you still felt a stab to your heart when you thought of your words and the icy expression on his face) but he hadn’t been. Either he did feel something for you but maybe didn’t now because of his history with you being so raw. Or he didn’t ever really have feelings for you, you were just conveniently there and easy to be around.

But you were done pining and avoiding this. The Team thought it best for a subtle approach, thinking time together would heal this and bring you back together like you had been. But you were thinking now maybe talking about it was the only way.

God, you were a glutton for punishment sometimes, considering you were deciding to do this now after yesterdays episodes. All this was just so exhausting.

This whole conversation could potentially end up making this way, way worse though.

“Do you… How do you feel about me?” you said flat out.

That got a surprised look from him as he turned around.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just your actions weren’t logically motivated here?” you said, motioning to the bed. “You probably took me to the doctors, then back here? Why leave me there, or take me to my own bed? I mean you have been keeping me at arms length lately. So I’m just trying to understand why. I don’t know… do you have feelings for me?”

“No,” he snapped reflexively before his eyebrows furrowed. “Well, yes.”

“Okay, that clears it right up.”

“It’s complicated.” he said, trying to avoid a direct answer.

“So just tell me.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, trying to keep back the flood that threatened to burst.

For days this raining, dark cloud didn’t just hang over him, but pushed him down farther and farther into black depths.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, this dreary, weighted agony making him sink deeper and deeper. Then you showed up in the little apartment in Bucharest and began lifting him out. Day by day you got through to him, leaving an impression on his heart and soul that would remain.

Though when he found out his role in your life- how everything was his fault- he was instantly dragged back into that black pit.

But even now you would look at him, would say something and for a moment the weight of it all was lifted.

You hadn’t deserved that, you deserved better than him. And he thought as much, wallowing and brooding and agonizing for days on end. Reliving everything he read about you in your file. It was like his hands had committed it now. Like it was Bucky himself who had tortured and maimed and killed. Not you. You hadn’t fallen into this like he had. You were torn from your life by him. And the strangulating guilt of it was crushing.

How could you want or love someone like him, like you had declared when you finally spoke again?

He tried to feign icy indifference, even anger, to hide his torment. Torment at your exhaustion, at the pain he caused you, at the fact that you were here with him at all, when you should have lived out the life you wanted, sweet and happy and young in the 50′s, not the one he ripped you away from.

It must have been a sick, twisted thing for you love him, and he told you as much. When your face crumpled in pain and rejection his heart about stopped. Oh god it practically snapped his resolve to push you away, when all he wanted to do was erase everything and start over. Start over everything with you in his arms and his bed.

Bucky convinced himself that someone- anyone- would be better. He told Steve as much, time and time again when his friend had tried to lift him out of this, engage him in the world again. But the world didn’t have much meaning without you. And you deserved more than he could ever give you.

But his firm belief in that faltered when Natasha was speaking to you in the kitchen. Steve had suggested he put on a pot of coffee for him which would be done now, so Bucky ventured out, needing to stretch his legs after sleeping so long. It was a glorious sleep, filled with visions of you while you held and soothed him.

But Bucky heard the Black Widow’s words to you. Saying you would rather be alone. That you would rather be in pain. That being without him was painful. And it was one thing to insist you would be better with someone else, but to hear Natasha say it? To make suggestions of people, with Bucky’s mind instantly pulling up visions of you with someone else besides him? With you in someone else’s bed night after night, holding them close and not him? No one to hum the memories of pain away, or to be able to touch you, to keep you safe or keep him safe… It was too much. Bucky practically fumed, the only emotion other than grief and torment in days. And he ran away from it and from you.

He choked it down, his feelings for you, for your sake. But he couldn’t help his fury rising again to the surface first at Thor, who, like an idiot, had hurt you. God, Bucky practically ran over to try and snap his neck. But Steve’s words stopped him dead. You were untrained. Vulnerable for the first time probably since the 50’s, and able to have Hydra trigger you again. Instinctively his protective side kicked into high gear and he checked every exit, every person for signs of a threat. Bucky spent all hours then (as it’s not like he was sleeping much at all, not without you with him) trying to protect you, to keep you safe.

