#BUT WE PUSH FORWARD I REFUSE TO DELETE IT YOURE ALL STUCK HERE WITH ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

malereader-inserts · 3 years

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Chamber of Reflection

Fandom: BBC Sherlock Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Male!Reader Summary: Oh dearest Sherlock, are you ready to move on? Word Count: 2,329 Warning: Blood and Death

“I don’t believe in love.”

You scoff out a laughter before turning to look at them, your smile dropped as you looked at them incredulously, “You’re kidding me right?”

“No?” They questioned back as if it was totally obvious because that’s how they were as a person, “I just don’t believe in love.”

“Impossible,” You shake your head, “Everyone believes in love, you, you’re different. You believe you don’t deserve love. That’s a whole different thing.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Same thing.”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock,” You folded your arms over your chest, “Your mother loves you, that’s family love. John loves you, that’s platonic love. I love you.”

“What type of love is that?”

“Figure it out, smartass.”

He never really figured it out.

Sherlock was smart, but he’s dumb at the same time.

He could rattle your ear off with different topics that he was interested in. He could give you a rundown about who you are and he probably knew you better than you knew yourself. But, give him a topic on a basic thing - he’ll malfunction.

“The planets? Sherlock, surely you couldn’t have deleted that out your head.”

“You underestimate me, (Y/n).”

“Clearly,” You replied dryly, rolling your eyes, “But, I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about what basic stuff you’ve decided to ignore or have deleted from your so-called hardware.”

“At least you’re able to keep up with me,” Sherlock comments as you give yourself a little nod to the side as acknowledgement.

“Well, what is it?”

“Talk to me more about love, please.”

You narrow your eye at him, tilting your head to the side for a second, you were suspicious of his intention before sighing and tending to his question - after all, it is rare to have Sherlock say please, it’s not an opportunity to pass up.

“How desperate must you be for this information as you did say please.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Alright,” you had your hands up in defence, “Well, love is different to each person and I can’t really help you that much Sherlock because it’s a learning process and it’ll be brutal. In a...somewhat good way.”

“That doesn’t explain anything at all!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head, “When you love someone, you just kinda know.”

“Right.”

“And...”

“Well, spit it out.”

You give him a soft smile, almost as if you knew something he didn’t know. Like you had to bit your tongue and refuse to tell him. He looks at your eyes, there is a glint of sadness, though he doesn’t comment on it as he allows you to speak.

“Love is going to ruin you someday, it doesn't matter if you don't believe in love, it doesn't matter if you think that you don't have the capacity to love someone, nothing matters. What matter is that one day you will fall in love and fall so hard that it will ruin you to the point that you will not be able to think correctly, to the point that your illness and cure both will be the love of your life, love will ruin you to the point you will look for sanity in insanity.”

“Back again so soon, Sherlock?”

He doesn’t answer you as he stands across from where you had claimed as your spot, you tilt your head in confusion at his silence, Sherlock loves to talk so why isn’t he talking.

“Must be a rough day then, ay Sherlock?” You continue to talk, “I don’t blame you, having a fight with your best friend and then your brother being annoying as ever - Mycroft just doesn’t shut up.”

“How do you know about my day, this is the first time I’ve seen you this week?” Sherlock questions.

You knitted your eyebrows together, your lips pursed together, as you give him room to think before interrupting.

“When will you come to the terms that you’re the one who killed me?”

At that moment, Sherlock stops. If a record of music was playing then it did the scratching halt. Sherlock looks over to your way, he didn’t realise that at some point he had stopped looking at you, you sat there with your arms crossed over your chest.

“You’re not dead.”

“Not in your mind palace, Sherlock,” You say, you look at your surrounding, “In here, I’m very much...alive.”

“You’re not dead,” Sherlock stammers out, blinking frantically, “You’re here, in front of me.”

You dismissed his words, “Funny, each time you come to talk to me, we’re in the same room you killed me in. I have to give you props, though, you really have memorised the room I died.”

“It was your house.”

“Yeah!” You snapped your finger and pointed to him, “You remembered, I’m slightly touched.”

“You can’t be dead.”

“And we’re back to denial,” You hummed, sitting comfortably on the edge of the sink, “Look around you Sherlock, you’re just blocking and deleting things out.”

“No, I am not.”

“Look at the blood, Sherlock.”

Your voice was firm as he shuts his eyes, hoping you had calm down because he could clearly hear anger behind the words you spat. Sherlock opens his eyes and there, he saw the full picture.

You sat on the sink of the kitchen, behind you were the windows and adjacent to your head was cabinets. Both were painted with the splatter of blood. He looked at your appearance, there was red upon your hands and your clothes...

Your clothes, every time he had visited you, you were still in the same clothes - he wouldn’t have mentioned anything to you about it, he knows from you and John that pointing stuff out can be offensive.

Your clothes, they were drenched in blood - your blood.

“Look me in the eyes, Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock doesn’t want to, he wants to rearrange the whole scenario and pretend that everything was rainbows and happy, yet he looked at you. He stared deep into your eyes and had to stop himself from gagging at the scene.

There was a bullet hole at your forehead, dried blood seems to drip from the wound when it was fresh.

“Don’t you remember Sherlock?” You asked, looking at him, “You killed, but at what cost?”

“I-”

“I mean, I know why you killed me, after all, I’m just living in your head so I get to know about what you’re thinking and all. But, I really want to hear it from your own mouth.”

Sherlock felt like he was stuck in this nightmare because essentially he was, he couldn’t just snap back into reality or wake up from his sleep. He felt like you had restraints on him and he’s unable to breakthrough.

“I killed you...” He murmurs as you lean forward, “I killed you because I loved you.”

You chuckled, softly, “Love, it makes you do real crazy things.”

See, Sherlock kept you in his head because you were important to him. You were his first and only love, you and Sherlock have known each other since primary school. You had been his only friend, even if he kept pushing you away.

You were the only one who could keep up with his smarts and his weird little thinking, but you were by his side - his first best friend. The man he loved. When the two of you got into high school, you and him were often seen together. You humanised Sherlock, back then he understood what it means to feel.

He was human back then, not this sociopathic man that he grew up to be. Sherlock loved you, just like you loved him. Even if you never really said anything out loud, he knew that you loved him with the way you grabbed him by his wrist and leading him away, it was the soft smile, gentle looks and caring words.

He wished he was able to spend a little longer being your boyfriend because you two managed fess up your feelings when you were eighteen. You were about to go to University, away from Sherlock. He wished he had mustered the courage to ask you to be his boyfriend years before.

“Sherlock, I’m not mad that you killed me.”

Sherlock snapped back into his room with you, you looked at him with the same caring eyes he grew up with, he tilts his head in confusion, he’s missing something in this memory - did he block it out or did he deleted it forever?

“They would have killed me anyway, I don’t have a life further than this Sherlock, both you and I know this,” He listens to your tender voice carefully, you’re no longer angry at him just angry that Sherlock refuses to move on, “You and I did it, Sherlock, you framed the murder perfectly on them.”

Them.

Who was them?

Sherlock looks at you before he hurled himself into the memory.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m quite aware of that Sherlock!”

Sherlock stands by the doorway of the kitchen, it’s messy as you sat on the sink, lifting your shirt to see the wound. You cringed, even Sherlock couldn’t remember what had happened to make you look like this and losing blood rapidly.

“You’re being remarkably calm about this.”

“Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen,” You say, pulling your shirt down and you looking at your boyfriend.

“We need to take you to the hospital.”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock, if they found out I went there. They’ll kill me!”

“They’ll kill you either way!” Sherlock pressed on, “Please, there must be some other way.”

“You kill me,” You said almost immediately, you looked at him with sharp eyes.

“No, (Y/n), no, are you an idiot?” Sherlock hissed at you, “There is another way, we just have to think about it.”

“We don’t have time to think, Sherlock,” You admitted, “They kill me, they’ll hind the evidence and go live another day, free, do you want that for me?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock was offended that you would suggest that, “I can prove that they kill you, I can do it - you can trust me.”

“I trust you, Sher,” You say, desperate and lovingly, “But, wouldn’t it be better to frame them?”

Sherlock stood there, weighing out the pros and cons in your thinking. Perhaps it was clouded, his judgement as he sees you point out a gun on the kitchen table and reminding him to use a glove so they don’t pick up any of his fingerprints.

What was going through Sherlock’s mind? He wouldn’t be able to tell you, because when he aimed the gun at you there was no thought behind his eyes. You swallowed nervously.

“Hey, Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Just know I love you, and I will never hold it against you.”

“I know.”

“Sherlock?” He looks back at you, “Oh, good, you’re responsive.”

“I never said I love you.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” you laughed, he pretends that it didn’t slightly hurt him, “You think I didn’t know?”

Sherlock looked down then back up at you, you were back in clean clothes and the surrounding of your kitchen was clean. Though, you didn’t look phased.

“I mean-”

You raised an eyebrow, “You did at least frame them right? My parents?”

Sherlock knitted his eyebrows, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock looks at you, watches you breathe in and out, there was a clear disappointment and you had stopped intensely watching him. You turn to look back at him, he was surprised to see you smile at him as you clapped your hand.

“Well, I’m not going to shy away from saying that I am disappointed, perhaps that’s why you blocked out the memory,” You spoke, crossing your arms.

“I can fix it!”

“Can you?”

“I made a name for myself, (Y/n), Mycroft can help me as well as Craig-”

“Greg-”

“Whatever, and we can finally bring you justice, maybe you could be at peace.”

“It’s not me that I’m concern for peace, Sherlock, you’re the one who keeps me alive in your mind palace,” You admitted as you lay down the reality of Sherlock, “It’s time to let me go. The question is: Are you ready?”

Mycroft comes knocking at the door, he was greeted by John.

“Sherlock is busy,” John says from his armchair as Mycroft enters without a proper invite.

Mycroft looks around the room before stopping at the bookshelves, a picture frame that was permanently situated as face down was now standing, showing the picture that was kept hidden from the world.

Mycroft makes his way towards it as John looks at him.

“Sherlock put it up yesterday, along with a new case.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Mycroft leered, softly smiling to himself, “What’s the case about?”

“The murder of (Y/n) (L/n), Sherlock is convinced that it wasn’t suicide, though I don’t know how he knows about the case, that was closed over a decade ago - at least that’s was Lestrade said.”

“Watson, do you know who is standing next to Sherlock in this picture?”

John looked at the picture, he could recognise Sherlock when he was younger. he still had the curls and bright blue eyes, standing straight up, next to him was a boy smiling and had his arm over the sociopath’s shoulder - though back then, you could hardly call Sherlock a sociopath.

“No?”

“That is (Y/n) (L/n),” Mycroft says as John’s eyebrow raised up, “He is the reason why Sherlock snapped and changed in his behaviour. His death caused Sherlock to lose his pathway.”

“He means a lot to Sherlock?”

“Well, he is the only person Sherlock truly love romantically. Perhaps the first and love of Sherlock.”

“Sherlock loved him?”

“He still does, it’s why he’s reopening this case because dear Watson, between us two and Sherlock. This is not a case to solve a murder, this is to frame someone of murder and we’re going to help him.”

#sherlock BBC #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc imagine #sherlock holmes x male reader #x male reader #personal favourite

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its-warm-in-here · 3 years

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Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you. Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village. You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you. They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself. If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you. "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though, the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

#Karl Heisenberg #Re8 #re8 heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #Ill keep this going as long as i can #wow creativity is hard #karl can be nice if he tries

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nicka-nell · 3 years

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Just Office Kuroo blackmail his little secretary// nsfw // 61, 63 and/or sub!Akaashi/Bokuto // fluffy nsfw //44 + 70 👀

NSFW - Blackmail (Kuroo x reader) NSFW - Spicy dessert (sub!Akaashi x reader)

Hi sorry for the late answer. So here we go! ♥

Valentine’s Day - Prompt Event | Masterlist (coming soon)

Pairing: Office Kuroo x secretary reader (Blackmail) Warning: NSFW, blackmail, noncon/dubcon, hair pulling, oral, mention of alcohol, breeding Prompts: 61. I’ll fill you up to the brim. 63. On your knees

You should have listened to the words of the woman who ran mad with smeared mascara from Kuroo’s office. You should have listened that he just used you and made you his little slut. But you were naïve.

In good faith, he smiled at you with a broad grin, opened the door to his office and asked you to come in. Out of sheer excitement, you stumbled over his carpet, Kuroo grabbed you so your tender hands wouldn’t burst open on the rough stuff.

He was nice, asked you to have a drink, told you about the tasks you should do as his personal secretary, and all the trips you would do with him if you did well. He told you how highly regarded you would be if you worked for him, Kuroo Tetsurou, as a secretary.

The professional world would be open to you later. You were naïve to think that his words weren’t there to trap you. His words were like cheese for a mouse. Tempting and irresistible.

It did not take long for you to make your first journey. The second came quickly. And on the third, the first incident came that should have startled you. The one where your alarm bells should go on.

Because the hotel rooms were suddenly full. Your order never came in. There was only one room left. A double room.

Although you were certain that you placed the order for two rooms, you blame yourself. Maybe you made a mistake, have instead of two rooms, only marked one? You wanted to leave the room to Kuroo, find something else for yourself, but he insisted that you share the room.

The second time, your warning signals should have sounded was when he showed you the full whiskey bottle and wanted to drink with you for a successful week here in a foreign country.

Not only were you wide-eyed, but you were stupid when your body became warmer and warmer. You let his words lull you in and didn’t stop him from walking up your leg, stroking your thigh and pulling your skirt up. You were stupid not to listen to the woman who told you to watch out for him.

Because when you were back at the office, Kuroo wanted to touch you just like in that one tipsy night, when you moved away from him. He looks at you seriously, his tone dark. “Do you really think you’re capable of acting like this against your boss, kitten?” He says mockingly, while his muscular arms are around your waist as he looks in the mirror next to his front door, enjoying your delicious panicked look.

You want to break away from him, tell him that everything that happened at the hotel was only one night. Kuroo laughs sarcastically, rummaging around with one hand in his suit pants, still holding you against his chest with the other.

You still feel his warmth on your body, which makes your heart beat faster unpleasantly when he holds his phone in front of you and makes your body freeze. Photos of you, both of you.

How you lie naked on the floor, spreading your legs wide. Kuroo’s cum drips from your swollen entrance, is spread across your belly and open mouth. He even shows you a video, a video of him fucking you while you moan out loud that you want to be an excellent secretary for him.

You couldn’t remember all that. Tears flow into the corners of your eye, your lower lip is shaking. “It would be a shame if the public saw all this, wouldn’t it? But if you want to go, then please, go through the door and the video will ruin your entire career. Stay and I’ll erase it after you give me what I want.”

With his words, you can feel his grip loosen. As his warmth disappears and he settles on his office chair wide-legged, looking at you through the mirror with a mischievous grin. So when you go into his disgusting game, he deletes the images. If you refuse…

Vociferously you swallow the big lump stuck in your throat, wipe away the tears that seek their way down before turning around. You really are gross… That’s what you’re trying to say, but there’s a different question coming off your lips.

“If I go along with your perverted wishes, will you promise me… to delete the pictures and videos on your phone? Not to send them?”

Deep he looks into your eyes, trying to avoid laughing before he nods at you. “Promised... and now come here, pretty girl.” Ashamed, you put your hand on your other arm, look to the side as you walk towards him and now stand in front of him.

“On your knees!” He commands and supports his arms to the left and right at the back of the chair. You hesitate for a moment, but when he unlocks his phone, you frighten and get down on your knees.

“Do you understand what you have to do? Or do I have to tell you, that you’re not on your knees to tie my shoes?” Without giving him an answer, your shaky hands move toward his fly. You open it quietly, touching the already big bulge in his pants.

Your fingertips touch the waistband of his shorts as you pull them down to take his dick into your grip. Big and fat it is in your hands, just lets you hope you don’t have to use your mouth.

“How about you use your pretty secretary’s mouth to wrap your lips around my dick?” He smirks, bring his hand to the back of your head before he pulls you down by your hair.

“Ah!” You’re startled for a moment before his tip silences you. “You better be quiet, there’s still staff in the office.” You can’t hold back your tears any more, they quickly flow down your cheek, wet Kuroo’s suit trousers, each time his tip penetrates the back of your throat.

You want him to stop holding on to your head. You want him to stop looking at you like that. And you want him to stop using you like you’re just a toy. But he doesn’t stop.

He now grabs the back of your head with the second hand to move your head up and down faster against your will. Pushes you deeper into his pelvis every time and makes you choke. Your saliva drips along his length on his shorts, which you only sloppily pull down when his cock twitches.

If you bring him to a climax now, it will take a while for him to get back on track. Maybe that’s enough to delete the photos. Again, you were naïve to think that. Then just before he’s about to come, he pulls your head away, looks at your face, at your open mouth where your tongue hangs out.

Your breath is flat, as you quickly try to catch the air he took from you earlier. A sight that reminds Kuroo of your night at the hotel. He didn’t hire you because you were good.

Of course, your resume was good, your grades outstanding and your idea of yourself okay, but Kuroo had been throwing his eyes on something else all along. On your eyes that had sparkled so brightly, on your hair, your mouth as it had moved while talking, on your shapely breasts that looked perfect in the tight-fitting blouse. On your womanly hips that looked perfect in this pencil skirt. On your soft legs and those high heels. You were his type from the beginning.

With a suspicious smirk, he gets up, lifts you by your hair as he pushes you forward against his office table and shoves your skirt up. So that he can slip his saliva-soaked dick between your thighs, opening your blouse as he laughs into your ear shell.

“Are you looking forward to what’s coming, pretty girl?” Not only do you feel his cock on the inside of your thighs as it slowly moves back and forth, but you also feel it on your fabric-wrapped entrance.

You can feel it on the texture that’s getting wet. First you think it’s because Kuroo’s cock was still covered with your saliva, but then your own body betrays you when you make a slight moan.

Wordlessly you squeeze your legs, push your pelvis backwards and tilt your head against his chest as Kuroo pushes his long fingers under your bra to play with your nipples. “Oh, look how needy you are, kitten.”

He laughs when he sees your glowing face, perceiving the movements of your body. You have to think about that night again, about how much you enjoyed having sex with him.

But that was different. Back then you were both drunk, you were both kind of curious and wanted the other’s warmth. But now it’s different, he’s blackmailing you. He’s using you.

Everything he does is not right, can’t be right. But why does it still feel so good? Why don’t you want him to stop? Laughing, his hands find their way to your skirt, pull it up before pressing you down on the table at your back.

Rudely you land on his documents, papers, pens and everything else that lies on his table, giving a quiet groan of you as you feel his other hand on your panties. How two of his fingers wander along your folds and enjoy your wet panties.

He still doesn’t stop laughing when he pulls them aside with his thumb and looks at your bare skin. “Do you want me to eat you out like that one night, or do you want my dick right in there?” He breathes, his hair now on your lower back, when his tongue costs your tender skin.

But you don’t answer him. Annoyed, he clicks with his tongue, grasps firmly at the back of your head, before stretching it backwards. “Your boss asked you a question, so answer!” His voice is no longer teasing. No, it’s angry, annoyed, irritable.

New tears clump your vision as your shaky words leave your lips. “Just put it in… Hurry… I want this all over as soon as possible.” You sniff what Kuroo likes even more.

He would have liked to taste your juice again, but he still has plenty of opportunities. “I have such an excellent secretary, right?” He laughs before he loosens the grip on your hair and your head falls forward.

The throbbing pain subsides, but is quickly replaced by another. Yet Kuroo pushes his massive dick into your entrance, takes no account of the fact that your pain-filled cry becomes louder and louder. No, your loud scream, your hands trying to push him away from you, just turn him on even more.

Faster he hammers into you. Your entire abdomen pierces. You feel he’s tearing everything in you, that he’s going to break you, that you can’t walk after this. The pain twists your stomach, your vision gets blurry and your crying gets louder.

“Stop it, please! Please stop, you’re hurting me! Kuroo please!” You sniff, but your words only push his ego even more. Because your sounds are like a symphony in his ears. Wonderful and he could listen to you for hours, but your voice is interrupted by his loud ringtone.

A call from a partner. One he can’t just swipe away or ignore. For a moment he bends forward. You can feel his eyelashes on your temple, his breath on your ear. “You better be quiet now, the call’s from an important person, and you don’t want him to recognize your voice, do you?”

Your eyes widen, shocked, you try to look in his direction, can’t believe he really wants to answer the phone, but doesn’t want to stop his torture. “Kuroo no!”

“Shut your mouth!” He hisses before he picks up the phone and starts the phone call. “Yes? Sure… I have time… No, no, you’re not interrupting.” He laughs calmly, as if he is sitting in his office chair and doesn’t have his cock in you right now.

Full of force, he rams his tip up to your cervix, is much more aggressive than before, almost as if he wants to make you moan. But you quickly hold your hands in front of your mouth, suppressing your moaning as your eyes roll backwards.

Although you are disgusted, his length feels good as it fills you completely, stuffing you perfectly as if it is made for you. Unconsciously, you squeeze your legs, press together his cock to feel each vein, biting your lower lip tightly to stay still.

You can feel Kuroo’s grip on the fat of your ass getting tighter, his movements getting sloppier, and his voice changing since you squeezed your legs. You know he’s about to come.

“Yeah, yeah. Oh damn, I got a meeting. I’ll call you back. Goodbye!” He doesn’t know if his partner on the other line had even heard the goodbye. Since he had tried to press the red button so quickly, before he throws the phone out of his hand and clasps your waist tightly with both hands, puts his warm chest on your back.

“Ah fuck, you naughty little secretary. Does it make you so horny to get caught that someone else is hearing you? Ah fuck, kitten! I’ll fill you up to the brim.” He grumbles, sucks at your tender neck, before his thrusts become faster and faster, making the whole table shake.

“Be a good girl and come for your boss. Come with your boss!” He breathes excitedly, as your hands slide from your mouth and a loud moan slips out of it. “Haah boss, I’m coming!” You whine, before your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your throbbing walls bind his length tightly while your entire body lies numb on the table. It glows with excitement and doesn’t make you think clearly as Kuroo’s thrust pushes you forward a little further along with the table.

He thrusts deeply into you, hitting your cervix, which makes you sigh again before you feel his cock twitching and filling your inner with something warm. But you are still on your own high to worry about all this.

“I’m filling you so much, you’re getting pregnant with my bastard. As a reward for being so good.” He whispers in your ear, still balls-deep inside you. Only now, his words bring you back to reality. Lures a frightened “No, please don’t!” which makes Kuroo chuckle before his warmth disappears from your body and he slumps behind you in the office chair, straightening your panties.

He studies you with pleasure, waits until you turn around and look into his proud face. He just came inside of you. But... you can still go to the doctor, get the pill that prevents pregnancy. Somehow, you’ll be alright. Somehow you’re going to prevent this. But more importantly, it’s all over now.

Still a little shaky on your feet, you straighten your skirt, the blouse before you look disgusted at Kuroo. “Now please delete the photos, Kuroo. You promised...” With your arms crossed in front of your body, you look at him, watch him pull his phone out of his pocket and move it back and forth in his hand.

But instead of deleting the photos, he puts his phone away again, laughs arrogantly. “You really are a naïve little girl. I promised you I would delete the photos, but I didn’t say a word that I would delete them now.” His words freeze your complete body. You want to cry again, but all your tears are gone.

Broken, you just stand in front of him, realizing that your nightmare is far from over. “I have a meeting now. I’ll see you tomorrow, my lovely secretary.” He grins as he pulls his pants back up and ties his belt before he passes you, leaving you broke and left alone in his office.

Pairing: sub!Akaashi x reader Warning: NSFW, sub!Akaashi, fluff Prompts: 70. I’m not wearing any panties 44. Why’d you stop?

It’s been a long time since you’ve had time to enjoy the togetherness with Akaashi. Then he is too absorbed in his work, had a big order several weeks ago, and is so busy with it he sometimes even sleeps in his manga studio.

You always want to support him as much as possible. Therefore, every time he spends more time in his studio, you bring him something warm to eat, fresh clothes to change and remind him that he should also take breaks and not neglect his sleep.

Today you get another message from him: he will stay in the studio and will not come home today. A little sad, you look on your calendar on the date, which is decorated with a heart painted in red and announces your anniversary.

Loneliness envelops you. Even if you know that Akaashi’s work is very important to him, you would like to enjoy the time together again. Cuddle with him, lie in his arms, feel his breath and hear his quiet voice, as he tells you about his day before going to bed.

But instead, here you are, alone. Tightly, you clench your hands. No, You’re sure you won’t be alone on your anniversary.

Lovingly as always, you prepare his food, pack him fresh clothes before you go to your side of the wardrobe to pick out the coat that Akaashi likes most. A coat in a deep blue with silver buttons that have a magnificent tulip engraved on each button. You dress yourself, look in the mirror before you go out. Today, you will not leave his studio right after bringing him his stuff.

Tired, Akaashi sighs as he puts his hands on his face, massaging his eyebrows with his fingers. His eyes are already burning, but the drawings before him are not finished yet. Most of his employees have already gone home, only two are sitting in the group room next to his office.

“I should get another black tea.” He murmurs as he looks at the clock, which already tells him the time for the evening. Worried, he looks at his phone. Because you’re still not here with the food.

Normally you’d be here a long time ago. You’d tell him black tea isn’t good for him at this hour and he should go to bed. At the thought of your instructive words, he must smile. You are his everything.

Although you dislike his extensive work until night, you still try to support him. Still in his mind, he types in your mobile number, to press the green button as the loud knocking on his door makes him look up.

“Come inside!” he calls out irritated and blinks a few times to get a better view. With his mouth open, he puts his mobile phone out of his hand, looks forward in amazement while his entire body suddenly gets warm, his face gets more color.

“Y/n… my love… you look beauti- stunning.” He stutters quietly while his body lifts him from his chair, but his legs remain as if rooted.

Your shoes are clapping loudly on the floor as you stand in front of him. Carefully you put the two bags with food and clothes on the table. “I brought you something to eat, pretty boy. And a dessert too.”

You playfully blow your last words to him while you look him in the eye and walk down his chest to his waistband with your index finger. Teasingly you pull his waistband a little closer to you, before you give him a fleeting kiss and sit on a vacant place on his desk, set your legs seductively over each other.

Your legs are naked, no stockings are on your soft skin. You have to wear a skirt… No, all your skirts are longer than that beautiful coat that flatters you. And all your dresses are longer as well.

Even your shoes are ones you wouldn’t wear in everyday life, because according to your words, they would be too sexy to wear just like that. Also, your hair is wildly styled, yet elegant, just like the makeup you had applied. For a moment, he thinks about whether you’re wearing lingerie under your coat, but just the thought turns his cheeks red.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” you ask him with a smile as you notice how he looks shyly to the side. “Did you… Did you wear something under… I mean, do you just wear lingerie?” He asks as his eyes search for yours again. At the same moment that he asked, he regrets it. If that’s not the case, you probably think he’s a pervert. But instead you just giggle.

“Oh Keiji… I’m not wearing any panties.” Now his eyes widen even more, completely silent he looks at you, but just when you want to say something, he is the one who speaks.

“You walked here wearing nothing under your coat? My love, what if something had happened to you? It’s dangerous! Someone could have-”, “Keiji stay calm... look, here in the bag are my clothes and my street shoes inside. I undressed in the guest bathroom earlier…” With a warm smile, you try to calm him down.

Even though he knows you’re naked under that coat, he’s worried about your safety first. This is the Akaashi you know and love.

You see the relief in his face, and when his shoulders slowly relax, he makes a quiet sigh. “I think maybe we should start with the dessert right away, don’t you think, pretty boy?” You try to heat the mood again while you play with the band of your coat and slowly open the first button.

Wordless, almost as if Akaashi is holding his breath, his eyes haunt your fingers. They don’t move down to the second button, yet look for their way to Akaashi’s chest, dropping him back in his chair.

But before he can respond, you seal his words with an intimate kiss, loosen his tie before taking it off and straightening up. “Y/n what if someone-”

“I don’t care if someone can see us,” you answer him as you move behind Akaashi with a seductive hip swing, caress his arms before you bring them behind the chair and knot his hands with his tie.

“Y/n… what are you doing?” He asks unsettled as he tries to untie himself, but you tightly bound the knot around his ankles and the chair. Again you pop up in his field of vision, sit on his lap as you open the buttons of his shirt, give him a kiss with each button you open. On his mouth, his cheek, his earlobe, his neck.

“Hah Y/n…” He groans quietly as you kiss his neck and open the last button of his shirt, now circling his hard nipples with your fingertips. “Time for dessert.” You breathe as you get off his lap and look at his red face.

Full of desire, he looks at you, his hands cuffed, the shirt wide open, so that you can see his chest while a bulge has formed in his pants. Akaashi sits wide-legged in front of you and his eyes beg you to continue.

Calmly, you open the second button that slightly exposes your collarbone as you play with the third button and look Akaashi in the eye. “Today is our anniversary, my pretty boy. You didn’t really want to leave me alone on our anniversary, did you?”

His eyes grow large again. Did he forget the most important day for both of you? Was he really such a bad husband? “I am so sorry…” His sad voice resounds in your ears, but you have to smile.

Akaashi looks at you so clumsily, full of love. You know he didn’t do this on purpose. With a smile, you open the other buttons before you play with the collar of the coat and drop it elegantly from your shoulders to the floor.

Akaashi keeps the air away, at the sight he has before him. Your beautiful bare skin sparkles splendidly in the evening sun. With his eyes he explores your curves, would love to touch them. Stroll along them with his hands and tell you how beautiful you are with every movement, but his hands are tied.

Seductively you swing your hips towards him, sit on his lap while you pat his neck and chest, slowly open his pants with your hands to free his stiff member.

“Ahh my love… please, I need you,” grunts Akaashi, who tilts his head to the back, looks at the ceiling with red cheeks and enjoys your kisses. But you only answer him with a tender smile, a light sip on his chest, as your hands lie around his length and play with his tip.

“Show me how much you need me,” bounce your damp words against his chest, while you watch him through the corner of your eye, how he tries to free his hands.

“Nggh… Please my love… don’t tease me like that,” his throaty voice echoes through the room as your grip becomes tighter on his dick and your movements quicker. “Ah, my love… haaah…” He groans further with flat breath, slightly tightens his muscles, and pinches his teeth.

His cheekbones now come out even more and beautify his already perfect face when he tries to delay his climax a bit. But you sense he’s about to come. Abruptly you stop, your warmth leaves him and a short time later also your body, which no longer sits on him.

Instead, you stand in front of him again, raising his chin with your index finger. He looks at you with his excited eyes, not understanding why you stopped. “Why’d you stop?”

Lovingly you smile before you let go of his face and turn to one of the two bags to get out a small bottle of lube. “I don’t want you to come now.”

Quietly, Akaashi watches you as you spread the lube on your hand and then smear the now warm gel around his length, distributing it before squatting down on the office chair with your knees next to Akaashi’s legs.

Slowly you shove his cock into you, as you both moan in unison. His entire length is exploring your inside and is greeted by your warm walls as you begin to ride him.

“Tie me off my love. Let me touch you.” Akaashi breathes whiney, his eyes closed as he tilts his head back. But you only deny his request. Take his face in your hands and bend it back forward. “Look me in the eye, pretty boy.”

Although your voice is soft, he carries out your command, looks into the eyes of the woman he adores most. Your hands slowly wrap around his neck, clawing into his shoulder blades as you move up and down faster and faster in circular movements, jumping on his cock full of desire.

You know exactly that Akaashi is still very sensitive, that he might come any moment. And that’s okay with you. Because you’re not here to pursue your lust. You want Akaashi to be fine; you want him to let go of the stress of work and relax.

“Nghh my love… I’m coming…” He groans as he buries his hands in the tie's fabric, his ankles almost turning white. “Then come for me, my pretty boy,” you whisper to him, as you move your body so that Akaashi growls while continuing to look deep into your eyes.

Just a few seconds later you feel the white liquid filling your inside, slowly running down his twitching length and making a mess of his pants, which you had just opened sloppily to reach his dick.

Without moving, you remain in this position, gently placing your hands around his fast moving upper body before pressing your forehead against his. “Please don’t forget to take your breaks, angel. You’re working too hard again.” You tell him warmly before you give him a fleeting kiss on the nose and grab behind the chair to free him from the tie.

As soon as his hands are free, he places them around your waist, holds you tightly in his arms, and puts his head on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry… that I forgot our anniversary Y/n.” His words are honest, full of remorse as you feel them moist on your skin.

You’re about to tell him it’s okay, but he interrupts you before you can even say anything.

“But… the day is not over yet and we have already exceeded the time for lunch, anyway,” husky, his voice kisses your ears while his eyes look at you with blazing fire.

“What do you mean? Ah! Keiji!” You scream when your body is suddenly lifted into the air, as you quickly wrap your legs and arms around his body.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says seriously and kisses your collarbone.

With a sweaty grin, you look at the door before you turn your gaze back to your husband. “And what about your co-worker?”, “I don’t care,” he whispers as he approaches the white curtain that separates his office from the small sleeping place he always uses when he doesn’t come home, to throw you on the mattress.

“Let’s finish the dessert.”

#haikyuu x #haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #akaashi smut #lovebirds-event

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

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private ~ eminem

word count: 1445

request?: yes!

“hellooo🥺i was wondering if i could request an imagine for eminem. Maybe where the reader (female) is also a singer and she posts a cute picture of them together by accident and fans go crazy since she’s very private and tells Em and so they reveal they‘ve been dating for like two years. feel free to change it if you need to. Love your writing, i hope you have a nice day 🤍🤍”

description: in which they’re both very private about their personal lives, until she accidentally posts a picture of the two of them

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Before my career took off, I had a personal Instagram account that was private. It was for my friends and family and that was it. When I started to really become famous, and people started looking up my social media, I decided to make a public account just for fans to follow.

I wasn’t a very public person. I liked my privacy, but I also liked to share some of my personal life with friends and family. One of these things that I liked to share was my relationship with Marshall.

We had met through mutual friends and hit it off immediately. He met my family, I met his daughters, and within a few months, we were basically living with one another. I loved Marshall, and I loved to show him off. However, we were both very private people, meaning any showing off I did was always on my personal social media accounts, not my public ones.

On a rare night that we both had off, Marshall decided to make dinner for the two of us as a stay at home date. I was trying to take a picture of the meal with Marshall in the background, but of course he refused to take a good picture.

“Why do you have to be on your phone right now?” he asked. “We’re trying to have a nice date, no phones.”

“I want to take a picture of what you did for us,” I argued with him. “I want to show my family, is that okay?”

He playfully rolled his eyes at me, but didn’t say another word. I held my phone up again to take another picture, to which Marshall held up his middle finger just as I took the picture.

“Charming,” I said and rolled my eyes.

I figured it was the best I was getting, so I decided to quickly type a caption and post the picture before turning my phone off.

“It’s off,” I told him before showing him my phone. “Look, off. I’ll put it on the counter, you have me all night.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.”

We finished dinner and ended the night in the bedroom, as to be expected. When I woke up the next morning, I was still cuddled in Marshall’s arms. I couldn’t help but smile as I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before slowly wiggling out of his arms.

I pulled on his discarded shirt and made my way to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of us. As I began to cook, I realized I had left my phone off in the kitchen all night. I turned it back on, hoping that I didn’t miss anything too important the night before.

The moment my phone turned back on and connected to the wifi, I was bombarded with messages. Numerous mentions in tweets and Instagram comments, people trying to DM me on both social media platforms, multiple text messages from friends of mine all saying the same thing, “Did you mean to do this?”

I was confused. I couldn’t understand what was happening. For a moment, I started to worry that some tabloid had decided to write an article about me, or someone was trying to spread some sort of rumors about me. It wouldn’t be the first time. It wasn’t until I read the name Paul Rosenberg, Marshall’s manager, on my screen and the text message he had sent me.

“I don’t think this was on purpose, but it’s been up too long for deleting it to do anything. You and Em are about to have a field day. I’ll let you break the news to him”

Attached to the text was a screenshot of the picture I had taken of Marshall the night before, along with the caption I had written, “Date night in with my love”. It wasn’t until I read the username, “(Y/F/N)official”, that I realized I had posted it on my public Instagram, not my private one.

My eyes widened as I fumbled to try and unlock my phone. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, no!”

And there it was, the picture of my loving boyfriend with a caption that confirmed our relationship. I scrolled through the comments to read everyone’s reaction. Most people were shocked, very few of my fans were aware that I even knew Marshall. Many were very happy for me, and for Marshall. And then, of course, there was a small fraction of both of our fan bases that were unhappy with our relationship.

My DMs were filled with people reacting to the picture, and my Twitter notifications were bombarded with tabloid accounts posting stories about the “surprise confirmation”, and people’s reactions to it on there.

I felt myself becoming angry and frustrated. I locked my phone and threw it onto the counter, burying my face in my hands and starting to cry. I couldn’t believe I had managed to fuck up the one private thing I had in my life. When Marshall woke up he was going to be pissed. He wasn’t one to share his personal life, and now I had outed the both of us. We’d never get privacy ever again, not from fans and definitely not from paparazzi.

I heard footsteps approaching the kitchen and quickly wiped my eyes with the sleeves of Marshall’s shirt. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen moments later, stretching his arms out as he did so.

“Good morning,” he said. “Are you burning something?”

I remembered then that I had forgotten all about the omelette I was making. I raced over to the pan and tried to flip the, only to find it stuck to the pan, and anything that wasn’t stuck was nearly black. I turned off the stove and threw the spatula I was using in frustration, exclaiming, “God fucking dammit!”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Marshall said, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s just one omelette, we can make another. We have plenty of pans.”

“It’s not just that,” I sighed, turning to face him. "Remember that picture I took of you and the dinner you made us last night?” He nodded. “I thought I posted it on my private Instagram, but I was posting so quickly that I didn’t double check before I posted it and turned off my phone and I...I posted it to my public Instagram account.”

Marshall looked at me for a moment, his face confused. The longer it took him to realize what this meant, the more I found myself bracing for the moment he realized.

“Okay?” he said. “What does that mean?”

“It means I accidentally outed our relationship, Marshall,” I said. “Everyone knows. Nearly half the tabloid news sites have written fucking articles about it at this point, my social media has been bombarded with messages, I’m sure yours has too - ”

“I don’t give a fuck about being all those messages,” he said with a shrug. “I have my notifications off, and you should, too, if it’s going to bother you that much.”

“The messages aren’t bothering me!” I snapped, my frustration with myself erupting once again. “What’s bothering me is the fact that I outed our relationship by accident. Marshall, I fucked us over here! Because of me, we can never have any privacy ever again. We can’t go out on the down low, fuck, we probably can’t even leave the house right now cause there’s probably people outside! And it really fucking sucks cause...I felt so normal in our relationship. For a while, I forgot I was under everyone’s watchful eye and all I cared about was you.”

Marshall took me in his arms and held me tightly as I began to cry. He ran his fingers through my hair, kissing the top of my head as I let out my frustration.

“You haven’t fucked us over,” he told me. “Yeah, I wanted to keep this private, too, but I don’t care if the world knows about us. We don’t have to share every detail of our relationship, but I don’t mind if we get caught holding hands, or even just spending time together. At least everyone will know that you’re mine.”

I pushed away from his embrace to look up at him. “You’re not mad at me?”

He wiped away my tears with his thumbs and cupped my face. “Of course not. You didn’t do it on purpose, it’s fine baby. We’ll get through this, it’s not the end of the world.”

I smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. Let’s go get some breakfast, I’m starving.”

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #imagine #one shot #request

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lucyhalearchive · 3 years

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Home Alone (B.B.)

Hey, guys! Here is a cute little request an anon made, but I accidently deleted it. They asked for a cute Bruce imagine, and here it is <3

Warnings: a little angsty, but nothing big.

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Bruce is afraid he’ll lose you someday.

You weren’t as involved with Bruce’s life as you'd like to be.

When you would wake up in the morning, you would hope to turn onto your side and run your hand up his chest, smiling as he looked down at you. Instead, you would turn to meet cold sheets and an empty apartment. You would drag yourself out of that same bed and wander aimlessly around the place trying to fill the day with chores or any hobby you could find.

When the day would end, you would crawl back into the same bed, feeling empty. However, it’s not like you never saw Bruce because sometimes you would go into his lab and visit him, or he would come home to change. They always say it’s the little things that count.

Today is just one of those days where you go to see him right around the universal time for lunch, but as you step into the lab, there’s no one around. You search around for a few minutes thinking he would be elbow deep in research or something Tony asked him to do, but it’s empty. You tighten your grip on your bag and whirl around to leave, wondering if you should leave a note to call, but you scream when someone runs into you.

“Hey, woah, it’s me.” Bruce grabs your upper arms to stabilize you. You back off and take a deep breath before laughing.

“I came looking for you for lunch, but I didn’t see you.” You mention, and suddenly you feel this nagging pull of annoyance. You don’t know what to do with your arms, so you decide to put them behind you.

“I can’t today. I have a ton of work to finish-” You roll your head back causing him to stop.

“You can’t step away for ten minutes?” You try to bargain, but he pushes past you to get to his desk littered in papers.

“I just can’t. Go home, okay? I’ll be done here not much longer.” He dismisses you, and for a moment you begin to walk off. You start to prepare yourself for entering that same lonely room that’s been waiting for you all day. For a moment, you’re excited and willing to because when you were asleep, Bruce was there in your dreams. He was there with you living a completely normal life. He was always there, but in the end, they’re just dreams. They don’t hold you when you’re down, or comfort you when you’re lonely.