And when Steve insisted everyone would be upset with him if he didn’t show to this Team dinner thing, he went, and could barely tear his eyes off of you. You laid down on the glass hallway that was suspended between the kitchen and living room, looking tired and flawless. From his corner of the room he watched you uninterrupted by anyone else, eyes roaming over every curve and edge of your body, Tony distracting you from noticing. Bucky took you in fully for the first time what felt like an eternity, drinking you in like he was parched.

Then you sang, and he melted. Your sweet, sad notes filled the room and Bucky’s chest with longing and aching for you. It was a song he had heard before and it took on a new meaning when you sang it. He couldn’t look away from you until you all sat down to eat, then tried to focus solely on the food, knowing if he looked at you his face would reveal everything emotion he was trying to hide.

But when you collapsed, blood spilling from you, he knew what this was and knew for your sake he couldn’t be distant anymore. He couldn’t bear to be, needing this or any excuse to be near you again. To smell and feel and touch you again. To keep you safe and feel safe again.

Watching the tears in your eyes form as memories of your Hydra missions came back to you, he watched, thinking you would break under the strain. That everything he forced you to endure would be too much. But it wasn’t a fluke that over the last seventy years that you survived. And your strength was not just skin deep, now or ever. You took in every painful memory, calling out names and threats and screams as you relived them, like it was happening all over.

And you beat them.

You took those horrific scenes you caused and what was done to you and you didn’t break. Not then. Not when you escaped Hydra, alone and broken. Not when you faced them down again. And not when they came back to haunt you, forcing you to relive the wretched life you had led.

He held you in his arms as this happened and you didn’t break. Your strength to withstand this was incomparable. No one understood better than Bucky what those years at Hydra were really like, to have one memory come back would be hard to bear, he knew that. But floods of them assaulting you? Most- actually anyone else- would crumble into insanity at them. But you embraced the pain, then steadied yourself, calmly waking in his arms- for he was not about to part with you- as if the trauma of it all hadn’t shaken you.

So now, when you asked if he had feelings for you, what was he supposed to say?

That he was in awe of your strength?

That your pain was his?

That his very soul ached when you weren’t close?

Or almost burst at its seams with joy when you were?

That to have feelings for you was terrifying and selfish?

But that to be with you was all he would ever truly want?

That the word love didn’t even begin to encapsulate what he felt for you?

“So just tell me.”

PART FIFTEEN

If you liked this part please consider reblogging! A like or message would also make my day! Thanks darlings!

Tags: @seninjakitey @thetimidsarcasticcat @dontpanc @hawkspriing @kanekibooty @elizabeth-rose771 @methefandompanda @bookluver01 @celinejfong @themosthappyfangirl @themermaidpirate @andreamichellejodeit @onlyanothersocialcasualty @lovejessejay @emaywhyayy

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanficion #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #the fallout #the fallout part fourteen

160 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

Text

Fic: Nocturne (10/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

Less than a month to go until their first major expedition to try to establish a Covenant with an Astral, and they’ve started climbing the walls.

Literally.

Well, sort of.

“It’s okay,” Regis calls, doing his utmost best to keep from laughing. It would only offend the poor child’s dignity.

“It is not!” said poor child shrieks, clinging to the cliff.

Prompto came to fetch Regis immediately when it happened, of course, and Noctis and Gladio are milling anxiously underneath the sheer cliff face where poor Ignis is trapped about halfway up.

“How did this happen?” Regis asks.

They’re at their favorite fishing hole – well, Regis’ and Noctis’, anyway, since the other boys tend to get bored fishing and run off to play with each other nearby while Regis teaches Noctis how to fish properly. This place is inside one of Insomnia’s parks, within the safety of the Wall that glimmers above them in the sky, but isolated enough that most people don’t think to come here. Regis loves it, and comes whenever the business of ruling can spare him. Especially now that Noctis is finally old enough to really appreciate the more sedate joys of fishing – the preparation, the casting, the wait, the capture.

They were sitting by the water, waiting patiently, when Prompto ran up in a frenzy to explain that Ignis had gotten stuck, somehow, on the near-sheer cliff face by the side of the park.