“No, I’ll wait since you won’t be long.” You turn back around and sit in a chair not too far from his workspace, and you can hear him let out an annoyed, yet tired, sigh.

“Love, just go home. I promise I won’t be gone for too long.” He picks up a pen and starts to work again, but you stay put. You cross one leg over the other and get comfortable. For a few minutes, everything is quiet. The sound of Bruce writing and flipping through papers is the only noise echoing through the room until you start to hum. He slowly picks his head up, looking towards you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, readjusting his standing position. You just lean forward in the seat and smile.

“Talk to me! Tell about something stupid Tony said, or tell me something that made you laugh. We never talk anymore.” You bring up, watching how he just stares you down, but you just smile at him. You know that he takes pride in what he does, and he wants it to be done thoroughly, but you just miss him.

“I can’t right now, okay? Just go home if you can't sit down and shut up.” His voice is harsher than before. Harsher than he’s ever been, and it shocks you. You don’t miss the way a green hue slides up his neck before he soothes over the area with his hand.

“Is there something wrong? Did I do something?” You move forward to be in front of him, on the other side of his desk, but he shakes his head and moves away.

“It’s nothing you did.” He comments, and that makes you spiral into curiosity. What happened?

“Bruce, what happened?” You reach a hand up to his shoulder, but he moves away.

“Don’t. Just- just don’t.” He sounds on edge. It almost sounds like he is in pain, or he’s about to fall apart at the seams. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Why haven’t you come home?” You bring up after a moment of more silence hoping that he would come forward with anything at this point. You know that he isn’t one to keep anyone in the dark, but this is something else.

“I didn’t come home for a while because the other guy took over, and I couldn’t find a way to get back. I was stuck, and I just kept thinking what would you think or what would I do if this happened while I was with you?” He refuses to look at you, back turned.

“You know that I wouldn’t think different of you, Bruce.”

“But what if I hurt you one day? I just got you into my life, and I want you here for the long haul.” He turns around, breathless. An upset feeling is written on his face, but you just give him the biggest smile you can muster.

“Bruce, you could throw me into the side of a skyscraper, and I wouldn’t give a damn. Bruce, I love you.” You reach out for his hand, but he pulls it away before you can grab it. He looks at the ground, and you can read his thoughts going on in his head by the look on his face.

“Out of everyone, why did you choose me? You knew that I was this-”

“Don’t start with me, Bruce Banner.” You point a finger in his face angrily, and he sighs dejectedly. You two have had this conversation before; he says he’s the worst person to live, and you’re not allowed to fight back. Today, you will, though.

“You are the same man I fell in love with since that day, and you always will be. I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind anytime soon.” You caress his face, and he smiles. You run your hand down his neck, leaving a loving kiss on his cheek, and hit his chest twice before turning around towards the door.

“Now, let’s go home and rest up. We missed a few weeks of laying around in bed.”

---

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I’ve been freaking out all day because I have this weird chest pain, but I think I’m fine lol

Also, my document that had all of my ideas on like disappeared, so now I have to rewrite them.

- Lucy

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner #marvel #fic

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iamyoursinblog · 3 years

Text

Dance practice

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Word Count: 1.8 k

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LIST

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You left the dance room just as you received a text message from your boyfriend Hoseok.

Are u busy now?

You smiled and quickly wrote an answer

I just finished my practice and left the dance hall.

You didn't have time to send your message when Hoseok appeared in the hallway outside the dance hall.

“Hi” you waved to him smiling broadly

He came up to you and hugged you, lifting you into the air. “_______, I miss you so much,” he said, pressing you against the wall and kissing your lips.

You slapped him on the shoulder, looking around. "What if someone saw you?" you hissed

"So you are afraid that I will have problems, not you?" he burst out laughing, and taking you by the hand dragged you back to the dance room

“I can't have problems. I'm just a dancer. "

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Just a dancer ..."

"Have you come to practice?" You asked changing the subject

"Yes, since you are already free, will you help me?" he asked, tossing his bag in the corner.

“Yes, of course” you smiled

“I would like to record the practice today. Will you be my operator? " he winked at you.

"No problem. Warm up for now, and I'll go to the shower quickly. " you said leaving the hall.

You came back from your shower feeling light and refreshed. You walked into the gym and wondered how long you took a shower, looking at Hoseok in a wet T-shirt.

“Half an hour,” said Hoseok, catching your interested eye in the mirror.

"If you want I can bring you a new T-shirt for the shoot?" you asked

"I'll wear a sweatshirt, so don't worry." He replied, pointing to his bag. He came up to you and kissed you on the nose, "Shall we start?"

You nodded to him and took the camera, went to the end of the hall to the mirror. You knelt down with your ass on your heels and put the camera in front of you. After turning on the music, you started recording. The music continued to play, but Hoseok stood still. You stopped recording and looked up to meet his gaze. "What happened?" You asked, stopping the music.

"Are you going to sit like this? "

"How 'like this'?"

"So sexually"

You snorted as you sat down on the floor and crossed your legs in front of you. “Is that better?” You turned on the music and started filming again. Wow, and this is your boyfriend! You smiled as you watched Hoseok on the screen. He laughed and you looked up. Only then did you realize that you were practically touching the monitor with your nose. You didn't even notice how you leaned forward to the camera while watching Hoseok dance. "That's it, I won't do anything funny anymore. Just dance. We'll be stuck here all night" you smiled when an hour you never managed to record the dance till end.

You turned on the music and recording again. You leaned your back against the mirror watching Hoseok. Every movement of his body was perfect. You have always been fascinated by how much he immerses himself in his dance. It seemed that you were looking not at a person, but at a work of art. So gentle and sensual, and the next moment already wild and sexy. He made everyone who looked at him feel the same feelings as he did. A wave of heat went through your body, you can never get used to how much Hoseok acted on you when he danced.

He stopped when he met your gaze. "Seriously ..." he chuckled. "How can I just dance when you look at me with such temptation?"

"I can't look at you any differently when you're so seductive!" you said smiling

His smile changed and your skin got goose bumps. Oops ... you seem to have played out ... He took a step in your direction and everything inside you screamed to flee. You squeaked when he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you into the middle of the room. You turned over on your stomach trying to crawl in the other direction, trying to escape from captivity. He turned you back onto your back, being on top of you. He sat down on your hips and squeezed them tighter with his knees as you tried to pull away.

"Hoseok, what are you doing?" you were choking with laughter as he tried to pull the hoodie off you.

"You looked at me with such lust, how can I refuse you if you want me" he smiled broadly, throwing your hoodie to the other end of the hall. You were lying under him with a sports top and leggings. He eagerly looked at your body, making you even more excited more with desire in his eyes. He sat on knees down and tugged at the edge of his sweater.

"S-Sorry, is this a bad time?" You turned your head abruptly at the voice that sounded from the side. You saw Jimin smiling broadly in the doorway. "Like I understand that practice is canceled for today, hyung?" Jimin giggled

"Good boy," Hoseok replied and smiled, tossed his sweatshirt aside. "See you at the dorm... Maybe" he winked at Jimin.

“Don't forget to close the door, hyung” Jimin said before leaving.

“This is good advice. I don't want to be interrupted at the most interesting moment." Hoseok laughed. He got up and walked to the door.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Hoseok,” you said as you stood up from the floor. You walked to the wall and lifted your hoodie off the floor.

Hoseok hugged you from the back, pressing you against his body. "I miss you so much," he whispered. He pulled your hair to one side, leaving kisses on your neck. Everything inside you burned with desire.

"Hoseok ..." you moaned as his fingers squeezed your nipple. He turned you against the wall. He lifted you up and kissed you. His kiss was hot, driving you crazy.

"I want you so much," Hoseok growled, rubbing his hard dick against your crotch.

“Please wait… someone'll hear us,” you said as he lifted your top and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Then I advise you to restrain your screams, baby." He grinned, squeezing your nipple with his teeth. You held back moans, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he continued his little torture. He backed away from the wall, still holding you in his arms. In a moment, you were on floor under the Hoseok.

He continued to leave hot kisses on yours while you wriggled under his caresses. He stripped off the remnants of your clothes, and then quickly got rid of his clothes. "Hoseok ... fuck!" you groaned loudly as he pushed into you with force. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing against his hot body as he continued to give hard thrusts. Your fingers twisted into his hair as he kissed you, drowning out your loud moans.

You lost track of the time he fucked you. His hands and mouth caressed your boobs, driving you completely crazy. You covered your mouth with your hand as a powerful orgasm hit you as Hoseok began to rubbing your clit with his fingers. Your eyes filled with tears at how intense the pleasure was. Your body arched as he continued to forcefully fuck you, reaching his own orgasm. His teeth dug into your skin, drowning out a scream as he began to cum. Your body trembled violently in his hands. The mixture of fear that someone will catch you and insanity has taken pleasure to the next level. He fell on you panting, completely lost in his orgasm. Your heart fluttered every time you saw it so transverse. Every time you fell in love with him like the first time. You smiled at your thoughts, turning your head towards the mirror ... Something to alert your still clouded pleasure mind. Little red light ...

You laughed out loud, drawing Hoseok's attention when you realized what it was. "What happened?" Hoseok asked with a gentle smile, gently running his fingers over your face.

“Well, at least some video we recorded successfully today,” you pointed to the camera what still recording, laughing.

"Damn it." Hoseok laughed, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "Can I keep this video for myself?" asked Hoseok, smiling broadly at you when he met your gaze again

You hit him on the shoulder, push him aside. You went to the camera and turned off the recording, quickly deleted all the videos, completely clearing the memory. "In your dreams!" you said showing him your tongue. "What?" You asked Hoseok when he turned on his side and watched you with a playful smile.

"Nothing ... I love it when you walk around naked without paying any attention to it" he smiled broadly at you "I want to see it every day"

“You see it almost every day,” you smiled, throwing his clothes at him.

“Exactly - almost! And I want saw it every day. Life is so unfair!" He curls up on the floor whimpering.

“What a naughty child,” you muttered to yourself. Dressed quickly, you walked over and sat down next to him, stroking his hair. "Well, do not be upset, baby, that is such a life!" you patted his shoulder and got to your feet. He was still naked on the floor. "Are you going to go home naked?" You asked, enjoying his gorgeous fit body as he lay back down on his back.

“I think you like what you see. I'm not cruel enough to deprive you of what you like. "

“It's time for us go home. Get up your gorgeous ass" you held out your hand to him, but he crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his tongue." If someone comes, it will be hard enough to explain why you are lying naked in the middle of the dance hall instead of recording your dance practice with Jimin" you said, still holding out your hand to him. "As soon as we get home, you can continue to walk or lie on the floor naked. Perhaps I will even join you." You winked at him

"You promised," he quickly got up from the floor and began to dress. "Just try to say later that you were joking."

“Okay, today is your day. I will do everything as you say "

Picking up his bag from the floor, he came up to you, hugging you around the waist "Then let's go" he pulled you along while you tried to pull away from him "Didn't you say that you will do as I say you? I want to walk embracing my girlfriend. And I don't care if anyone sees it." Hoseok answered with a smile to a question you didn't even have time to ask him.

You took a deep breath, hoping not to meet anyone on your way. Well, today you have enough courage to just follow him; you thought, hugging his waist. “I like your wish” you smiled broadly at him and walked out of the dance hall together.

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More Jung Hoseok x Reader

I SEE ONLY YOU (smut)

The LOOP (fluff)

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LIST (BTS & GOT7)

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#bts #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #jung hoseok #j hope #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts j hope #kpop

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nozomijoestar · 3 years

Text

I used to have this story exclusively on my Ao3 but since I deleted that last December its taken me months to feel any rhythm of comfort uploading writing online again be it original or not; so I’m finally planning to reupload stuff I saved that isn’t already tagged here

Originally written under ‘Start and Start Again’ for She-Ra Fluff Bang 2020 and my first standalone novella length thing at 10k

The journey of Catra’s ever changing life begins with one step forward

It started as a bump on her stomach. A mild thing no bigger than her fist. Yet it stuck out the way the crown piece of a treasure hoard shines. Catra stumbled backwards; gripped the sink to keep her balance. She stared deeper into the full length mirror. The bump remained, had it gotten taller in this light? It was smooth to the touch or rather as smooth as fur could be. The softness of her was something to take great pride in. Anyone who assumed her messy were proven dead wrong. Now wasn't the time for petty thinking however.

Catra sank to the floor still clutching her stomach. She felt it join as part of her, this new thing, and if she strained her ears she just knew it had a heartbeat. A child. Adora's- no their child. She has to swallow to not shout 'Holy Shit!!!' at the top of her lungs. Instead it makes her bite her lip until blood trickles. Catra winces then recovers; she stands and runs water to splash on her face. The woman staring back in the vanity mirror is smiling under the wet bangs sticking to her forehead; smiling like an idiot now disheveled. She pivots and bolts out the bathroom yelling.

"Hey Adora! Adora come over here!"

"Catra? What's going on this early?"

She dashed around the sofa through the living room to find Adora rubbing her eyes and slinking out of bed. She heard her mumble already about waking ahead of schedule; it made her try not to roll her eyes. Of course she'd fixate on that right out of sleep. Before she let her get in another word Catra stopped in front of her. She grabbed Adora's hand and pressed it to her stomach. A lopsided grin was all she could muster for a reply. It took a few seconds, then Adora's eyes went wide. She saw her stare at the bump with such reverence Catra felt tears fall.

"You're...we're..."

"I know."

Adora pulled her down into a hug so tight Catra had to tap her to ease it.

"I'm gonna be a parent...Catra you're gonna be a parent! It's, it's real. It's actually happening."

"Told ya it'd work out."

Then Adora sucked in a huge breath and went rigid gawking at the ground.

"Oh my god I'm gonna be someone's mom. I dunno the first thing about babies! Catra who do we even ask-"

"Um, all of Bright Moon and our friends? They already know we're trying did'ja think they'd ditch us now?"

"No! No of course not. It's just this is actually happening. What if I mess it up already and something goes wrong o-or they come and don't like me- can babies think their mom is lame before they're born? What if-"

"Adora. Do you still want a baby?"

"Yes. More than anything. Sorry I know I'm being-"

"Hey. That's all you need; someone like you is gonna do fine. So stop or you'll give yourself a heart attack before the kid's even here."

Catra sat beside her and rubbed circles on her back. A sigh filled the room when Adora leaned her head on Catra's shoulder. She planted a kiss in her hair and wrapped an arm around her.

"...I wouldn't have my kid with someone I knew'd be shit at it. Or to me. You're you Adora, I didn't choose anyone else."

"I know I know. We're nothing like Sha-"

For an instant something stops Adora as if she's been gagged. Her eyes go wide again haunted by the sinister. She tries speaking only to make a strangled sound. They exchanged a look of understanding no one should have. A look of indescribable pain. Shared pain. Adora strains to start a third time when Catra finishes it.

"Nothing like Shadow Weaver. And we never will be. You can kill me if I do."

"I wouldn't go that far but...me too."

Wordlessly she let Adora slide against her and rest on her chest. Catra purred as she traced her claws along Adora's arm. Her tail coiled around Adora's waist when she bent to kiss her cheek. A hum is all she gets in reply; its more than enough.

"We're better people now, aren't we?" She asks.

"We'll always be better if we try. You're right I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Catra?"

She saw the eyes staring up fill with worry like it held the same value as water. Like it was something born in Adora's hands and for all their years since childhood it may well have been. Like it paired perfect with the tension stiffening her face. A face that deserved only to finally be soft forever. Catra whispered already knowing she wouldn't cure anything. It was too late of course; shame was her birthright too.

"I'm happy. I'm so happy right now I can't put it into words even for you. But that doesn't change what I've done. Who I was before this, before this version of us...back when we woke up everyday wondering if that'd be the last time."

"Catra no."

"I hurt you, Adora. I keep saying it because it's never going away ok? I hurt you, I hurt Sparkles and Arrow-Boy, Scorpia...Entrapta. The entire damn planet can bite me in the ass someday and I'd understand. The Horde destroyed. This being the happiest time of my life doesn't erase that."

"Catra-"

"What if I get frustrated and relapse? What if it's not even something I do it runs in families and I'm ruining them right now by being their mother because being a failure is just destiny?!"

"Enough."

The hands holding her head were firm as Adora moved to tangle them in her hair. She lowered her fully onto her lap; let herself purr with a breath in. Her eyes closed, tears fell. Adora's thumb wiped them away. It was so gentle Catra couldn't help a sob. She let everything pour out, let herself be wracked by hiccups; not one received judgement. She sat raw, bare in a place where dignity came innate not earned and knew herself still the invader. The conqueror. An aide to desolation.

The knotted feeling in her throat overpowered the new life under Adora's touch. Her stomach tingled at the caress; did their child want to scold her too?

In the end Adora's voice, that better half, guided her to reason.

"You're allowed to feel bad, remember? Like Perfuma said? I cant stop you no matter how much it hurts to hear. You're allowed to have bad days; but you're not allowed to give up. And you're not allowed to stop improving."

She let herself be pushed gently onto their bed; settled into the wholeness of their bodies resting together like they were made for nothing else. Adora is warm, her chest is safe, and her blonde hair falls across Catra better than a curtain. She purrs and purrs in her arms unable to stop, to entertain the thought for stopping. Hands wander the length of her then settle on her hips. Adora's thumb circles her fur until she wraps her tail along that forearm. They kiss and by god Catra will never get over the bliss it brings. How do you get over a free fall?

In silence she lets herself be tucked further against her; their legs entangle just as a feeling indescribable bursts from deep within. Something Catra knows she's understood for as long as she could remember that refuses to emerge in glimpses anymore. Only Adora can hope to know it in equal measure. She wants to wish that more than she's ever wanted at all. She swallows before meeting Adora's eyes. Adora has the briefest second for confusion when Catra's impulse strikes in her softest voice.

"It's like you know me better than I know myself."

Adora's face went wide then slid into the chuckle they know means contentment.

"Because you let me in."

And let her in she continued to do. For every day she grew bigger not a feasible moment did she spend alone. If she hungered the kitchen stocks ran dry, when she rested Bright Moon went still. Whenever she yowled or groaned there came Adora to massage her, Bow to shoo away prying eyes, Glimmer to order so many extra pillows for their room she thought there'd finally be something to suffocate her worse than herself.

She sat at the center of the castle gardens in the sun. Seven months had turned the seasons hot into mild into cold that'd kept her tucked in Adora's embrace, now turned again another leaf into Spring. Her back ached under a pressure fanning up her spine and centered on her swollen belly. Catra stifled a groan. Adora sat slumped over the table sound asleep opposite her. The gentle snores rumbling from her chest punctuated the bird calls like a bad note cutting a song. Catra laughed as soft as possible. Maybe their kid would pick it up from the get-go.

The ice in her drink clinked as she sipped. That's when she heard another step through the grass. She glanced at a hedge over her glass brim.

"Quit screwing around before someone else sees you."

"Ohhh Kitten you still don't know the meaning of fun do you?"

"Shhh. Adora's asleep. Thought you'd be quieter too. Must be sooo hard going soft."

A guard emerged from the shadows in white armor. The crescent standard of Bright Moon on the chest liquified then twisted into darkness. It bent and spread until a new figure emerged. Double Trouble shook out the unshaven half of their blond undercut. They stretched into a saunter across the paving stones.

Their high heels made that grating 'click clack' noise she'd once waited for in the Fright Zone. On reflex she glanced at Adora; she was still asleep, now drooling. The nasal pitch Double Trouble called a voice went lower even as their words dripped sass. Catra wished it'd never change, if you dragged the thought out of her.

"I'm surprised you've kept that tongue of yours looking like that. What a nasty little bite from an expecting mother."

"Oh really? What a tired act from a spy about to be washed out in peacetime. Hey don't sit there!"

"No darling you made the bed now lie in it for that one. This table is more than enough for a party."

They smirked at each other and knew there was nothing to forgive. Double Trouble gave Adora a once over look; their eyes lingered on Catra's stomach. They crossed their legs and arms with that flair Catra secretly imitated in the mirror. She went back to drinking.

"Seems like you two tied the knot finally. So sorry I had to miss that event, the stage called me. Color me not shocked to have seen this coming a mile away."

"...What's that mean?"

"It means darling there are countless women throughout the universe who'd kill for your position. Wife of She-Ra and now adding to this little litter you two are starting? Honey you're the most envied yet admired woman anywhere."

"Yeah well I'll believe it when I see it. That many people couldn't like me unless there was something to take."

"Dear, would you look at me?"

She did and found them filing their nails. Typical. They continued.

"Are we friends?"

A pause. Catra twiddled her thumbs. They looked her dead in the eyes now.

"Yeah."

"And her over there, what is she to you?"

"I...Adora is part of my everything."

"Why?"

"What'd you mean why?"

She stopped herself and startled; her eyes widened toward something distant, somewhere within. There from her memory stood Adora, begging her to turn rebel, Adora catching her before a drop to certain death, Adora laughing as they held hands like children again through dark tunnels. Adora overturning an empire millions strong to save her on nothing more than her heart. Adora crying always crying but never stopping.

Foolish and lovely Adora who promised her in infinite ways she was worth it.

Double Trouble grinned into a sound of contentment. They put their filer away and stared expectantly but not without care.

"I take it you know. Now tell me this and be honest- what about Glimmer and Bow? What about all these other princesses and their kingdoms? How do they treat you?"

"They're...they're kind to me. Every time we were off planet letting Adora do her thing, seeing people hold magic for the first time...putting up with my crap before this baby and...helping."

"Oh dearest me that sounds like dare I say, friendship!"' They gasped in mock surprise and laid a hand on their chest.

Catra shot them a scowl; it didn't last.

"Shut up before Adora gets up and misses another hour of sleep. Do you have any idea how she's been? I don't think she's even running on anything anymore like, everyday."

"Taking care of you I'd assume. Go on am I right?" Double Trouble asked (with a wiggle of their eyebrows of course) as if they were on the verge of a delicious secret. For all Catra knew they probably did and could eat those.

"Don't read my damn mind." She replied resting her chin on her palm.

"Darling, Catra, enough moping. Having to kick you in the rear like this when you of all people are making kittens is a bad look. Times have changed; you're not that hollow eyed puppet I knocked sense into back with the Horde. Be free, live a little, throw your kid wild birthday parties. And for the love of theatre get some better stylists for the two of you. I won't stand for a child who's moms aren't looking fabulous."

The whirlwind of gestures their hands made came to a stop. They stared yet again with that expectation bearing down on her. Catra read their eyes. It came from a good place; a place deep, deep past the snark. A veil of doubt that'd anchored in her fell away. Everyone had been kind no- was being kind. The cruelest thing they could do was throw a pregnant woman out to fend for herself and that was seven months too late. 'Or early. Weren't you found in a box? Weren't you out with the trash once time was up?'

She shuddered. No, it wasn't like that anymore, it had no right to be. No power over her; no power over her family. Catra grit her teeth and fangs flashed. She wouldn't let it. Without thinking a growl rumbled through her. Double Trouble clicked their tongue.

"Stress is extra bad for you right now Kitten. Just try to keep stepping out of that head of yours and see what's around for a change."

At last they stood and made to leave; Catra almost reached to stop them, then thought better. What more was there to add? They'd seen her for an open book. Instead she swallowed hard. The voice that called out to them bled sincerity.

"Thank you."

"Pay me back by making good choices darling."

Two weeks later she wriggles her toes on a beach in Mystacor. The sky shifts from twilight to orange dusk. She just knows she's counted the exact same number of clouds the past hour. The air is so clean it's her only barrier from passing out; every breath jolts energy beneath her aches. Adora's footsteps are easy to read when her ears perk. She wraps her tail around her at the feel of them sitting together.

Adora hums before reaching to stroke her belly. The kiss on her cheek is simple yet her blood dances in excitement. Their fingers lace together on the sand. It grounds them. Catra knows Bow is carrying something by the slightest drag in his gait; Glimmer (if you asked her Catra still had the right to call her Sparkles, Queen shit and everything aside) followed behind. The four of them were a crowd that made anything happen.

As if on cue the baby kicked. Whatever the others blathered about faded from her mind into white noise. Beside her time stopped for Adora too; this kid was already making them predictable. The wonder Catra watched spread across her face stayed fresh as ever. Glimmer and Bow went silent. She felt their eyes trace over, heard their breath hitch. She smiled.

"Can I feel it this time?"

"Glimmer you always ask that. Save room for Uncle Bow, who just so happens to have something I know they'll love!"

"My Aunt helped." Glimmer added behind a hand though Bow could hear her.

"Yes she did but only the clothes; these were all me. See for yourselves."

He revealed a set of dolls from a sack. Each were handwoven and stitched so well if she didn't know Bow she'd guess a machine's handiwork. Her breath hitched. Their likenesses were posed under his movements as Glimmer clapped with a giggle. Adora gasped, covered her mouth while her eyes watered. Big ol' softie her Adora was; yet she fought her own tears. The doll with her face wore a grin between cockiness and charm. The smarmy, ruthless, torn glare of her past self morphed on the silk in her minds eye. Its fangs were bared and its sneer cruel.

Catra shuddered and recoiled until she nearly toppled onto the sand. Her bug eyed stare at the thing matched her heaving chest. Nausea that chased a prickling sensation washed over her like a wave; a force of nature. Several deep breaths gave her some composure but the world continued to blur in a haze. Her heartbeat thrummed in her throat and hearing faded and-

And then Adora filled her vision; Adora held her tight until finally she went still. She felt her cheek cupped and fingers massaging through her hair. Though it had regrown thick as a mane despite reaching her shoulders Adora's nails found her scalp. Of course they would; she purred into the embrace and bit her lip to swallow a cry.

'Just try to keep stepping out of that head of yours and see what's around for a change.'

She blinked; the world popped back into place. They stared at her with faces on a scale from terror to worry; as if there were much difference. Bow's pleas about what was wrong stopped the instant her eyes dared linger on her doll again. He looked down and understood; away it went into the sack.

It wasn't the sentiment that upset her. He knew why. Words returned slow when he took her hand.

"I love it Bow, thanks, really; it's sweet of you. I'm sorry I...y'know. Need to keep working on myself."

"Hey don't apologize for that it's alright. I should be the one saying sorry; I didn't think it was still this bad for you."

"Whatever keeps bugging you we're here ok? No shaming, Horde Scum." Glimmer added with a smile that continued to forgive her more than Catra deserved in her opinion.

But if her own words couldn't be trusted, had she been shown forgiveness after all?

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Adora, always there to cut to the point. She found her voice.

"When I saw myself it's like realizing my kid's gonna idolize me. They're gonna grow up having me everywhere if I'm really with them or not. They might even say they wanna be like their mom. Makes a feeling come over me...who I was tries to tell me they'll find nothing to be proud of."

"Oh Catra. We can't not let you feel that way but what matters is you've changed. You keep changing everyday; look at you now! You're committed to motherhood for one, you and Adora are amazing together, you helped me with so much paperwork- c'mon Bow tell her."

Glimmer nudged Bow until he nudged back; he gave Catra a stare that pierced her doubts. She'd rarely seen anyone who captured the sensation of light poking through clouds. He deserved to be called a sun. She swallowed hard again. God, this baby had her emotional.

"You've come a long way. We chose and keep choosing to help. I know it's hard but don't let whats in your head overpower that. We care. You're not gonna go back to being who you were. If you do, we'd stop you because we want to."

"But, everything with Angella-"

Fuck she mentioned it. Why? She just had to bring it up didn't she? 'Do you enjoy shooting yourself in the foot?...' A squeeze on her arm brought her mind to a halt. Damn, Adora may as well have a license in reading her mood. Glimmer sighed from a deep breath. She watched her face knit into something between grief and acceptance.

Everyone went silent, hinged themselves on whatever Glimmer said next. When she spoke her voice came thoughtful yet blunt.

"My mother is gone. Because of you or not she's not here and wallowing in anger and self pity isn't going to bring her back. I'm sure if she saw me still doing it she'd be upset. I've had the years I needed for that; the Catra in front of me isn't the same who pulled the switch."

Glimmer put a hand on Catra's shoulder and smiled when it was welcome. Their eyes met and she saw Bow nod. Glimmer continued in her queenly voice this time; gone were any hints she spent hours practicing, her mother's strength rang clear.

"Don't discredit our choice to forgive. Trust us to stay honest with you and care. Trust yourself like I know you can. Now, let's rate how cheesy my Aunt's baby clothes look!"

Catra's senses returned as if popping back into existence. Just like that they jumped into the next discussion, the next joke, the next tease. She sat with no one but herself to blame; no one but herself for guilt to feast on. Was that it? Was she still trapped in time? How simple it'd been to get an answer for once, yet beside it came more than she understood. The baby kicked again. She sighed and touched her stomach.

"Sorry you've got an overthinking Mama kid."

Adora nudged her. She turned to find that contagious smile to reel her in.

"Hey they're right y'know. Everything is gonna be ok, I promise."

Promises sacred as they were didn't lessen the pain. Her vision blurred at another stab of pain, another push as her entire body pulsed. Her lower back had it the worst; every ounce of pain coursed from that white hot center until Catra was sure she'd been reduced to jelly, if she could ever see straight again. Another scream tore her throat. Her body arched.

The hiss Adora shot out as Catra's claws dug into her hand registered faintly. She could hear Entrapta babbling some science jargon. Scorpia's frantic voice came beside Entrapta's assembly of rumbling tech no doubt worried over everything; that still didn't help an entire baby kicking out of her. Didn't anyone get that? Now wasn't the time for anything other than whatever got this tiny person out.

Catra screamed and shook and writhed and no matter how many times Entrapta said push it blurred together. She let her head loll sideways in exhaustion. Adora stared at her seized by panic that could do nothing but watch, and hated it. It scratched at the unfocused rage gathering around her like storm clouds. Whatever she said fell hazy on Catra's ears because not a moment behind Catra yelled,

"Next time you're doing this; when this is over I'm kicking your ass AdorAHHGGUUHHH!!!"

Several deep breaths and pushes later a wail robbed anything she could say. Every voice stopped, every head turned and every ear strained. It came again. A high pitched wail echoed through the room. A baby's first cry. There was no time then; no past nor future only the moments for each cry hurled into the world. She watched a shape writhe in Entrapta's arms at the foot of the bed. A flash of metal later and the umbilical cord was cut.

Everything remained a blur...then Entrapta handed her a squirming bundle. The baby rested against her easier than breathing. It was just, so right; one of the most right things Catra ever knew. Their fur matched her tan orange down to the slightly darker stripes. The hair is all Catra; she'd recognize that messy brown anywhere. It's when they blink at her for the first time, that's when Adora's blue eyes stare back.

Their hands are curled into fists and they fuss under her gaze. They blink once, twice, Catra finds herself counting everything. A purr deep enough to rattle them took her by surprise. At last her claws retracted from Adora's skin; she cradled their child between measured breaths. The instant she's released Adora doesn't waste a second coming closer.

They look at each other then their child then back again. Tears are the first thing they feel together followed by Adora's lopsided grin.

"Still wanna kick my ass?"

"Shut up and get in here dummy."

Catra's voice is hoarse but that doesn't lessen the spark in their kiss. Fingers tangle in Catra's sweaty hair and she's breathless when they pull away. There's a moment of silence until Entrapta gets the drop on them. Of course she does, she's Entrapta. They can spy the glint off her tape recorder.

"Just to confirm the baby is healthy at seven pounds eight ounces, a length of twenty centimeters, tail included, and a sex of male. Now the real question is have either of you chosen a name?"

The thick tendril of Entrapta's hair holding her recorder wiggles closer. Catra snarled on impulse and fought to not snap her teeth too.

"Don't hold that thing so close to Finn's face. The sound or whatever's gonna hurt his ears."

"Finn? You want to call him Finn? I thought you still weren't sure about any names." Adora said with the slightest confusion.

"Yeah I was but...I dunno it just feels right. Doesn't he look like a Finn? Hey Scorpia come over here! Does he or does he not look like a Finn?"

If it was possible for scorpions to move like they wanted to break the sound barrier without actually doing so, that was how Scorpia rushed over. Honestly Catra would laugh if she weren't cradling her son as if guarding her trove. Those enormous pincers are enough to shadow Finn's head as he attempts to swat one. Instead Adora gave him a finger to cling on. The tears streaking from Scorpia's eyes dripped waterfalls down her chin.

"Wildcat you're asking me what he looks like? Oh of course he's a Finn, look at that handsome little face and that tiny nose! And his hair! Catra that one is all you oh that stuff is gonna break so many combs I tell ya. He's even got his claws already; you guys have a mama's boy on your hands gosh. I remember when Flora hatched, ah good times..."

"Scorpia..."

"Huh? Oh sorry Wildcat yeah he's definitely a Finn! What'd ya think Adora? Entrapta?"

"Hmm...Baby Log Day, well day of birth. Catra has asked me if her newborn resembles a 'Finn'. As the only knowledge I'm aware of regarding this relates to fish, I will say yes. Fish and their fins are something cats enjoy and thus it is logical."

The line of stares fixed on her made Entrapta press her recorder.

"Addendum, it is also very cool."

"Adora?" Catra called.

Every stare turned toward her awaiting a verdict. Finn gurgled and squirmed when she met his stare. There fell a moment of purest silence.

"Yeah. Finn is a good name. We'll get him ready to propel through life."

There was an echoing 'thwack' when Catra smacked Adora's hair poof; Adora's giggling poured out even as Glimmer, Bow, and every Princess they knew finally appeared. Catra's bed was rushed by a crowd acting like they'd never seen an infant. Then again, no one had seen anyone of Catra's race all her life. Not that she'd asked around.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't come sooner! The meeting ran into overtime but we're here now. Where's the baby?"

Glimmer moved through the parting crowd as she spoke; her body radiated energy while her eyes scanned around. She and Bow must've shared the same mind because they were the first to study Finn. Their jaws dropped.

"So. Darned. Cute. Those ears." Bow said. His eyes practically sparkled with joy.

Glimmer looked at Catra, then Adora with a face that fought a hold on restraint.

"You guys can hold him. Just don't crowd his space." Catra said smiling.

Those were the words that released whatever collective breath everyone held. Finn was passed around the room leaving praise and awe in his wake. Everyone had their own opinions; so much so that the buzz of their chatting built Catra's headache right as Finn was finally returned. Frosta was yelling about how to shape a commemorative ice sculpture; Perfuma created several bouquets now burying Adora. Bow, Entrapta, and Scorpia stood putting their heads together discussing proper baby nutrition over the next year.

When she checked Finn his face grew red then wrinkled and that's when it hit. A full strength wail. The kind of cry to break noise into silence and validate Catra's agitation. Something resembling peace slid over the tension settling in the air. Adora managed to roll out of the flowers before looking at Catra. A nod in response is all she needs to wrangle everyone away. When the door closes for the last time only the three of them remain.

Finn continued crying though nowhere as intense. Catra took a deep breath, then she held the infant face down, tucked his arms across his chest, and finished by holding his bottom. She had to give herself credit; not a single mistake, Perfuma may as well have done it for her. The cries quieted immediately and ceased when she gently rocked him. In a minute he lay snuggled on her chest. Sleep made his eyes fight to stay open though he soon lost.

"He curls up just like you."

"Yeah. We'll see if he keeps the whole castle awake with your snoring." Catra replied chuckling.

Adora is beside her in seconds with that lopsided grin. The bed gets crowded bearing the three of them but it'll manage.

"I'm not an awful snorer ok; everyone's gonna survive when they sleep. They've done it this long."

"So you admit it's a problem."

"No! Anyway that's not important look at his chubby cheeks. That's all him."

"Babe, I think that's something every baby has. Did you forget all seven of Scorpia's kids, or even Bow and Glimmer's daughter?"

"Of course not but you're not looking at them. We made those. They're perfect and adorable as much as the rest of him."

Adora stroked Finn's hair and nestled against Catra's side. Together they yawned then laughed.

"Tired?"

"I gave birth Adora of course I am."

"Heh, sorry. Nighty night you two."

She's long learned Adora's penchant for sleeping hard enough to make the dead jealous. How exactly she can turn it on and off yet thrash restlessly, still waking up then tackling an entire day? After years Catra might never know and, some days, didn't care to anymore. It simply was. That was Adora, always rushing to do everything, solve every problem, take every blow. No matter how much their loved ones- no matter how many times Catra told her otherwise some piece stayed. It was like an infection molded into Adora's skin.

God did Catra still hate it. If Finn inherited that...

Her body ached worse than getting dragged by rope. She would know; Glimmer had been the one pulling after all. In those days of war and violence whipped into a storm this feeling was nothing new. Yet it was. Now there came a new tired setting on her bones. The tired from achieving something bigger than herself yet selfish in origin. Well, maybe the selfish part hadn't changed.

Maybe she really can be good not just do good. Adora began to snore as Catra let sleep claim her.

When Finn turns one year old Catra has settled into the race of parenthood. There's feeding time, nap time, diaper changing, the once a week checkups, and making a fool of herself so Finn laughs. One day passes with the funneled energy of several; no longer can she rise with the sun into a cage of rumination. Finn dictates her snapping awake on whims as random as the harried sleep itself.

She can't mope she just can't, he won't let her. He needs her and for the first time even beyond Adora, Catra accepts it. Not hesitating or doubting or anything else. Not the painstaking slip and climb over struggle after struggle until she and Adora were finally level. Finn right now is only a creature of needs; without her...she doesn't want to think further. There is finally someone for whom she can only give at the very beginning. The stress is worth it, it's not about her faults.

Perfuma notices of course. The way she walks ever eager into their meetings, even with eye-bags, stands far more confident than the hesitation that made her drag her feet. From the stares she gets now it's as if persecution and guilt lie only in her shadow. At least, that's what she thinks Perfuma means when one meeting she says,

"You look radiant Catra! Have you been keeping up with your personal letters?"

The morning light shines behind Perfuma making her hair resemble a glow. Combined with her chipper voice and pristine skincare (Seriously how did she keep up with seven kids at her heels?) Catra would be getting a headache right now. The old her would think Perfuma above her wielding such composure, such carefree grace. The her of the present instead replies weary but smiling.

"I have. For real this time too. No more skipping days."

"Oh lovely, I'm glad you're coming around. Self reflection and forgiveness can be so liberating; never forget you're allowing yourself space and patience. Walk with me."

She's heard those words enough to make her head spin, but now they land in her heart. A warmth seeps in the way she thinks Perfuma always intended. If she had to reflect now as they pass Scorpia's gardens, she wouldn't call messy hair, tired eyes, and what might be clothes from two days ago radiant. Perfuma probably wasn't being literal.

The trails of Perfuma's green shawl (Seemingly more fluttery today than usual; like butterfly wings if she had to compare) stop inside a wide room. Catra knows which pillow to sit on and in seconds Perfuma is across her. Their eyes meet then close before performing a basic breathing exercise. One breath in and Catra gathers her worries, one pause, on the exhale her body relaxes.

Her eyes open and find Perfuma doing the same. The ear to ear smile on her face still unnerves Catra like a pinprick; it's strange to be so happy in a world built on entropy. Catra's allowed that hesitation, right? No she's being an idiot again; she's seen Perfuma a mess, back when Scorpia and all her people contorted under Horde Prime's marching orders, under the chips once burrowed in their flesh.

Regardless she'd never given up then. She hadn't been Catra running away the minute she projected doubt on Adora. She shook her head and sighed. This was getting nowhere. Of course for her part Perfuma sat in silence, waiting for as much time as Catra needed. She smiled shyly at that.

"Sorry got lost in reflecting I guess."

"It's alright Catra that's what we're here for. Do you want to share your thoughts?"

"I think you already know after this long." Catra licked her lips nervously.

"I don't mind listening."

A long pause. She read nothing but openness in Perfuma's eyes.

"You know I've said before I was jealous of you, unnerved even. How could anyone stay so happy when the world hurts? Well now I think I understand. There's no point in dwelling on my pain. Sure I can feel it, acknowledge it, but it'll pass again. Letting it control me when it's something I'll carry forever is exhausting. All I've done then is hurt myself when for once no one else wants to. That's what Finn's made me realize."

She finished with a sigh and slackened shoulders; a woman spent at last of a pointless barrier. Isolation was no longer a badge of honor; it never had been. Perfuma wore genuine surprise like she'd heard something profound, not Catra stating the obvious. When Perfuma next spoke the words poured out afraid to stop. Afraid, Catra senses, that Catra will bolt away in embarrassment.

"I'm proud of you that's the most you've shared all at once yet. And it sounds like it truly means self-love. You're allowing vulnerability and have accepted a truth. We are all works in progress."

"Thanks. I guess I have." The tears flowing down Catra's face make her voice wobble.

"Would you like a hug?"

With a nod Catra opened her arms and wept into Perfuma's dress; she wept the choked yet earnest sobs of a child. She felt a hand pat her hair.

"What happened when you were a child, it's not your fault."

There comes a pause where Catra stiffens then pulls back but not away. Her watery eyes glisten under the light while the rest of her trembles. Her lips quiver wanting to fight a new sob on instinct; it makes her teeth grit. None of it is hostile, Catra stares at Perfuma who again brings down the axe on the final barrier tainting her heart. Despite herself the words are out; Shadow Weaver installed that defense mechanism in her, denial.