“Well?” Regis prompts when nobody answers. He’s the only one out with the children today, since this visit is within the Wall. Yes, there’s a few Crownsguard in civilian dress lingering in nearby coffee shops and admiring the botanical gardens not far away, but Cor’s trained them well: it’s subtle enough that Regis can pretend they’re alone. “What happened? How did Ignis even get up that far?”

“Well,” Gladio says, looking sheepish. “Um…”

“Gladio was saying that no one could climb the sheer cliff face and Ignis explained that ibexes can climb sheer cliff faces and Gladio asked if Ignis could and Ignis wasn’t sure and then Gladio dared him,” Prompto says all in a rush. “And so Ignis decided to go up and then he got stuck.”

Regis presses his lips together. He will not laugh. He will not laugh.

“And you never,” he says, then cleared this throat, “you never considered that there might be a difference in training for ibex ‘taurs in the mountains and ones that live in the city?”

Ignis’ glare could have caused blisters.

“He did get halfway up?” Gladio offers.

“Yes,” Regis says dryly. “However, I remember several trees where you successfully got all the way up, young Gladio. The problem was always with coming down.”

“I know this is extremely uncharacteristic of me to say,” Ignis says from his perch. “But I would appreciate less discussion of this subject and more activity aimed at resolving it. Specifically, activity geared towards getting me down.”

“Well, my boy,” Regis says, looking up at him. “As far as I’m concerned, there are only three options: one, we call the fire department and get them to bring ladders –”

“Certainly not!” Ignis yelps.

“Two, we ask the Crownsguard spying on us to come and try to see if any of them can lasso you down –”

“No!”

“Or you could jump,” Regis concludes.

“I’ll break my legs!” Ignis brays, looking distressed.

“No, no,” Regis says soothingly. “Jump to me, and I’ll catch you.”

“Are you sure?”

“If necessary, I will catch you with magic,” Regis promises. Sure, he doesn’t keep that much in practice any more, but he’s pretty sure he could warp to Ignis mid-air if he needed to.

Honestly, he could probably warp to Ignis now, but then he’d be holding onto Ignis some eighteen feet in the air with nothing to put his paws on, and that seems like a bad idea.

Ditto the idea of summoning a sword and using that as his warp object. He doesn’t trust his aim after all these years.

...maybe Cor is right and he should get back into training more often. It's just that he's so busy all the time...

Ignis is clearly considering his options: total humiliation, nearly total humiliation, or jumping.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I’ll try jumping.”

“You can do it!” Gladio calls up.

“You don’t get to say a word,” Ignis says crossly. “You I’m going to deal with when I get down again.”

“It was just a dare! You didn’t have to do it!”

“You’re just digging yourself in deeper, my boy,” Regis advises Gladio. “If I were you, I'd stop now.”

Gladio subsides, pouting.

“All right,” Regis calls up. “On three, yes? One – two – three!”

Ignis leaps.

Regis catches him.

He gets a flailing hoof in the gut for his trouble, but he does catch him.

He puts Ignis down. “Now, next time –”

“Don’t take any of Gladio’s stupid dares,” Ignis says. “Yes, sir. Now as for you –”

And he’s off like a shot, Gladio already leaping away as fast as his paws can take him which is fairly quick but not quite as quick as his furious pursuer.

Prompto is laughing and barking and clapping, running circles around the two of them.

Noctis is shaking his head. “They’re silly,” he declares, but he’s smiling.

“Indeed they are,” Regis says. “They could’ve been with us, fishing.”

“Nuh-uh,” Noctis says. “I told them to go away. Fishing is for us.”

Regis is surprised into a laugh. He hadn’t realized it was intentional on Noctis’ part.

He puts his hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “Yes,” he says warmly. “Yes, it is. Now, shall we see if we’ve gotten a bite?”

Noctis beams at him and puts his hand in Regis’.

If only they could stay this way forever, Regis thinks to himself. If only Noctis hadn’t been the Chosen King of the Prophecy –

There’s nothing for it, Regis reminds himself. It is what it is, and all the ‘if only’s in the world won’t change that. All there is to do is to make the best of the time they have.

They walk back to the pond, hand-in-hand.

It's nearly midsummer.