"It is...it is."

"It's not your fault."

"But it is! I deserved it because I couldn't fight back!"

"It's not your fault."

"It...I...did."

Catra's face scrunched under the weight of the lie. She gets a solemn head shake in response. The sick sensation in her chest crumbles and her body feels no stronger than jelly. This time she clings back in Perfuma's embrace. She wails. Perfuma's reassurance pierces the scared girl inside gentle as sunshine.

"It's not your fault."

When the flood within her passes they mulled over tea. The silence now settled almost as comfortable as being with Adora. If Catra thought harder on it though, maybe silences themselves didn't need Adora to be good. Maybe the truth is Adora isn't the only bond to believe in; the others have waited on Catra long enough. She feels a pang of guilt at that. It flickers then dies when she hears the question,

"How are you and Finn? You mentioned him earlier."

"Kinda speaks for itself just looking at me y'think? But uh, sorry. It's been great; busy every second and sometimes I wanna tear my hair out but...in the end I really do like being a mom. It's not just about loving Finn and having him with Adora either. It's also like...I dunno..."

"Like starting over; a second chance?"

"Yeah...yeah I think it is." Catra smiled.

"The advice I can give for that is don't forget you're still guiding him. Parenting with compassion and trust will help you both, but he must find himself and make his choices."

She had nothing to add other than slight alarm. Then the weight behind the words settled, planted seeds in her thoughts. She stared out the window drinking her tea; her mind drifted and for once the peace of it wasn't strange.

When Finn is two years old he shivers in her arms. The storm sent another sheet of rain beating against the castle. Grey covers the window glass and another lightening flash dimly illuminates the room. In the span of a blink it's gone; Finn mewled stuffing part of Catra's shirt in his mouth. Her hand ran through his hair. That seemed to relax his hold.

He looked up at her with Adora's wide blue eyes and for an instant Catra remembers being six, Adora's blanket her only comfort on nights like this.

"It's a thunderstorm Finn. I know it sounds scary but it'll pass ok? It always has before. You were too little to remember."

"Where's Mommy?"

She hears the fear getting ahold of him; she answers a touch too fast. It takes everything in her hoping he didn't notice.

"With Auntie Glimmer remember? They're meeting about adult stuff. We have to wait."

"I want her here."

"I know Finn, I know. She's coming. You're ok with me. Nothing bad will happen. Mommy's coming soon."

He nodded and though he whimpered he concentrated on Catra alone. At the next roar of thunder however he stiffened with his tail gone frizzy. The door opened bringing a stripe of light and Adora's unmistakable silhouette. Immediately Finn sprang out of Catra's arms to tackle Adora's legs. Catra hears her gasp then laugh softly as she kneels.

"Mommy! Be She-Ra!"

"Hey there to you too Finn. Why do you want She-Ra out?"

"Make bad sounds go away."

"It's the weather, I don't control that. Weren't you safe with Mama? Look she's waiting for us and I bet she stayed the whole time."

"But I want Mama and Mommy..."

Catra left bed and kneeled beside Adora. She ruffled Finn's hair; his tears were gone with a swipe of her thumb. Adora held his hands smiling while Catra went on.

"It's ok to be scared. We won't leave you not ever."

"Even when one of us isn't here with you, remember we love you. Think real hard about us when you're scared and all the bad stuff will go away."

Finn sniffled, swallowed, fumbled to speak those words they knew were sacred.

"You promise?"

"Yes." They reply together.

More thunder cracks the air signaling another swell of hissing rain. She watched as he froze squeezing his eyes shut. His hands balled into fists; he didn't flinch or cry when the storm gentled again. Now he stood trembling but no less brave. The warmth spreading through Catra was mirrored in the indescribable pride on Adora's face. She reached for her hand and it was held.

"Like that?" Finn asked, staring at them as if everything hinges on this moment.

"Just like that."

Catra kisses his forehead; it's no time at all until they hug him close. His heartbeat calms under their embrace and she purrs; it's always as hard as the day he was born. The purr she feels back widens her eyes then-

"Mama why're you crying?"

"She's happy you did it, right Catra?"

"Yeah...I'm happy Finn."

She shivers at Adora's kiss on her cheek. The touch of her breath tickling when she whispers almost makes Catra purr, for a reason neither can say aloud. She wraps her tail around Adora's wrist and listens.

"I'll get him to bed ok. Won't be long."

Catra mumbles her reply against her lips,

"I know."

They kiss and though it's a second before Adora pulls away, Catra knows peace.

At three years old Finn runs through the halls whooping and hollering. The stuffed bear glides through the air in his grasp. She knows Mr. Snuggles will need a wash when the day's done. Cupping her hands around her mouth she gently calls after.

"Don't run so fast you'll trip. Watch where you're going."

"Yeah Mama I know!"

Of course the thud she expected comes not an instant later. Even if he landed on carpet her blood pounds in panic; she sprints light on her feet toward his side. No second is wasted righting him from laying flat on his belly. She checks his arms, his legs, his face, the back of his head is fine too. He holds his wrist looking down ashamed.

"My head hurts."

"It's alright we'll get some medicine before seeing Mommy. Next time watch out ok? I might not have been here to help."

He nodded but still won't meet her eyes. Her expression falls. She sits with her hand giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze; her tail twitched nervously. Finn is silent. Far more than if he acted up or felt too embarrassed. The air itself feels heavier as if to breathe means starting a count down before down becomes up and left is right. Her voice shakes ever so slightly. Was this because of her?

"Finn? What's wrong? Does it hurt real bad?"

"Auncle Dee Tee told me something that made me feel funny. Flora and Angella said boys get hurt a lot when they play. B-But I like girl games with them too! When I fell I remembered what Auncle Dee Tee said."

"That's just silly there aren't 'boy' and 'girl' games. Just games. What'd Auncle say?"

"They said that too. They said nobody has to be a girl or boy if they don't want to. They said a big word like 'nuhncun-foming' I think."

She hears footsteps round the corner, a walk she could pick out anywhere. Adora stops then assesses; she wastes no time coming to them. Immediately her face is knit in worry and concentration. Catra knows that look better than herself. The look of a soldier, of years honed as a commanding officer, the look her fantasies once replicated dreaming of their conquest of Etheria...it's never appeared serene as it does now.

It reminds her not for the last time she's not alone.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt Finn? I knew I heard something bump on my way over."

"He tripped and fell but it's not serious. I checked already. He just has a headache."

"Good. C'mon let's go get medi-"

"Adora wait. He had something important he was saying. Finn? Can you tell Mommy what you told me?"

His expression finally lights up again; courage gathered when he stands straighter and stares at them firm.

"When I fell I remembered what Auncle told me. They said some people don't feel like they're just a boy or girl. My girl friends said boys fall a lot playing; I like their girl stuff where we don't fall a lot too! I wanna...I wanna be like Auncle. Auncle sounds like me."

They sat and the silence turned to awe. They glanced at one another then at Finn, who stood in utmost seriousness. Double Trouble's words floated to the surface of Catra's memories. She had to step outside her own head right? Well this time the world did it well enough for her. Adora as usual is the first to make a move.

"What do you want us to call you?"

"I'm Finn! I don't wanna be a boy or a girl I wanna be both! I wanna do everything I like as me. Can I be 'nunhcuhnfoming' too?"

To their surprise they chuckle as Finn looks on, conviction dropping into worry. Catra grinned and pulled Finn into a hug.

"You can be whatever you want kid including nonconforming. We're not gonna say no to anything like that."

"Do you want us to still call you 'He'?" Adora said in a tone that announces she's not worrying herself sick for once.

"Nuh uh! Auncle uses 'They'."

"Then that's what we'll use too. Thanks for telling us Finn."

Finn, they, beam from ear to ear. They picked up and dusted off Mr. Snuggles holding him close. They purr echoing through the hall; by instinct Catra joins in while Adora plants kisses all over Finn's cheeks.

"Does your head still hurt?"

"A little..."

"Let's go make it better then."

Finn is four when their troublemaking streak starts to shine. They let Adora chase them through the back gardens at a sprint. It's an unspoken dare to crown who's faster and watching from the sidelines, Catra doesn't need to guess it's Finn. Like what she imagined of any child of hers Finn scampers up a tree next. They wave a toy and blow a raspberry down at Adora who's panting for dear life. Her poor fool never stood a chance.

Adora stands hunched over, her finger raised to call a time out. She's still gathering her breath when Catra hears her force out words as she walks toward them both.

"Ok give Mommy a break for...five minutes...or forever. Ugh."

"You're too slow so I win!"

They watch as Finn sticks their tongue out again. Catra kneels to pat Adora's shoulder. She plants a kiss in her hair and grins.

"Hate to say it but I told you they'd beat you. Give it up Adora."

"I'll never...understand...how you two...do it...so unfair."

"Only She-Ra can win a race with me Mommy. If you're She-Ra it's really hard to keep up."

Still wheezing Adora glanced at Catra in defeat. A shrug is all she gets in response. Finn sits on a branch above them swinging their legs, the embodiment of confidence. Then they do something that throws off even Catra; they hang from their perch by the tail. Upside down Finn pays no heed to their gaping Mama and instead teases Adora with another raspberry. She falls on her ass yelping.

A choked giggle left Catra before rising to laughter. By the time she's full on snorting she rolls in the grass; upside down Adora scowls at them both but it's all in fun. The way she sees her blush makes her nerves go fluttery. She doesn't need to be told when their eyes meet and Catra knows it's mutual. Before anything can come of it Finn lands on the ground effortlessly.

She watches them tug Adora's sleeve; the fake modesty and flattering lilt they're piling on too thick gives them away. The fact that they can hold the performance this well is far more a Catra thing than Adora. She feels hesitant pride bubble within her. Could she have that knowing where it came from?

"Mommy my toy got stuck up there, can She-Ra get it? Because she's faster and stuff."

"Finn I can't keep transforming all week."

"Pleeease? It's the last day today; you said I could ask sometimes."

"Damnni-uh I mean I remember. Fine but only because you asked nicely."

Catra doesn't need to be an Entrapta-level genius to hear the unspoken, 'And because I totally lost too.' Finn definitely hears it by the satisfaction in their grin. With a resigned sigh Adora straightened and stretched out a hand. From the bottom of her lungs she bellowed,

"For the Honor of Greyskull!"

A blinding light engulfed Adora from the outline of a golden sword. Catra still had no idea where it always came from. It was of course magic however; you never had to question that kind of thing. She figured that was why it felt comforting, familiar, compared to hard numbers. Most of all, she muses as the light dims, magic embodies everything Adora has been long before the sword.

The light leaves dissolving into rainbow trails. They outline She-Ra's massive form towering at eight feet. Her arms are almost as thick as the tree branches themselves when she begins to climb. Finn watched with their jaw hanging and eyes wide. Their fists rest against their teeth as if every transformation will be the last each time; the anticipation mixed with joy is almost palpable when it infects Catra.

She nudges them while Adora gets tangled in leaves. Finn's rapture breaks and they flash her a knowing smile.

"You love being sneaky huh?"

"She-Ra is cool!"

They look up together and find Adora fumbling not to fall. Though She-Ra carries a noble poise Adora is very much the one nervously sweating. Catra grinned.

"She's very cool."

Adora successfully lands without a scratch; the toy rocket is the size of a river stone in She-Ra's large hand. In an instant it's back to scale when She-Ra is dismissed, a gold afterglow outlining Adora. It hits Catra then that Finn has grown at level with Adora's waist. When did that happen over the years?

"One missing toy rescued from an evil tree. It won't be eating any more any time soon."

"Thanks Mommy. No more She-Ra for a little bit."

"Right. Mommy needs breaks just like She-Ra does too."

Catra takes Adora's hand and wraps her tail around her. Her purr is soft though outmatched by the gentle kiss she gives her wife. She glanced at Finn who waits expectantly; the toy is already forgotten in favor of another game. Catra chuckles.

"Ok Finn you've had enough of bossing Mommy. This time I'll race you home."

"Loser has to give up dessert!"

"Sure kid. Ready set go!"

Like a bullet Catra sprints down the low hill; she barely hears Finn's call above the wind. In seconds they're right behind and she finds herself laughing carefree into the dusk.

Finn is five when their fur becomes their first taste of responsibility. Their tail is a mess of frizz most mornings; their thick hair resembles a mop fighting against every tame comb they own. Catra does her best to guide them, but she hasn't been five in twenty years. The memories since remain dark and pressed under the claws of greater horrors. Had she ever had time to brush herself seriously then? Not a relevant question; this isn't the time for self grieving.

Finn fusses, tries again, then scowls. They look at her with a plea in their eyes. Catra blinks then finds them slumping shoulders and lips quivering. Their hair seems messier than before for every wrong stroke. It takes her longer than she'd like to notice the budding tears.

"Hey it's ok we'll keep trying. It's hard at first but you can do it."

"Bet it's easy for you Mama."

"Why's that?"

"Because you never get messy. Your hair is always pretty."

Catra beckons and they come within her reach. She wipes their tears, smoothes their tangles best she can. They stare into her eyes with that intensity only they can muster.

"I used to be worse than you. When I was your age I had no one helping me."

"Not even Mommy?"

Catra laughed quiet and gentle, always gentle.

"She tried but she was as small as you. And we know Mommy doesn't look the same; she didn't know how. Do you know how old I was when I learned to keep my hair pretty? Really got good at it?"

Finn shook their head. She could sense the sadness give way to curiosity, to a rising hope.

"I was already a grown up. Wayyy bigger than you y'know? If it took me so long there's no rush. You keep trying until it works ok."

"Ok..."

"Let's start over. Just watch me first."

Time passes in a haze enough for her to learn Finn took after her old temper; step by patient step her hands once drenched in the blood of another life calm them to retry. They break for lunch and laugh together, their mistakes now harmless behind them. This, Catra has learned, is completion.

Princess Prom makes everyone nervous and excited equally. She watches Finn, taller than most other ten year olds, adjust their tie. She smiles remembering how many they'd tried on that morning without complaint. How when the right one came along they'd strutted prideful for her and Adora's opinion. They fidget flexing their hand and rocking on their heels. She can't blame them; the announcer's droning speech packs more formality than Catra thought was possible.

Put simply, it's boring, and they both fight a yawn. Adora doesn't notice them tap their feet together, one leading the other following, until another six minutes that pass like hours. She shushes them but when another minute crawls by she joins in. The three of them form a jagged rhythm while holding back giggles.

When the solemnity is done away with and the dance floor opens they lose Finn to their friends. She sends them off with a cheek kiss and Adora's blessing to have fun, then they're alone. They whisk themselves to the snack bar; she watches Adora gorge on tiny food like she's taken Entrapta's appetite for herself. Smirking as she leans against the table she knows Adora can feel her gaze.

"Alright Princess charge your battery any more and I'll dance by myself."

"Noa faish wahit fo me!" Adora forced out through a mouthful.

"Hey easy there. What's that translate to?"

Adora swallows hard and snorts at her.

"I said no fair wait for me. Now you're getting payback."

"Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try."

Before she can register it a cupcake is smashed into her mouth. She can hear Adora laughing even when Catra serves one back in retaliation. By the time they've wasted three cupcakes they don't hear Scorpia saunter over. They nearly tumble face first into her serving tray.

"Whoa slow down guys! Party just started to get so worked up. You two sure love having fun."

"Sorry Scorpia didn't see you there. Catra wants to hurry and dance; I want to savor what Entrapta had prepared tonight."

Catra stuck out her tongue and laughed when Adora elbowed her side in jest. When they look over Scorpia has forgone food entirely. She stares at them, her eyes glistening from would be tears.

"You guys are just adorable did you know that?"

"You remind us all the time." Catra replied and wrapped an arm around Adora.

"Actually uh, on second thought, I've got icing down my dress. Excuse me ladies."

Adora gives her a peck of a kiss before disappearing. Catra watched her go spellbound by the soft lights cast on everyone. Adora's outline is dreamlike, Catra can hear her breath hitch. Then far too suddenly she's gone. It's funny, she no longer feels the pain that once tore through her fast as lightening. Maybe parting no longer means goodbye. She knows she always knew.

"Y'know Wildcat I gotta say I've never seen you look this happy. Well happier than that time in the Crimson Wastes. Oh or when Finn was born. It's nice."

"Heh. We're in the same boat then. I can't even tell when it started."

"Wanna know how I can tell this time?"

The intensity in Scorpia's tone made Catra straighten. She stopped trying to eat another cupcake and met her gaze.

"It's the eyes. They're so clear these days. They're empty, not in a bad way. Like...it's like you can take on anything. You've got resolve but it's not angry."

"Calm?"

"Yeah. Calm and whole. That's some strength even I don't think I have yet. Your eyes can see through anything."

"Geez way to praise a girl. I think I get it though. Adora's been saying something similar. Glimmer, Bow, Perfuma...everyone brings it up somehow. They act like I'm supposed to know just haven't told them." Catra smiles around a bite of her snack. It was achingly sweet yet she closed her eyes and tasted the love put in.

"Of course they see it too. Every truly strong person is kind."

Catra's eyes widen. For a moment she moves as if to speak then instead smiles, content. Her heart feels light as a feather.

She spots Adora returning through the crowd. Everyone parts reverently for the savior of the galaxy; to Catra it's another homecoming. They don't need the titles or praise; at last having each other, having themselves, is enough.

Scorpia takes her leave just as Adora emerges. The teasing look she wore before is replaced by excitement; the kind that simply is because it can be. Without prompting she offered Catra her hand. She's seen this scene countless times in as many settings. She takes it.

"Ready for that dance I owe you?"

It happens in an instant; Catra reads her eyes. They're calm, resolved, kind. Her reflection stares back within their clarity. She smiles. She hopes Finn will have those eyes someday.

"Always am."

#my writing #spop #catradora #glimbow #scorfuma #finn spop

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highsviolets · 4 years

Text

ne plus ultra

summary: you encounter acclaimed scholar obi-wan kenobi after an academic conference

rating: mature (not explicit)

notes: all my love and affection to brit and mia. @profkenobi you are my prompt muse & @goldenkenobi you win many awards by listening to my endless rambles about this fic. // CHAPTER TWO

ne plus ultra (n).

(1) the highest point capable of being attained

(2) the most profound degree of a quality or state

the story starts in medias res, as all lives do. the beginning of your life is always in the middle of someone else’s. your death coincides with another’s gallant ebullience, your semi-colon failing to incise upon their life. so the scholars say.

the conference — your first since you passed your dissertation — had made you nervous, and you were glad to be spending an extra night before returning to the real world tomorrow.

your palms are slick, as they always are after too long spent in the company of other academics. the anxiety that swells in you is ballast and the deadweight forces you to slump forward slightly, the visible seam on your the shoulder of your shirt sashaying inwards.

when you smile at the concierge, it is tight, like a formation of soldiers in Napoleon’s day, and does not quite reach your eyes. still decked with traces of freckles and darkened by a summer spent abroad under the sun’s penetrating gazes, your skin fails to comply with demands of minuscule muscles pulling and stretching, commanding it into a thin arc.

but it is no matter — you receive your key and you sign the paperwork and are ascending the winding staircase to the seventh floor. emerald green carpet is your guide, swathing your ascendancy in a sheen of dark-hue velvet. sir gawain chasing after the knight in green armor, a lecture on virtue streaming from the knight’s mouth, materializes on the steps. the galloping thought makes you smile, this time more relaxed. that story is something you know. something you know so well you could almost touch it. indeed you had fingered its pages, during your apprenticeship at the British Library.

hope. the words springs forth, nearly unbidden, from your lips. the word is spoken so softly — merely a breath and a hint of sound disturbing the stairwell’s precious physics. it is a reflex of association. green means hope, the scholars had said, and during the course of your studies you had been disappointed to find that you agreed with them. you did not want to agree with the fashionably smug expert in the field. you wanted to rattle him. shake him to his sacrosanct core, the sanctimonious scum.

you had never met the man: the mysterious OWK. your advisor had raved about his breakout lecture series that had taken place years ago, when he was a newly minted phd and you were still in undergrad. sipping a cup of cafeteria coffee (they always forgot you preferred tea, all these years later), they had rambled on about the poetry of OWK’s phrasing and his decisiveness in speech and the unparalleled skill of his primary source research. the lectures had been sadly lost, the footage deleted, or archived, they didn’t know which. just that the man had refused to distribute them and speak on the matter further, nearly abandoning academia entirely.

the beverage was bitter but you laughed lightly. “is this thomas moore and his lectures on st. augustine, then? so legendary that no one can find them?”

your advisor had inclined their head, congratulating you on your witty reference. “i suppose so,” they had mused, leaning back in their office chair and staring at some point above your head, at the oaken bookshelves with brightly colored book jackets lining the walls. “now, your latest draft—“

the memory fades as your purpose alters. a simple twist of the key and the door opens. but you remain on the threshold, stuck between two modes, between here and there.

there is a man in your room, and he is as handsome as sin. he sits in a chair in the corner of the room and one leg is resting on the other’s kneecap at a ninety degree angle. he is wearing glasses, and has short auburn hair that gleams in the dull light of the lamp beside him (although, a few wayward strands obscure his eyes, layering over the frame of his glasses). he is reading. the cover is folded over so you cannot see the title but it is hefty, judging from its position on his thigh. shadows have formed over high cheekbones.

the man removes himself from the task, focusing his gaze on you. you see now that he has bright blue eyes.

“hello there!” his greeting is polite, and amiable, and accented, though not pleasantly so. “can i help you?”

“I’m afraid there seems to be a mix-up!” you say in your ‘adult voice.’ it’s same one you used on your dissertation defense. “it seems we were placed in the same room.”

“ah.” he nods sagely, as though this were to be expected, and unfolds himself from his chair.

you place a hand on your hip — near the phone snug in the back pocket of your jeans — and shrug. “I’m sorry.” the apology is saccharine and tastes like grenadine. “I’ll pop back downstairs and find out what the problem is.”

he urges you to stay, to let him call from here rather you lugging your things all the way down and all the way back up again. “it’s not proper,” he insists, dragging you in and closing the door behind you. in the time that his is so near to you and you feel the way his frown matches the steady grip on your upper arm, something warms in you at his indignation. your hand drifts away from your phone. he retreats to his corner to make the call while you linger just beyond the threshold.

the conversation is hushed and decorated with the raised tones of inquiry. when he hangs up, he sighs.

“they were under the impression that we were a married couple. apparently we booked under a similar last name.” his voice turns down at the edges. he sounds the way his frown had earlier: weary, confused, and a dash of inexplicable certainty.

“but—“ you gesture to the beds — “two beds?”

something of a grimace shadows his face. “all that was available, apparently.”

“oh.” there is a pause. he does not continue. “but they got me a room, right?” if you sound slightly desperate, perhaps it is because you are. you are sweaty. you are nervous. you want to relax. in your own room.

he zooms past your query. “i know you,” he says, and sounds as if he is surprised he knows how to speak.

“i —“ you shake your head — “i don’t think so.”

when you give your name and recognition fails to present itself, he falters and twists to stare through the glass behind him. “i thought…” but he breaks off. in the end he rights himself and tells you of the situation — how there is no vacancy, but he does not mind the sharing a room with you, just for the night, it wouldn’t be a bother.

there is something different about him. maybe it is the way that he emphasized the word can. maybe it is the way he is pushing the hair from his eyes, and removing the glasses from his face. maybe it is the way that, now pausing his actions, the man cants his head and furrows his brow.

air grows thick with the brush strokes of caravaggio: he is in the spotlight, sure and solid and steady, pure against the whirlpools of unknowing realism.

you are on the cusp of stepping into his white light when he offers his name. the first letter of each word drags itself from his mouth and burrows into your ear, until you almost divorce the meaning but for the particulars.

the first instinct that you are aware of is one you cannot name — it is an anger that is sweet, and one that is shielded by sadness, yet fueled by frustration.

there are dozens of others that your heart and mind have already examined, of course, turning them this way and that, inspecting their corners with bloodied hands. but they are rejected, and expelled into the waxy shadows, without your being aware of them. that is the job of the soul: to know before you are even aware.

he senses the shift. perhaps uncertainty has clouded your eyes. obi-wan kenobi, OWK, takes a step back from rising mist and shadow and once more turns to gaze out the window. through the glass there is a gentle village scene, all cobblestones and iron street lamps and hills keeping time on the horizon.

“i — “ you start, but you stop again. you must start, you feel, but you do not know what path to take, and you halt. the time he thinks you consider you are in fact not considering at all. there is only one answer (answers that are wrong are never really answers, after all, just more questions).

“i’ll stay.”

—

Obi-Wan is courteous and deferential and demands that you permit him to treat you this evening as an apology. he departs to give you privacy as you shower, and the flash of shimmering emerald carpet you spy as he exits makes you wonder if you are the Lady Bertalik to his Sir Gawain.

the steam and the water beat down clenched muscles with gentle hands and lingering touches. it is for several minutes that you linger in their warm embrace, but as you wipe away fog from the mirror you cannot help but encounter the sensation that you are alone, and wrongfully so. you cannot feel Obi-Wan’s presence and the air feels stale without him — like there is no current disrupting the atmosphere’s mundane course.

droplets decorate your shoulders and the hollow of your throat. they hold fast even when you pad softly to your belongings for a fresh change of clothes.

The ache in this room is stronger. The walls themselves are mourning his absence. You feel it settle in your gut, a gluttonous mass that lightens when you consider that he should be returning soon. the sky outside the window is orange and gold, flattering the leaves of maple trees in autumn.

the room is pretty, in a simple way: the emerald carpet of hope has been exchanged for a darkened hardwood. Chrome accents gleam in the reflection of the wood, and two beds — one at opposite ends of the wall — are smothered silver-white sheets. a series of Malevich paintings are hung up in a neat grid, as though the dissembling artist would come barging in, screaming of the devil, if the French theories of symmetry were not obeyed.

as you dress and begin to comb your hair, you wonder why you miss someone whom you have just met, and someone you are not disposed to like. can you miss someone you don’t like? he is sporadic and paradisiacal; in motion and steady. his kindness had surprised you, as had his beauty. he was less corrosive than your advisor had made him out to be, less ambitious than the accolades awarded to his name. but he is zealous, hungry, seeking: you could see in the way his eyes bunched around the edges, in the crick of his neck when he sought wisdom from the hills, how he had contorted his body in the chair.

(he is like you, both here and not here, and although you did not yet know, your soul was aware and reflective in wonder)

when your flesh-and-blood sir gawain returns, you muse that you are a poor temptress in an thick-knit ivory sweater that encases your body from neck to wrists. it had been a steal from a second-hand store a few years back, and you had never found the heart to give it up. it was like a childhood book, or a favorite mug — the object, in all its durable materiality, was akin to you.

Your smile pleases him. Obi-Wan says he has found a place for this evening, nothing special, but nice. “We are celebrating after all,” he says, shrugging off a dark woolen coat.

“We are?” you look at him through the reflection of the mirror. blue eyes meet yours.

“Of course!” the phrase suspends itself for a moment, maybe two, as though it is waiting for something to slip in and complete its trinity. but it falls, tumbling back down to terrestrial concerns. “We are celebrating our meeting.”

He is absurd, and you laugh. Obi-Wan’s theory of festivity is not so mercurial as his speech — the declaration sticks to your ribs, pumping blood to your heart and flooding your cheeks with a natural flush.

Obi-Wan continues to examine you. “Might I ask,” he starts, hands stilling in their expedition of finding suitable attire, “where you bought your sweater?”

you respond: it was from a second-hand store, you found it during your apprenticeship, it was the only thing that kept you warm that terribly dreary winter, it was your constant companion.

“does it have a trio of red threads on the left cuff?”

satisfying his quench takes precedence to mystery of his request.

Obi-Wan’s smile engulfs the spirit of the room, and the two of you, and the bedding, and the glass window, too.

“that was my sweater,” he says. “my uncle made it for me, and i gave it to my brother after we adopted him. he wasn’t used to the dampness of English winters, but he didn’t like the itchiness of the knit. he always had an aversion to gritty textures.” he reaches out a hand with a faint smile, like the combined power of his simple offering can cross space and time and memory and return him to the days of him and his uncle and adopted brother.

you do not know what to say. you watch him for several moments. you want to speak, but your mind is blank, thrumming with the idea that it is so very right that part of him has been with part of you all of these years. parts have him has seen you through the long hours of a dreary apprenticeship and discovering the healing properties of English tea and catching tears and wisps of smiles and witnessing ink spill over pages as you churned out dissertation drafts until the argument was smooth and refined.

the idea makes you feel very alive, and alert, and you want to offer him comfort. “would you like to take it back?” one hand tugs at the edge of the cloth, near your waist. “it’s yours anyway.” the pain of parting is lessened by the joy of giving.

he demurs, you coax. eventually it is determined that he will wear the garment for the evening, but only if you wear something of his, too. “that way it’s even,” he says, and you laugh again to hide the dip in your stomach at thought of wearing something of his, of wrapping yourself in his scent, of placing your body in a place his had once inhabited.

you settle on a light gray blazer that you think must compliment his eyes, which sparkle with aquamarine and crystal. it is paired with a turtleneck and when you emerge to show him the completed ensemble, spinning in a circle, he chuckles.

“you look like me,” he says, one hand cupping his chin.

a feeling pulses in your mind but you let it go. you may like him after all, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a pompous academic whose theories had made your life hell.

—

you expect him to take you to a cozy place. somewhere where they serve the local brew and make homemade shepherd’s pie, but he doesn’t.

he takes you a bar that is sleek and modern, with soft yellow lights and paneled ceilings and marble counter-tops. Obi-Wan escorts you to a high table in the corner, a hand on the small of your back. the warmth from his palm spreads through his jacket and your turtleneck and it feels like cinnamon and candlelight.

later, you will not remember what you ordered to eat, but you will always remember the two cups water that appear on the table.

the glasses have smooth edges and and rounded sides, curving around themselves ad infinitum or perhaps reductio ad absurdum. faint golden orbs hunch against the surface; integers of light cling to any sort of tactical reassurance. even the glass will do.

the cups are hefty, and not just with the font of life. the vessel is weighty, durable. Obi-Wan tells you that they are recycled.

he does not talk about what he does now and how he teaches, and you do not mention your work. you do not need to: what these truths have taught you is in every swallow, every glance, every gentle barb. the two of you do not need shields of citation guidelines to understand one another.

the conversation dances. he pulls you in with a question. you twirl around him, brushing his five o’clock shadow. artifice glistens and then falls away. with every pass and dip and pas de chat resentment and assumption weaken, and your eyes become bigger. he changes the time signature, the style (first it was a waltz, and then a swing step, and now it is easing into something unknown). the fabric of his jacket is smooth, and comfortable, and smells like him — warm and spice and clean. you ease into it like it is your birthright.

you do not see, but Obi-Wan notices, and grins into his water.

he does not see, but you notice, the way he couches into your sweater, and your eyes curl in some form of elation.

“what were they about? the lectures, i mean.” this is the question you have been waiting to ask. here, in the bar, with glass, you are emboldened to let go of one last grudge.

he looks at you, and his gaze stabs you, but then it softens — like the needle from a shot easing into muscle before retreating as swiftly as it came.

“what did your advisor say they were about?” he fiddles with his glass.

“they said…” you close your eyes in recollection. eyelashes flutter against freckles. “they said the lectures were about grief.”

Obi-Wan’s smile is wry, but he does not seem displeased. he is still too relaxed to be angry. how you can read his body language so quickly, you are not sure — maybe it is because he is wearing your sweater. so many things you are unsure of, but he is not one of them. not really.

uncertainty is different with him. he is not an ever-fixéd mark, nor a staid anchor in the waves. but he is resolved, and you can separate him from the rest of the particulars that impede your life. he is not just krei: distinguishing and judging and explanatory and crisis all at once, all at everything.

yes, uncertainty with him is less about judgment and is rather imbued with mystery. it is krei mixed with mysteriam: separating the hidden things from that which is known.

Obi-Wan taps his finger on the glass and the sound returns you to the present. he has caught you wandering, again, wandering the wayward halls of esoteric remembrance.

“they were about grief,” he nods, staring at the transparent material in his hands.. Obi-Wan’s voice is kingly and aromatic, like basil. it lilts and sways around the words he speaks as in a courtly dance, like those Anne Boleyn performed for King Henry.

lifting his gaze to yours again, he adds, “and they were about joy. those lectures were about everything, and nothing.” a hand rises, and rhythmic fingers sweep away invisible cobwebs. “they were,” Obi-Wan concludes, “about life itself. phenomena, as it were.” the hand floats down and rests on the table.

it is perilously close to yours now: mere inches from the edges of your body. you both look down at his hand in a brief moment marked and scratched with silence, and you are alone with your thoughts. his hands are worn, like they have been used — little scars and wrinkles and a slight puffiness that tells you that he spent a lot of time writing today. you like that.

you point to the swelling, at the v of his hand where thumb and palm meet. the tip of your index finger hovers above the spot and your confession must linger too, because it takes several moments for him to drag his eyes upwards to study your face.

“how many ACE wraps did you fray while writing your dissertation?” he asks, and you want to push him for being such a competitive brat.

your hand is still suspended above his.

you tell him your answer, and he cups his fingers around yours in a spasm of revelation. “me too!” his grip tightens. “academia is one son of a bitch.” he catches you in a sideways glance, and when you laugh, he relaxes into a smile.

“I read your dissertation, you know.” the sweater itches against your wrist, where the sleeve of his blazer has ridden up and exposed skin.

“i didn’t.” you take a sip. “but i do know how you feel about scholars such as myself.” another sip. are you biding time? you are not sure. “you feel very strongly about the color green, Dr. Kenobi.”

his grip slackens but he does not release your hand completely. “please. call me ben.”

“no?” your eyebrow arches. “not OWK, either?”

“I don’t use that name with friends.”

“Are we friends?”

his eyes are earnest, open, porous, like blue tulle on ballet costumes. “yes. i dare say we are.”

—

when the two of you stand to leave, there is a still a table that prohibits unity. emptiness subsumes you; he is so near and yet so far; Ben should be next to you. the distance continues, grows, as you exit, and an ache pours forth from your soul, because you now know what you did not know before. you had seen it in the glass, and in the reflected light, and the way you had seen yourself in his eyes when you danced with him without touching his hand.

you halt, he pauses. you take a step forward and Ben watches you. darkness blankets the town’s cobbled streets; the stones gleam dully and swallow the street lamps all into an abyss. except his eyes: Ben’s silken azure eyes are your anchor.

people don’t make sense but you do.

a few steps more and the two of you are very close. you tilt your head to look at his face. you are there, reflected in his pupils. “maybe i am you.” you mean for it to sound teasing, but your soul knows before you do, and the words are laden with imperial import, like a royal seal.

those gemstone eyes flicker over your face. he has felt it too, he is telling you, but how you know this you cannot say. “no, i do not think so.” letters drip out, leaking in a slow stream. “but i think perhaps we are a part of each other.”

and then you have narrowed down the sum to its composite parts. the glass has shattered and the left hand swims in its sand and calcium carbonate and ash, drifting through a process of becoming. particles glimmer on skin, under nails, brandishing depth and texture and a pantone coloring book of the human heart.

it is a mutual kiss, one where individualism no longer endures. his hands — swollen, calloused, firm — are grasping your cheeks. your arms are around his waist, winding around sweater and skin and soul. when you close your eyes, you think it will be dark. you are wrong. tenebrism creeps away and shadows vanish, and there is only him, and a resounding tenor of colors.

ben’s lips are soft, and his breath is warm, and it is the kiss for which you feel like you have spent your whole life preparing. he is safe (tender) and unexpected (his tongue grazes your teeth). he likes it when you grip him harder, the knit no longer coarse against your palms, not when his hand is wandering through your hair in flashes of blue and gold and pearl.

when you pull away, and nuzzle his cheek, Ben smiles — soft and comforting like the garment on his back. maybe this is why glass shatters and cracks around your feet, crunching as you sway slightly in each other’s arms — you have worn his jacket, and he has worn your sweater.

—

it is predawn the next time he kisses you. the two of you are on his bed, near the window. sweaters and blazers have been exchanged for baggy t-shirts and sleep shorts. Ben is facing you, cross-legged on the pale sheets, and he watches you as you take in the metamorphosis of the sky, from black to navy to the merest smidgen of blue and grey on the horizon, skating across the silhouette of the hills.

he watches you as you speak, too, about the way you loved the ocean as a child, and your favorite book is Moby Dick. it was so very ethereal to you, the way that sailors used the stars to navigate. it was like they were communing with the heavens.

Ben thinks that your voice glitters. it is weary with much talk and too little sleep but it shines the way diamonds do when they are stitched onto spanish lace, supported with the strength that is only found in delicacy.

your eyes, he thinks, are more like satin, for the way they gleam and mix their depth and shadows without losing their sheen, glassy in their wonder.

but you notice his regard, and you pause. he cannot see it, but he can feel a blush jogging from your neck to your cheeks.

you stare at each other. and then — he is next to you, and laying you down, and you are learning his labyrinthine ways even as you begin to come undone.

he is coming alive, or waking up—you’re not sure. his ends and beginnings are still a unknown to you: you must fashion yourself a mystic to enter his realm. somehow you suspect he is yours. your alpha and omega, the moral force that has driven you forward to now, to this point, where his forehead is meeting the jut of your jaw as he kisses his way down your neck.

you are hot and cold all at once and when he licks your pulse point, and sucks, you gasp. it is a gentle thing, more like a deep breath than an exclamation. you feel yourself leaning into him, straining for his touch. his auburn hair under your fingertips is soft and slick with his gel and you tug at it in an act of encouragement.

he pulls away. hovering over you, eyes blue and silver in the pale light — twin moons, perhaps — he smirks. “are you trying to tell me something, darling?” he asks lowly, and his voice is dark molasses. it is sticky and sweet and bitter, inching down your body. you want his kisses to follow its tortuous path, staining you with vermillion and black and dying you with pleasure.

he is color. you are cloth.

the durability of your nature returns in a rush marked with grains of steel. “no.” you swallow and the action traces where his lips met your skin just moments earlier. “i rather thought you were trying to communicate with me.” you sound ragged, coy, on the verge of aching.

Ben does not take your bait. “i was.” his breath is hot against your ear, and arresting. he pauses. the molasses continues to drip. “i was just wanted to make sure i had a clear answer.” and he nips your earlobe. you bite your lip in response: the two of you are in sync.

“yes.” you are fabric, and your voice is terrycloth.

“Yes?” he repeats your fiat. Shards of glass collapse around you as he again meets your gaze.

this must be how the Virgin prayed her Magnificat, you think as his heart errantly beats against his throat. She must have been like he is now, brimming with humble righteousness and bound by understanding. Tenderness cords through you; it tempers your breathing, smoothes the bubbles of molasses. Reaching up to to cup his face, you let your fingers splay over his cheek, resting on stubble and skin. your pinky finger meets the angle of his cheekbone. the image falls into place and the symmetry causes you to smile.

“yes. etiam. ja. sí.” you are about to conclude in greek — ναί — but he halts your litany of assent by placing an offering on your lips. the greek is in the twists of his tongue in your mouth, and so is the hebrew, and the arabic, and all the languages yet to engrave themselves in your memory.

it is like the first time you experienced champagne at your father’s christmas party. one of his students had poured you, then sixteen, a glass and said with a wink, “the monks declared it was the taste of the stars.” you had raised the flute to your lips and drank as you were bid, and when you had swallowed, you knew the world was different now. or perhaps the old world had not changed, you had merely adapted to fickle ways.

your tongue did as it had then, skating across your front teeth onto your upper lips in quick, jabbing motions. unsatiated and incomplete.

he pulls away again and you frown. eyes closed, you tug at his shoulder in a nonverbal ask to come back.

silence meets your plea and you open your eyes. he is still above you, weight resting on his forearms, and he is smiling. “you are so impatient.” the rebuke is fond and he soothes its burn with a kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, briefly.

“i am not impatient.” arms cross over your chest and eyes roll. “i am —“ the phrase is paused as he kisses your other cheek. you open your eyes. “i am.” he waits for you, as he always has, but after a few heartbeats he gleans the completeness of your meaning. existence is the watchword of this night, or this dawn: let sartre and his kind be put to rest.

so the two of you kiss again, and when his arms get tired, you drape your legs over his lap and press yourself into his chest. the last vestiges of moonlight have settled upon you, but it is no thing, not when skin feels what eyes cannot. lips are languid and hands stroll up and down pathways and alleyways and sidewalks. brittle substances of impatience are burned away through the silk of his fingers. you are content to rest in chiaroscuro.

there is another breaking: transparent and fortified compound of ash and sand — let in by the moon and the rising venus — twinkles around your head, his spine. a whispered ask, a tender assent: shirts glide over shoulders and he guides in your descent.

breathing is knowing, feeling is seeing: for here essence and existence bleed into one consummate act of communion.

lips touch your collarbone, your breast. your hands plane over his chest in a crusade of knowledge. he does not begrudge your gasps, now, or the arches your back erects to his honor. ben’s lips, hands, the vehicles of his words to the world, at once analyze and soak in praise.

clothes fall away, skin uncovering skin, manifesting a reality that had resided in your souls far before today. before the bar, the hotel, the sweater, there was always the two of you, striving for eudaemonia.

“this is phenomena,” he whispers against the curve of your hip. ben presses a kiss to the bones that give form to your body politic (the totality of your shattered glass made whole).

fin.