Midsummer: the day of the great Hydread Festival, held in honor of the fearsome Tidemother who sleeps beneath the waves. The day when each window in Insomnia Port is hung with water-chimes, the fountains are decorated with lights, and thousands and thousands of paper boats are released into the waves – a sacrifice of paper into the maw of Leviathan in the place of the real boats she used to demand.

All in all, a perfect excuse for the King of Lucis and his family to go all together to Insomnia Port, the nearest portion of Lucis to the islands of Galadh beyond.

No one would know about their real destination until it was too late to stop it – Cor hasn't even told Drautos, who is stepping in to help command the Crownsguard in Cor's absence, that anything is going on beyond a simple visit to the Port for the holiday. If anything, he's made a few comments about Regis wanting to show his son the traditions of his kingdom, and implied that he's being dragged along as the guardian of Prince Noctis' best friend, just the same way he's been doing with anybody else who's been left out of the loop.

It's nothing personal – oh, all right, it is a little personal; Cor would've preferred to leave the Crownsguard in Monica's hands, or Riyad's, or Tempus', or even, Six help them all, Gloriana, good reliable soldiers all. But Captain Drautos came very highly recommended from the countryside, where he'd achieved some significant (if unfortunately temporary) victories with nothing more impressive than the local militia, and he'd won the favor of a number of the more conservative Councilors with his work policing the inside of Insomnia.

Cor personally feels that Drautos' hand falls too harshly on the populace, dragging in violators or even suspected violators of the laws on fairly minimal provocation, but his law and order rhetoric and personal charisma are appealing to certain conservatives, while his heritage as an immigrant refugee himself makes more progressive Councilors listen more readily than they might have if it was just another Insomnia native saying the same old thing.

In fairness, Cor is also more inclined to listen to him on those grounds, being Insomnia-born himself and thereby not having the insight that might be offered by consulting an outsider. He's aware of that weakness, and he's tried to recruit Crownsguard from the outside where he can, but Drautos is easily the most highly accomplished non-Insomnian they have. Cor should really make an effort to listen more to his suggestions, and to involve him in his planning and operations.

But damn if he just plain old doesn't like the hyena ‘taur.

It's not even a matter of safety – Drautos has been so thoroughly cleared by Insomnia's intelligence division that suspicion is essentially useless, given the fact that no one would believe Cor if he made any accusations, even if he were the sort of 'taur inclined to trade on baseless rumors, which he is not. It's honestly just a personal distaste, backed with no rational reason whatsoever.

Cor has had years to train himself to be a proper professional who can work with people he dislikes and he's gotten quite good at it (whatever Clarus might say about his work in the Council where, at the very least, Drautos is not), so he's determined not to let it affect his relationship with the other 'taur. He's going to act to Drautos, sharing information and work and relying on his skills, just as efficiently and effectively as he would if he did trust Drautos.

....soon.

Really.

He swears.

Regardless, it's not like it matters this time around. Not knowing about their real target is unlikely to affect Drautos' command of the Crownsguard in Cor's absence, and Cor himself will be personally leading the Crownsguard delegation that will take the royal family to Galadh, so he's not too concerned about the omission.

No, Cor's focus now must be entirely on the upcoming voyage. He's sent Riyad ahead to obtain a vessel – it has to be Riyad, with his extended family and knowledge of childcare, to keep up the ruse – under the pretense of making sure it's safe for a short pleasure cruise, should Regis' whim require it, and he's assigned whatever Crownsguard members know how to sail a ship or can quickly learn how to help crew it.

Riyad finally called in and reported success – the ship he obtained would be more than capable of making the journey to Galadh – and that means it's time for the whole lumbering Procession to go: not just Regis and Clarus and Scientia and their families, plus a Crownsguard escort, but all the staff that are popularly seen as necessary, like cooks and servants and valets and chauffeurs and whatnot that Cor scarcely realized the largely self-sufficient Regis even had.

Titan's horns, Cor's glad they'll be mostly left behind to enjoy the holiday at Insomnia Port.

"You ready to go?" he asks Aulea.

"I've been ready to go for three weeks," she says waspishly. "You know, I've never thought I'd be nostalgic about working as a temporary sailor in exchange for passage on an illicit Niflheim steamer, but this whole ridiculous rigmarole is starting to do it."