Tags: @profkenobi @goldenkenobi @ohhellokenobi @obitwo @nobie @cherieboba @lazzwhile @rentskenobi @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @justrunamok @citadoll @obirain @catsnkooks @royalhandmaidens @kyjoraven @mcu-padawan @anakin-danvers @snips-n-skyguy0501 @saintlaurentkenobi @answer-the-sirens @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @icedcoffeeandgays // please send an ask or fill out this form to get added to my taglist!

#userkarina #userlilylils #usernobie #ayatlovesme #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader insert #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x y/n #prompt requst #cristina writes #prof kenobi #fic: ne plus ultra #i have been so fucking excited to post this #also i actually proofread this one

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

Pretty Girl

A/n: A commission for my girl @jooheonbee, I hope you like it, Biker Mechanic Sehun is somethin else. I might do like a smut sequel because I have ideas that just didn’t fit into the storyline, so....look out for that, too.

Summary: You go for the bad boys, every time. This time, you’re determined to run. Sehun has other ideas.

Warnings: some smut, dirty talk, mild choking, I guess? not actually written out smut though? I know, right, weird for me, but that’s just how it went, talk of some public stuff

Word Count: 3150

"This is stupid," you mutter. "You're stupid."

You're talking to yourself at 3am in the worst part of town in a ratty apartment elevator and for what?

Because of the way his shoulders filled out that leather jacket? The scar on his eyebrow, the way it quirked up when he smiled at you?

"You gotta stop thinking with your pussy," your roommate had told you when you'd told her you'd given your number to this hot guy with slicked back hair and a weathered leather jacket.

"Because it's stupid?" You'd asked.

"No, dummy, because it's connected to your stupid heart."

She was right, you always did this, fucked these guys and then got attached because they cuddled you after or texted you some sweet shit when they were drunk and this guy has fuckboy written all over him.

Do you ring his doorbell anyway? Yes.

"Sehun?" You call when he doesn't answer.

"Hey, pretty girl," his voice right behind you makes you jump.

Shit fuck Jesus Christ he looks good, in a pair of grey sweats, chest bare, feet bare, holding a basket of laundry.

His hair looks wet like he's just out of the shower and it's oddly domestic for someone who'd whispered about how he'd suck your clit between your teeth while kissing your throat after your shift three nights ago.

He raises that scarred eyebrow. "Wanna come in?"

You nod, throat dry, trying not to stare as he kicks open his door, banking on you to close it when you follow him in, apparently.

And you do, because you're an idiot, a sucker for bad boys who'd inevitably break your heart, and this one had already bent you over his motorcycle and pressed his dick against your ass, saying all the wrong things into your ear that made your panties flood.

Despite the domestic look, he sits down on this cracked leather couch and smirks at you, pats his thighs. "Have a seat, pretty girl."

He probably calls you that because he doesn't remember your fucking name but you didn't wear a skirt and no panties over here at 3am to help him fold his laundry.

Half an hour later he's got your skirt bunched around your hips and he's rocking you against him and your head is spinning because you'd expected him to at least have his fingers inside you by now.

"Sehun," you whine, and he chuckles against your throat.

"Needy baby," he croons, kissing more softly at the base of your throat, and then his hands clamp down on your ass, rocking you forward again.

He stiffens his hips so that his cock presses right against your cunt and the pressure is too much and not enough at once.

"Are you gonna fuck me or are we gonna keep dryhumping like teenagers for another week?" You snap, frustrated, but he just drags his teeth along your skin and pulls back, lips turned up at one corner.

"You liked it last time, yeah? Liked me pressing into your ass, my hand around your throat, telling you how pretty you'd look begging me for my cock?"

"Oh, fuck you," you say irritably, and he moves his hands to your hips, sitting back against the couch and watching you lazily as you writhe against him.

"Gonna beg me, pretty girl?"

"Never," you snap, and he laughs again.

You do beg, though, in these breathy little whimpers, on all fours on his bed which is just a mattress on the floor and your cunt so wet it's dripping juices down your thighs.

At least he didn't complain about the condom, you tell yourself as you do the walk of shame back to your apartment and your roommate gives you a wink.

"Don't fucking judge me," you mutter.

"Never, just don't fall in love," she shoots back.

"Please," you scoff.

But do you go and do that too? Of course you fucking do.

It's not the second time or the fourth or the sixth, you've lost count by the time you realize it.

He rolls over on his stupid mattress and smiles at you, eyes puffy from sleep and his hair mussed and your heart seems to fall out of your asshole.

"Wanna get breakfast?" He asks in that husky morning voice of his and you can't vault out of bed fast enough.

"Gotta go, stuff to do," you mutter and you can't find your panties so you just leave them there and bolt out the door while he's staring after you with that dumb cute confused puppy look he gets sometimes.

You ignore his texts for a week and then eventually when he starts calling, block his number.

You refuse to have a repeat of your last disaster relationship, another bad boy you'd just known you could turn good and who'd cheated on you with almost everyone you knew.

But hot guys in motorcycle jackets just keep showing up at your job, and you end up chatting with another one two weeks later. He's bigger and sweeter and he's got this laugh that shakes his whole body.

"I used to see a guy with a bike," you comment as you hand him another beer, and he grins.

"You ever ride?"

You shake your head.

"I'll have to find my extra helmet." He leans across the bar, eyes sparkling and you can't help smiling back.

You don't let it get as far, though, trying to feel him out first without feeling him up and you leave with his name and number scrawled on his receipt.

"What the fuck?"

You hear a familiar, low voice behind you on your walk home and you freeze.

He looks sulky, bottom lip poking out, arms crossed over his chest, leaned up against the brick of the building.

"Are you drunk?" You ask, a smile threatening at the corner of your mouth. He's cute like this, all pouty.

"Kinda," he confesses. "You got a new boyfriend now?"

You roll your eyes. "Trying to tell me you're jealous, Sehunnie?"

He frowns and stands up straighter. "What, you're saying I don't have a right to be?"

You blink at him. "Why the fuck would you have a right to be? You fucked me on your bare mattress twice a week."

"Sorry I wasn't fancy enough for you, princess," he drawls, but something like hurt flashes across his face.

"That's not-" you start, but he's already striding away and straddling his bike, revving the engine and your heart is in your throat.

The next time you see him he's got his hands on some blonde's ass and your skin is on fire and there's something acid in your mouth when he winks at you as you stalk by to take a pitcher of beer to a table of frat boys and you delete his number from your phone in a rage.

***

"Whatever happened to that girl?" Minseok asks and Sehun bumps his head on the engine in surprise, cursing.

Minseok laughs as he hands him the ratchet he was looking for, sitting on the bike like a fucking slug as usual while Sehun does all the work.

"Should worry about how hard you're riding this bike instead of girls," Sehun mutters.

"That what happened? You ride her too hard?"

"Maybe. What's it to you?"

"Just thought I saw her on the back of Junmyeon's hog, that's all." Minseok's voice is so casual that for a second it doesn't register and then Sehun cracks his head on the engine again.

"Fuck!" He slides out from under it and sits up, wiping grease on his jeans. "Junmyeon? Not Chanyeol?"

Minseok blinks. "Oh, is she a biker babe?"

"Don't you fucking start." It's just another word for biker slut and he fucking knows it and Sehun wants to push him off his shitty bike.

Minseok holds out his hands as if in defense. "Listen, no offense meant. They do the Lord's work."

"That's not what she is." Sehun insists, but in the back of his mind he's seeing the way you smiled at Chanyeol.

Are you? You'd never even asked to ride his bike, he'd never even considered….

"She gonna run again or what?"

For a moment Sehun is so stuck in his head which is swirling with all these panicky thoughts about you that he thinks Minseok is asking if you'll run away from him again.

"Yeah, just needed an oil change," Sehun mumbles and goes inside to wash up.

He bangs his head against the mirror, trying to clear his head.

It isn't as if he'd thought much past your curves and that sexy half smile the first night, or even the second or third.

You started ghosting him and he figured you were just busy, tells himself he doesn't care, it doesn't matter, but he finds himself lurking around the bar you work at, but even though he's been balls deep inside you on several occasions he can't bring himself to approach you when you make a beeline for your car.

At least not until he saw Park Chanyeol chatting you up across the bar, sees you smiling down at the receipt he left and Sehun couldn't stop himself from following you.

And of course, he fucked that up, being too jealous and stupid and half drunk to make any sense.

You were right, anyway, it wasn't like he'd ever taken you to dinner, just one half assed offer of breakfast and he doesn't know how to do this, anyway. He's never had anything approaching a real girlfriend, just one night stands on various road trips and a friend with benefits in high school.

Is that what he even wanted? A girlfriend? When he thinks about your easy laugh not being directed at him, about what Minseok suggested about you being true, that maybe you're just using him...it makes his stomach sick.

He tells himself not to text you, not to call, but he does both because he doesn't have a shred of self control, and realizing you've blocked his number is like a punch in the throat.

Sehun doesn't even know where you live, has never asked you, and no wonder you're ghosting him. He groans, lying on his stupid bare mattress on the floor and he remembers the first time he'd seen you on it, as up and your thighs trembling.

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans and he sits up, frustrated. It's been three weeks since he'd last seen you and he hadn't been with anyone else, hadn't even thought about it.

Minseok had invited him out, a going away party of sorts since he's about to go on the road, and he figures fuck it, time to get back on the horse.

But of course they end up at your bar and all he can do is look for you, every shot making you more present in his head instead of further away. It's hours before you come in for your shift and it's busy, everyone he knows and several he doesn't there asking for your attention. You sling drinks and smile and laugh and he can't take his eyes off you.

Everything takes a turn for the worse around the fifth shot and he catches you leaned over the bar grinning at Junmyeon.

It's nothing, really, it's your job to flirt with customers but it's how you'd met and with Minseok telling him he'd seen you on his bike…

He fucking hates it, the way he feels, like there's suddenly no space in the bar, his chest tight, skin hot.

So he keeps drinking and when a blonde asks him to dance, tilts her head up to kiss him, he takes a dark pleasure in the flash of anger in your eyes when you stalk past.

It's all so fucking empty, later, when he fucks the blonde and she's nothing like you, all hard lines instead of soft curves, she even sounds wrong, too quiet and breathy.

She leaves and he's never felt so alone in his shitty apartment, keeps looking over at the counter where you'd hooked your legs around his waist the last time you were over and he feels tears prick at the backs of his eyes.

"Fuck," he mutters, and curls up on his mattress, staring at your contact name in his phone.

It takes another week before he can't take it anymore, not being able to talk to you, and catches you coming into work.

"God, what, are you stalking me now?"

You unlock the bar and he feels small and stupid but he's full of all these things he has to say.

When you turn to look at him all angry dark eyes, it takes his breath and everything he wanted to say dies in his throat.

"Are you seeing someone?"

It isn't what he meant to say and it certainly doesn't help the anger in your eyes.

"So what if I am? It's none of your business."

"What if I want it to be my business?" He shoots back, and it's stupid but there's something clawing inside his stomach.

"Oh, fuck you, Sehun. The last time I saw you, you were a foot down some blonde's throat. I'm not doing this again."

"It's not…. she's not…" He can't get it out, whatever it is clawing up his throat.

"I blocked your number. What else do you want? Fuck off."

You turn your back to him and he wants to hate you, wants to feel something more than this void in his chest.

He wants to tell you that everything feels shitty and empty without you but you're throwing bottles onto shelves and your shoulders are stiff.

When Minseok invites him on a week long ride, he says yes without a second thought, wanting to be anywhere else but in his apartment, where he saw you around every corner.

***

"Oh my God just call him," your roommate groans after you pile three pints of ice cream into the fridge.

"No. And don't fucking touch my ice cream." You slam the freezer shut and glare at her.

"Maybe he's just wilding out because you've ghosted him for like a month," she offers and you open the freezer again, taking out one pint of ice cream.

"Three weeks and four days," you correct.

She rolls her eyes. "Not that you're counting."

"Not that I'm counting," you agree. "Hand me a spoon."

She obliges. "He wasn't your boyfriend, right?"

"Hell no!"

"So…. he's a free agent."

"No!" You protest immediately, and then sigh. "I guess."

"You can't be mad at him for making out with randos in bars, then."

"Who says I'm mad?" You ask, mouth full of ice cream.

"Okay, clown, but he's probably at home moping over you." Your roommate stands and starts toward her room.

"He is not." Your heart skips a beat. "You really think so?"

"Call him!" She yells from her room, and you huff out a breath.

You are not going to call him.

You call him, you’ve memorized his number because you’re an idiot.

He doesn't answer and you wait a whole three minutes before texting him.

You home?

It feels like an hour before he texts you back even though it's only a few moments.

Yeah.

"That's it?" You grumble, but you head to his apartment anyway, waiting for the whining elevator and having flashbacks to the first time you'd come here.

When he opens the door in those same gray sweats, wet hair, just like the first night, words stick in your throat.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, but it's softer somehow and it makes your chest ache.

Before he even steps back from the door you lean up to kiss him and he makes this little moan in the back of his throat that sends a spear of heat through your belly.

You've got your top off, straddling his hips on that stupid mattress of his, when he breaks apart from your mouth, breathing hard.

"Y/n," he says your name low and serious, and it doesn't help the way your skin is heating up.

"You do know my name," you tease, latching onto his neck instead, and he makes a sound almost like a growl, pushing you away gently.

"Of course I know your name. Y/n, wait. I want to talk to you."

"You want to talk? Now?" You say incredulously.

He huffs out a breath. "I wanted to talk when you walked in. I got distracted."

You can't help but laugh, and he's looking up at you with this half smile and something so soft on his face it makes you want to run again.

"I could distract you more." You rock your hips against you and he lifts you off him, planting you on the mattress and sitting up, staring into your eyes.

"Do you even like me?" He asks, tilting his head like a dumb puppy and your mouth drops open.

"I-"

"I mean, do you like me, like would you consider going on a date with me? Even though I live in a shitty apartment and don't have a bed frame…"

"Sehun-"

"You don't have to answer right away, I just wanted to ask you how you felt because I'm kind of losing it-"

"Sehun!" You yell, and he startles, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"Yeah, I like you. I'll go on a date with you or whatever."

"You will? Really?" He grins and you hide your face.

"Don't be stupid," you mutter, but he tackles you, almost knocking you off the mattress and you can't stop laughing until his teeth drag along your hipbone and then you're gasping instead.

After, you trace the scar on his eyebrow. "Did you get this in a knife fight or something."

He laughs. "Dropped a wrench on my head while fixing a bike."

"I take it all back, I can't date an idiot," you say solemnly.

"Too late," he shoots back, pulling you on top of him and kissing your nose.

"You gonna ever give me a ride on your bike or should I call someone else to do it?" You ask nonchalantly, and he bites your shoulder, making you squeal.

"I'm riding to Florida tomorrow with some of the guys."

You choke on air. "Riding to where?"

He grins. "Come with me. I'll buy you a bikini."

"I am not riding 3,000 miles on a motorcycle with an idiot," you insist.

He buys you a red bikini and your thighs are so sore after the trip that you can barely move. You swear to never get back on a bike again but of course, you do, when he fixes up a small one with "pretty girl" emblazoned on the side.

You're definitely not crying, it's just that you have allergies, you insist, as he's kissing along the bridge of your nose and putting on your helmet.

#ksmutclub #3k words #sehun x reader #oh sehun x reader #sehun imagine #exo imagine #sehun smut #exo smut #exo commissions

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pogueshomecoming · 4 years

Text

sunset boat trip - JJ Maybank x reader

requested? yes: @5secondsofsleeping Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a jj x reader where the reader is a photographer, and maybe she asks the pogues to join on one of their boating trips so she can get pictures of the sunset, but jj is really intrigued with her and wants to ask her out ! If you can’t that’s ok, thank you! :) stay safe (hi! I loved this request! Thank you so much. I hope you’re staying safe as well.❤️)

fill out this survey to join my taglist(s), here’s my masterlist, and requests are open

warnings: a lot of cute JJ fluff. Like two swear words I think. I love this.

word count: 1.9k

The Pogues had just gotten done eating at the Wreck, thanks to Kie convincing her parents to provide them with a meal.

Pope and JJ were messing around, pushing each other side to side as the four of them walked down to the dock where the HMS Pogue was tied up. That’s why they literally collided into John B when he stopped abruptly. Kie was trailing behind, so she stopped in time.

“Bro, JB, what’s up with that?” JJ asks, not looking at him but bending over to pick up his hat off the ground.

John B holds up a finger, telling him to shush, then points toward the boat.

JJ’s eyes follow and find you. You’re taking steps back and forth, leaning in different directions, trying to get a proper angle with a camera stuck as close as possible to your face. He can’t see your full face, but he’s mesmerized by how you scrunch your nose as if it helps make the picture more perfect.

“Woah.” JJ doesn’t realize the word slipped from his mouth until all three of the Pogues look at him. His cheeks turn rosy from embarrassment, which never happens for JJ.

“Hey, can we help you?” John B steps forward, trying to get your attention.

It obviously startles you, but you recover quite nicely, turning around to face where the voice came from. JJ sees your eyes widen slightly, probably because you expected one person, not four.

“Oh, hi. Is this your boat? I was just taking some pictures. I’ll delete them if you want. Sorry if I was in your way.” You step to the side, letting go of your camera, so it hangs around your neck.

“No, no need to do that. It’s about time somebody appreciates the Pogue and all of her beauty.” John B laughs, turning to narrow his eyes at his friends.

“Are you new here?” JJ ignores John B’s banter. He’s really only interested in you.

“Uh, yeah. My family travels during the summer so I can practice my photography. Not sure how long we’ll stay.” You shrug, shying away under the blonde boys stare, but he doesn’t mean for it to come off as overbearing as it did, so he looks away.

“Cool. I’m Kie, this is Pope, JJ, and John B.” Kie speaks up, pointing at the boys in the order they’re standing in front of her.

“I’m Y/N. Are you guys... are you about to go out for a ride? I’d love to get some pictures of the sunset from somewhere other than the beach.” You watch them all share a glance with each other.

“Sure, we’ve always got room for one more. Let’s go.” Kie smiles.

John B passes you, jumping into the boat with no hesitation. Pope gives you a curt nod. JJ moves past you, trying not to look at you. And Kie motions for you to go ahead of her, muttering something about the boys not knowing how to be gentlemen.

You make yourself comfortable at the front of the boat, snapping pictures as you cruise out of the populated area. The four of your new friends seem to have gone silent, but you don’t mind. You meet new people every day, and awkward isn’t a feeling you get.

What’s actually happening behind your back is Kie trying to nudge JJ to go sit by you, but he refuses. He stands next to John B, pretending to be okay with having nowhere to sit. Until John B suddenly changes speeds, sending JJ stumbling forward.

Thankfully, he catches himself before he reaches you, but now he’s close enough that you know he’s there.

“Hey, JJ, right?” You turn. His face is red, and his hair is messy.

“Yeah. I was wondering if I could see the pictures you took of the boat earlier.” JJ scratches at his neck, and you smile.

“Really? Sure, sit down.” You scoot over a little bit even though there is plenty of room. Showing people the pictures you take is almost more exciting than taking them.

JJ sits down next to you, and you put the camera in his hands, leaning over him a little to show him which buttons to press and scroll through them. You’re more focused on his face than the pictures because you want to see his reactions, but you do it discreetly.

“Woah, hey, JB, she got a picture of the dent you put in the side with my head.” JJ laughs, his smile lighting up his whole face as he turns the camera toward the other three.

JJ proceeds to look back at you and explain the story behind every big scratch or mark he can see in the pictures. It was one of the reasons you’d stopped to take photos of the boat anyway because it had so much more character than all of the spotless yachts around it.

“Y/N, does this look like a good place to stop? We can keep going if you want.” John B interrupts JJ’s story about the time he melted the leather seat with his lighter. On accident, of course.

“Oh, do whatever you normally do! I’m just along for the ride.”

Pope, Kie, and John B immediately start stripping out of their clothes. As soon as you realize they’re going to jump in, your grab your camera from JJ to adjust some of the settings and start snapping photos.

You get a few of them resurfacing and smiling and laughing at each other, but then you move on to taking pictures of the horizon. It’s a gorgeous rust orange color with a hint of golden hour sun. The best time.

JJ coughs, and you realize he’s still sitting near you, watching you bend and twist to get angles you want. When you turn to look at him, the glow is hitting him in the prettiest way.

“You don’t want to swim with them?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No, I’d rather stay up here with you if that’s alright.” JJ can’t tell what it is about you that’s so intriguing, but he doesn’t want to leave your side.

“Can I take some pictures of you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the lighting is perfect right there.” He looks perfect right there, you think.

“Oh, uhm, yeah, what do you want me to do?”

“I’m actually going to get some close-ups if you don’t mind.”