"You ready?" Cor asks Regis, who looks up from his paperwork with a slight 'o' to his mouth, like he's totally forgotten what day, week, month and possibly even year it is.

"He's ready," Clarus says, rubbing his eyes from his place at Regis' side. "Aulea has been in charge of preparations – do you know that she used to be patient about these things? I blame you and your sea voyage –"

Cor smirks and moves on. He doesn't bother asking Scientia if she's ready – she's been sending paralegals ahead of her to ensure the Insomnia Port branch of her law firm has an office ready for her use for ten days already.

Instead, he pokes his head into Luna's room. "Ready to go?" he asks Luna and the children, who appear to be dressing Noctis up in some sort of vile green dress with feathers, with a similarly colorful make-up palette.

"Yes!" they all shout, except for Noctis, who tries to shout and trips over his own hem in the process.

Cor doesn't want to know – first, because he thinks he might recognize that dress from the bottomless pits of Cyrella's closet, some sort of old bridesmaid business, and second, because he thinks they might be attempting to create some sort of ballgown version of Kenny Crow.

He really doesn't want to know.

"Meet me at the elevator in twenty minutes," he says instead. "I'll take you to lunch while everyone else gets ready."

They all rush off.

"Oh, and Noctis?" Cor added, casually sticking out a paw to block Noctis' way.

"Yeah, Marshal?"

"Wash your face first. If you want to wear make-up to your next public event, you need to get your mother to do it for you, not your friends."

“Right!”

Cyrella, who Cor informed first and foremost, is rounding up what staff hasn't been sent ahead to go. She’s not joining them, much to her irritation: her stomach is already starting to round with the (possibly) unexpected pregnancy of her second-born. Clarus was over the moon about it and her doctor is pleased with her health, all but for the morning sickness that has made her throw up every time she so much as scents something containing more spice than plain salt.

Not exactly the right time to go to spice-loving Galadh, to say the least, and her doctor was also rather alarmed by the idea of letting a breeding ‘taur with severe morning sickness go on a sea voyage, no matter how short.

So, instead, Cyrella is running herd on the staff – and, as a result, Cor has never had an easier time getting people moving.

Really, he should consider finding an extremely tall, extremely irritated pregnant 'taur who hasn't eaten properly in a month to get people ready every time he travels - no one, not even the usual suspects, has made so much as a squeak of protest. If anything, they all seem to find the idea of getting far away from Cyrella's grasp to be extremely enticing...

They'll all be divided into their own cars, all the staff, forming a convoy for the royal family – of course, Cor has no intention of letting the entire royal family travel together for something this public, and he has (reluctantly) agreed with Clarus that Clarus can handle the protection of Regis and Aulea. With the assistance of some Crownsguard, of course.

Cor, in turn, will be driving the children, and he prefers to do that after they've finished their lunch.

He picks a restaurant fairly far off from the Citadel in the direction of the Port to give them a nice head start, though. An hour or so in the car weaving through city streets with hungry children, and then the next few hours traveling through the countryside with the full, sated and hopefully sleepy versions...

Unfortunately, this excellent plan is derailed by the fact that everyone is extremely excited about their first visit to Galadh, and therefore not even a good meal can make them sleepy and quiet.

No, instead, Cor gets –

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"I wanna play a car game!"

"Go ahead."

"Hey, look at that!"

"Get your head back into the car."

"Can we change the music?"

"Fine."

"Are we there yet?"

"Still no."

"What car game should we play?"

"You decide."

"Can we change the music?"

"Fine."

"Look! A coeurl!"

"That is not a coeurl. It's a bush. Please all get your heads back inside the car."

"Are we there yet?"

"Not since the last time you asked."

"Cor, I wanna play Animal-Plant-Black-and-White and he wants to play I Spy -"

"Take turns."

"Is it much longer till we get there?"

"Changing the form of the question will not get you a different answer."

"Guys! Cactaur!"

"That's a cactus."

"Can we change the music?"

"No. The music remains the same forever now."

"Are we there –"

"The next person to ask if we are there yet, how long until we arrive, makes another comment about the music, or asks me to arbitrate anything will not receive a bedtime story from me tonight," Cor says pleasantly.

Ah, blissful silence.

For about five seconds.

"I spy something – black."

"The Marshal's mood, perhaps?"

Snarky brats.

Cor hides a smile and keeps driving.

Of course, the sad drooping expressions are enough to make him relent and lift the prohibition on questions after another half-hour or so, but they manage, somehow, to make it to Insomnia Port without anyone (primarily Cor) committing infanticide.

He loves all the boys dearly, he's even starting to be fond of Luna, but sometimes...

Luckily, Insomnia Port dressed up for the Hydread puts a rapid end to the inane questioning. The normally quiet city – more of a town, compared to the Capital – is festooned in blue sashes and ringing with the tinkling sounds of wind chimes, hanging at every window. Children and even adults run through the streets wearing the traditional blue 'Hydra Head' cowls on their heads – caps in the shape of the Leviathan's draconic-seeming main head or of her watery "heads" of legend – laughing as they throw out blue-wrapped treats to all the passerby.

The warmth of summer is more intense here; nothing like the islands of Galadh, renowned for their hot weather and hotter food, of course, but hot enough to make the children unhappy that they're wearing their formal wear, even if said formal wear is the summerweight version.

"We'll change after we arrive in Galadh," Cor promises. "You need to be impressive to the crowd for a bit, and then T-shirts for everyone."

Noctis sighs, already accustomed to public events, and Luna is nodding, too, but Gladio, Ignis and Prompto are not so easily appeased. Ignis, at least, has the self-discipline to stop complaining out loud, but Cor can see his pout.

Time for a distraction.

"If you look to your right, you'll see the sea-ships in the harbor," Cor says.

Everyone promptly crowds over there, complaints forgotten.

"There's so many of them," Luna marvels. "It's like the pictures of Altissia!"

"More, actually," Ignis says, nose pressed up against the window pane. "Altissia is the larger harbor, and serves as the port of call for more sea-ships, but due to the way it was built inside a lagoon, they prefer not to let sea-ships get too close. They make them dock some way out – you can't see them all together like this."

"Wooooow," Prompto says.

"It's so awesome," Noctis agrees.

"Marshal, what has more ships – Insomnia Port, or the Lucian Airstrip in Tempius?"

"The Port," Cor replies. "Virtually all of our remaining airships are government owned, and they're rarely used. The Port, in contrast, has warships and merchant ships and pleasure craft and much more."

"Cool."

"But Niflheim has more ships overall, doesn't it?" Ignis asks.

"More airships, yes," Cor corrects. "Their airstrips are in vast, empty fields, with gigantic ships lying there in rows. But Niflheim started as a landlocked mountain realm, and to this day they far prefer airships to sea-ships."

The children ooh and aah.

“Look again now,” Cor suggests as he makes another turn, aiming for the harbor. “We’ll be passing a look-out point over the harbor-port – you should be able to see the boxes and boxes of the paper boats that will be released at midday on midsummer.”

More oohing and aahing ensues.

"I must say I'm excited to see Galadh," Luna says. "They're exclusively Lucian territory, but their community in Insomnia is quite small, I believe..?"

"They haven't been invaded - yet," Cor says dryly. "As a result, they have fewer refugees in Insomnia. We rather hope it stays that way."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose that's true."

"It's been years since I've had reason to go to the Galadh proper," Cor adds. "But I remember it fondly enough."

"You talk like you're old," Prompto complains.

"According to you, I am old."

"Nuh-uh!" Noctis exclaims. "Dad says you're like half his age."

"I'm only ten years younger," Cor says firmly. Maybe a dozen. He's always taken great care never to calculate exactly.

"Ten whole years?" Gladio marvels. "Wow. You're like a baby."

Cor sighs.

It’s bad enough that people who don't recognize him on sight when he's out walking with the children like to compliment him on caring for his "younger brothers". Now his own children are doing it...

The sailing time to Galadh might not be that considerable, but this is still going to be a long trip.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #regis lucis caelum #cor leonis #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #lunafreya nox fleuret #aulea lucis caelum #clarus amicitia #cyrella amicitia #my fic

21 notes · View notes