JJ gives you a small smile, motioning his hand to provide you with permission to come closer. You get some great pictures of his side profile that are more so of an outline with the way the light is behind him. You have him turn toward the sun and get really close, capturing the sunset in the reflection of his ocean blue eyes.

When you lower the camera to look at it, you don’t realize that you didn’t lean away from him. He looks at the small camera screen with you, gasping at how amazing your skills are.

“You have really nice eyes.” You tell him, looking up to see he’s only inches away.

“Thank you,” JJ speaks softly because of your close proximity. For a moment, you’re lost in each other’s gaze. Until he stands up, holding out his hand.

“My turn, let me take some of you. You’re right about the light looking perfect.”

Reluctantly, you hand over the camera. You’re definitely more comfortable behind it than you are in front, but JJ makes it fun. He’s constantly talking, for one thing, asking you which buttons do what and stuff in that nature.

JJ is also hyping you up. Playfully, of course, things like “Yes, girl, work it!” or “Come on, give me a smile. I know you got one.” And your personal favorite, “Absolute model material right here.”

And by the time he hands you the camera back, the rest of his friends are done swimming and returning to the boat. The oranges and reds of the sky have turned into dark purples and blues, so it’s time to head in.

JJ sits next to you, ready to see how his pictures turned out, but you shiver from the wind. He gets up immediately, grabbing his towel that went unused from the seat across from you, and wraps it around your shoulders. You smile at him, but both of you miss the raised eyebrows of the three pogues at the back of the boat. Kie snaps a picture of the two of you, just in case you’d want to see it on your wedding day.

As the two of you scrolled through the pictures JJ snapped, it was apparent very early that JJ didn’t know how to focus the camera. Meaning they weren’t very clear, and he was upset.

“Damnit, I was trying so hard! Yours are so cute, and mine are shit.”

“Did you just call yourself cute?” You look over at JJ, and even in the low lighting, you can see him blush.

“Oh, I... No. Did I? You’re cute, is what I meant to say.” JJ recovers nicely, leaving it your turn to blush.

“Sorry, you probably expected some good quality pictures of you, and I couldn’t do that.” JJ sighs, running a hand through his coarse hair.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was fun, and the blurriness will always remind me of how much you made me laugh.” This makes JJ smile again, a sight you love to see.

The rest of the ride is pretty calm. Kie comes to sit with you two and asks about all of the places you’ve been to. You use your phone to show her some of your favorites, and JJ is awestruck by your talent.

“Should we drop you back at the Wreck, Y/N?” John B asks, slowing down as he enters the channel.

“Yes, please, my bike is there.”

Soon enough, it’s time to say your goodbyes.

“Thank you guys for letting me tag along. I had a lot of fun.”

“We’re always around, you can join us any time.” John B salutes you, and you wave goodbye to Pope and Kie.

“I’ll walk you up to your bike,” JJ tells you, nodding at the others to wait for him.

His hand is resting lightly on your back while you make your way up the pier. There’s your bike, locked to a bike rack outside the end of the restaurant.

“So... did you really have a good time tonight?” JJ asks, clicking his tongue.

“Yeah, I did. I love the island in general. You guys are so nice, so carefree.”

“Enough of a good time to stay for a while?” JJ raises his eyebrows like he’s hinting at something, and you understand immediately.

“I think I could be convinced.” You tease, pushing a piece of your hair out of your face.

“Would you want to go on a date? Meet me here tomorrow night at seven. Wear something cute and bring a swimsuit.” He rocks back on his heels, waiting for a response. You pause unlocking your bike lock for a second.

“Alright. I’ll do that. See you then.”

You take a step forward, pushing onto your tiptoes and pressing your lips gently to his cheek. JJ smiles as you step away, giving you a nod and a small wave as he turns around and retreats back down to the dock.

Instead of continuing to enter your combination, you step around the edge of the building, just a tad. You watch JJ skip to the boat, throwing his hat down as he jumps in.

“She said yes!”

thank you for reading! don’t forget to reblog if you liked it or send me feedback :)

jj maybank taglist: @wlwkie , @jjjmaybank , @shawnssongs , @hopelesswritingxd , @newsiestrash123 , @millie-753 , @thatsonobx , @jjtheangel , @obxkie, @baileysb1tch, @ohbx , @babysbestlife , @psychicforest , @fanficscuziranout , @maebanks ,

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Stuck (Gigi x Nicky) - Imposterzoe

AN: Thought I'd try my hand at S12 fics! Thanks to Saiph and Mistress for betaing. IZ

"Nicky!" Gigi shrieks out.

Nicky, who had been napping on the couch, snapped awake. "Gigi?"

"Nicky help me!" She shrieked again.

Nicky jumped up, stumbling as she attempted to wake up. "Where are you ma belle?" She called.

"I'm in the bedroom! Hurry!"

Nicky sprinted as best she could to get to her girlfriend. She threw their bedroom door open, eyes darting around.

"What's wrong Gigi? Is there a spider?"

The last time Gigi found a spider in the room, she stood on the dresser for an hour, repeatedly asking Nicky "But are you sure you got it?"

Well at least until she got cursed out in French.

Finally Nicky lays eyes on Gigi, who was almost in tears.

"Help me." She squeaks.

In response, Nicky burst out laughing, clutching the doorframe to keep upright.

Gigi was stuck in approximately 25,000 orange buttons and Nicky's laughter wasn't helping her feel better.

Her arms were awkwardly raised in front of her and her back refused to bend. In her struggle to get out of the jacket, she'd fallen on the floor and looked like a dropped Barbie doll.

"How?" Nicky chuckled.

"Well you know I ripped some buttons off it a while back." She started.

"Uh huh?"

"So I re-sewed it and tried it on to see if it still fit."

Nicky walked toward the fallen girl, crouching to look her in the eye.

"And how'd that go?" She teased.

Gigi glared. "Not well. Obviously."

She stood up, chuckling softly. "So you're stuck?"

Gigi nodded.

"Maladroite." She murmurs under her breath.

"What?"

"Clumsy!" She translates, laughing again

"Would ya help me up or are you just gonna laugh at me?"

"I'll do both." Nicky responds, walking behind Gigi and hooking her hands under the girl's armpits.

With a grunt, she lifts. Gigi's legs scramble as Nicky lifts her, struggling to gain traction.

"Why do we have the most slippery hardwood in the world?" She groans as she falls back to the floor. "Ouch."

Nicky leans forward, resting on her knees. "Because you think carpet is too 70's."

She wraps her arms around Gigi's waist. "Let's try this way."

She pulls upward, gritting her teeth as lifted.

Gigi bent her knees, pushing herself up. She yelps as Nicky's hand presses her ass but they finally get her standing straight.

"Finally!" She cries triumphantly.

"How long were you sitting there?" Nicky finally thinks to ask.

"Get me out of this, please." She responds instead of answering.

Nicky snorts, turning Gigi around. She fiddles with the biggest button, attempting to work it open.

"Babe don't rip off my button!"

"It's all button, ma cherie."

It's about 10 minutes of struggling before Nicky just throws her hands up.

"That's it, I'm gonna cut it off!"

"I don't have to bend my arms to kill you."

"Then what should we do?"

Gigi sighs, pacing as best she could without with full mobility of her legs.

Her face brightens and one of her arms twitches in what was probably an attempt to raise it.

"Call Crystal! Maybe the two of you could get it over my shoulders."

Nicky shrugs, grabbing her phone and ringing up their friend.

"Hello?" She answers cheerfully.

"Crystal! Are you busy?"

"Hey Nicky! I'm just dancing in my room."

"Sorry Gigi, sounds like she's busy."

Crystal laughs while Gigi glares.

"Put the phone to my ear." She commands.

Nicky shrugs, holding the phone up to her ear.

"Crystal, I need your help."

"What happened?"

"Just come over."

"Ok."

Gigi nods at Nicky, who hangs up.

"Uh Nicky?"

"If you have to go to the bathroom, I'm not helping."

Gigi chuckles lightly. "No. But uh, I'm starving and I can't move my arms."

Nicky sighed with a roll of her eyes. "Can you walk to the kitchen?"

"Yeah but it'll take a million years." She trudges toward the door, strain taking hold in her features.

Nicky watches in amusement and realizes no one would ever believe this happened.

"Are you recording me?!" Gigi yells hotly.

"Bitch, I'll put you back on the floor. Let me record."

"Ugh." She groans, bending her neck so her blush is hidden behind her black hair.

Somehow she makes it to the kitchen before her hundredth birthday, walking to the table.

Nicky putters around the kitchen, trying to think of something that would be easy to feed to Gigi.

"Nicky." She calls softly.

Nicky pulls her head out of a cabinet with a raised eyebrow.

Gigi was standing in front of a chair. "I can't bend low enough." She mumbles.

Nicky snorts, walking to her girlfriend, grabbing her waist and sitting her down.

Gigi sighs, the table high enough that she could rest her tired arms.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. Name something."

Nicky goes back to digging through the cabinets. "Cereal?"

"No."

She tosses the fridge open. "We have sushi."

Gigi makes a face.

She runs a hand through her head. "Leftover spaghetti?" She tries.

"We still have spaghetti?"

She holds up the pot as evidence.

"Ok."

"Finally." Nicky mutters, closing the fridge and grabbing a plate.

"Can I get some water too?"

After hitting start on the microwave, Nicky dutifully grabs a cup and fills it up.

"You didn't get more straws!" She chides.

"You didn't say we needed them." Gigi responds.

Nicky swears intently in French as she holds the glass to her girlfriend's lips.

"Oh I'm sure this won't end badly." Gigi mumbles as she goes to drink.

Nicky cups a hand under Gigi's chin as she drinks, tilting the cup as it's drained.

"Seriously how long were you sitting there?"

"Spaghetti's done!" Gigi yells, jerking her head back so fast Nicky spills some water in her lap.

She groans as Nicky grabs the plate and a few napkins.

Setting the plate in front of her, Nicky ties Gigi's hair back and tosses some napkins in her lap. The rest hit the table as she grabbed the fork and her phone.

Starting a new video, she picks up some spaghetti.

"Here comes the aeroplane!" She chirps, "flying" the fork to Gigi's mouth.

"I am going to murder you." She snaps.

"Do you want the food or not, Bitch?"

With an angry sigh, Gigi takes the bite.

"I'm never gonna forgive you for this." She says as she chews.

Nicky just zooms in and picks up more spaghetti. "I'll live."

They slowly work the plate with Nicky altering between train and plane noises and Gigi altering between death threats and her plans to destroy Nicky's sheep.

"Owwww! Nicky you poked me in the cheek!" She whines.

"Then stop talking and moving so much!" Nicky stops her video and grabs a napkin.

"Hold still." She commands, wiping the tomato sauce from the girl's mouth.

Gigi sighs, looking into her girlfriend's eyes. A soft smile forms as she sees the concentration on the girl's face.

Nicky notices and blushes as she sits back. "What?"

"Thanks for helping me Nick." She whispers.

Nicky smiles, walking around to hug Gigi.

"No problem, ma belle." She murmurs, kissing the top of Gigi's head.

There's a knock at the door.

"That'll be Crystal." Nicky whispers as she let's Gigi go to answer the door.

"Hey Nicky?"

She turns. "Yeah?"

Gigi turns her legs, somehow standing herself up.

"You know I'm not fucking you until you delete those videos right?"

Nicky chuckles darkly, slowly walking back over to her.

She grabs Gigi by the waist, pulling her forward. Her smile drops but her eyes sparkle with warning.

Gigi blushes, swallowing thickly. "Well I'm not." She mumbles, all authority gone from her voice as Nicky stares at her.

Nicky smirks and before she can think, Gigi's feet were swept from under her. Within seconds she's back on the floor.

"Hey!" She protests.

"Hi!" Nicky calls back as she answers the door.

"Hi Crystal!"

"Hello!" She chirps. "What's the big emergency?"

Nicky leads her in, pointing to Gigi pouting on the floor.

When she doesn't answer, Nicky nods. "Yep."

"Hey Gigi! Stuck in the buttons again?"

"Can she get up by herself?"

"Nope."

Crystal thinks for a second. "How many pictures have you taken?"

Nicky laughs. "Not enough."

Gigi huffs. "Is someone gonna help me? Please?"

Crystal walks over and lays a hand on the girl's head. "Of course we will."

Gigi sighs in relief before she spots the looks on their faces. "What?"

"But first." Crystal walks back to Nicky. "Y'know, Gigi never let's me do her makeup."

"Crystal Elizabeth Methyd, if you even come near me with a makeup brush!" Gigi shouts.

They stare at her for a minute before Nicky turns to Crystal.

"So makeover then photoshoot?"

Crystal lights up. "Yeah!"

They sprint off and Gigi groans.

"This is the last time I get stuck in these buttons!"

"That's what you said last time!"

"Shut up, Nicky!"

#rpdr fanfiction #nicky doll #gigi goode #crystal methyd #gigi x nicky #fluff #lesbian au #imposterzoe #s12

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕌𝕡♡

Could I please get jjba part 1-5, Magi, & demon slayer male matchup? I’m a 5”1 female Capricorn who’s quiet and doesn’t socialize with anyone. I’m not special to anyone and People view me as shy since I don’t talk and smile to anyone but I’m most likely reserved and wary, distance myself from people to avoid getting hurt. It takes a lot of time for me to trust someone and I keep a lot to myself because no one will understand my struggle and I feel self-hatred as no one cares about me and that I don’t deserve kindness or soft people which I have been told about it. once I’m comfortable & safe with someone, I’ll be able to rely on them a lot & can possibly tell them about my toxic parents especially daddy issues, (in case if you misunderstood it’s not exactly past, it’s currently instead because I still live with my parents and I really want to get out of here) I’m depressed, hot headed, touch-starved and self-conscious. I’m also compassion, I’m just not very much affection but I do show my concern for others. I’m a tomboyish & playful person too but When it comes to love I get so flustered. Most people love my brunette curly hair, it’s natural & I fond of curly hair. Also please don’t ship me with Abbachio for obvious reason like him and I having a trust issues or something and I dislike koichi. (Feel free to delete it if you don’t accept it)

»»————-　♡　————-««

Hello! Thanks for requesting with us~! Since you’ve chosen fandoms we both write for, this will be a collab match-up~! I’ll be handling your JJBA and Demon Slayer match-up~! I hope you enjoy who I ship you with~!

» » Admin Ko

Hi and thank you for requesting with us! I hope you enjoy the boys we pair you up with!

>Admin T

𝕀 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

This serious yet bubbly king would be the perfect man for you! He would be the one to help you feel better about yourself, the man that will make you laugh until your sides hurt, and the man that will break your shell to help you see the world for its bright colors! He will be the one to make you feel love, and deserving of love. He will understand the feeling of self loathing and feeling like a failure, and since he knows what it feels, he will be the one to help you through it, so that you know that there are people that love you and want to see the best for you!

He will see that you aren’t very affectionate, but really touch starved so he will do anything in his power to make sure that you are comfortable in his presence, so that he can start holding your hand or start giving you little kisses on your cheek. He knows that you will need a lot of love to truly feel like you belong with people, and the fact you need an escape from the people who have harmed you, so he will do anything in his power to give you all that you need in that aspect.

All in all, Sinbad is a man that will be the one to help you get out of the deep dark hole you are in, and show the wonders and happiness of the world, so that you can truly blossom into someone you want to be, someone who you will to be.

»»————-　♡　————-««

ɢɪᴏʀɴᴏ ɢɪᴏᴠᴀɴɴᴀ

As someone who has struggled to find a place where he can be himself (or rather in the midst of truly discovering himself) Giorno is the match for you! Giorno doesn’t believe that he is significantly special, but does his best in reminding you that even if you’re not special to most that you’re at least special to him. He understands the reserved nature you hold, as he has the same habit of being cautious around new people.

What he isn’t the best in doing, he makes it up with his words. Despite the shady and habitual lying he’s done, he’s sincere to you when it comes to displaying his true emotions and intent towards you. Patient and ever reliable, he will be understanding in your mindset of refusing to share your struggles. Though of course he’ll at least remind you that he’ll be there for you no matter what it is.

Perceptive and strategic, Giorno is careful with what he says around you. He understands that your past is yours and that despite there nothing being really done to change it, he avidly looks forward with hopes in helping you move past the shackles holding you down.

Overall, Giorno-- similar to you-- may not be the most affectionate person, but he does the little things that solidify his feelings for you. Even if they are miniscule.

ɢɪʏᴜᴜ ᴛᴏᴍɪᴏᴋᴀ

Quiet and the type to move alone, Giyuu is the one who meshes with you~! Stuck with survivor’s guilt and being unable to move on, he understands that there are other’s in this world that hold baggage. Though each may not be the same, he still tries his best in helping alleviate some of the pain you carry on your shoulders.

He’s understanding and blunt when he speaks to you, as he finds that sugar coating words isn’t the best option in general. Despite his harsh words, he’s sincere in the desire of helping you grow from your past and into the present. Similar to you, he’s very reserved with those he first meets, and chooses to avoid social interaction when possible.

When he learns of your self-hatred he pushes to remind you that you’re loved and worth more than what you view yourself as. Though it does get hard for him, he perseveres mainly due to the guilt he feels for those that sacrificed themselves for him in the past.

Overall, he may not be the most affectionate, but he does ease into the little things. Such as reminding you lightly of tasks, or brushing your hair out of your face while you both are on a simple date.

#match-ups #anime matchup #submissions #matchup #submission #jjba x reader #jjba match up #magi x reader #magi matchup #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer match up

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fuckingthefictional · 4 years

Text

Cross my heart- Part 5

Warnings: war related violence (death, murder, injuries, PTSD), swearing.

A/N: this was uploaded a while ago but as of now (3rd jan) it deleted itself and I’ve had to try and rewrite it from memory, so apologies if it’s shit.

“Sergeant Fenton, you will report for duty at 0600 hours tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir. Who will I be with?”

“Solo Mission Sergeant. You will be flying over a suspected German camp across the battlefield. You will either confirm or deny our suspicions by reporting back to us.”

“Yes Sir.”

She hated solo missions, they were about ten times more likely to end in death. She just hoped to any God that may listen that she was kept safe.

“Why’d you have to go?”

“Because they asked me John- I’m not going to be shot up a post for cowardice and disobeying orders”

“Look- just stay safe Liza.”

“I will, you stay safe too- I’ll be back soon I promise.”

She hoped for John’s sake that she did come back soon, even though she had already accepted her own death and was prepared for what was to come.

It was safe to say that she was not prepared for this, a simple flight observation task she was prepared for- but not a crash in German territories.

The atmosphere was seemingly black, as the smoke levitated off of the fiery wreck of the plane.

She was disorientated and in pain. It hurt, her leg was leaking warm thick blood. It painted her hands and stained her flight suit.

Her foot was being pinned down by a heavy piece of the planes’ body, while further up her leg there was a deep gash with some jagged metal buried in it. She’d given up with trying to take it out, as every time she tried it pushed deeper into her flesh.

She didn’t know what to do. She was in enemy land with no way of communicating that she was down. She was as good as dead- but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Not if she could help it.

She slowly began to pull her foot from the heavy trap as she bit down on her flight suit to mute her screams of pain.

She felt a release and looked down to see her leg was now free. There was a sense of relief as she shuffled back on her bottom away from the crash site.

Until she felt something hard it her back, something that didn’t feel like a tree. But more resembled a pair of boots and legs, she looked up and towering over her was a soldier.

He’d obviously been the one to investigate the site to see if there was anyone to be found. It was obvious that the German soldier wasn’t expecting to see a girl before him and was apparently in a state of potential shock.

She took the chance while she could, as she took out a pocket knife and plunged it into the mans neck.

She was sprayed in blood. She’d just killed a man- someone who’s parents, siblings, wife and children were probably waiting for to come home. Only for it to be destroyed by her.

She wanted to vomit up her insides, the sight of the older man with dead eyes made her stomach churn uneasily.

But she had to survive. Using her wits, she stripped him of his uniform and swapped hers with his.

She dragged his body to the wreckage and tossed his body into the flames. The fire rose higher with the new sustenance that it had been presented. There- now it looked as if you had died on impact.

47 men. 47 people who were never going to see their families again because of her.

The camp was now eerily quiet and it set her teeth on edge. It was now a ghost town and all life was gone- it was silent.

Her leg was numb now and her head had become woozy from blood loss. She had a few more additions to her list of injuries- a bullet wound here and there, she was in unspeakable pain as she found herself stumbling around as the world before her became disorientated and a mere blur.

But she refused to give up, she thought about Harry and John and how she promised them that she would make it back.

The thoughts of her brother fueled her determination, Harry had always said- when in doubt, trust your gut. So she did.

Scrape. Pat.

The sounds of the shovelling were starting to drive her to a state of insanity. She had been stuck in the German’s tapper tunnel for what felt like a year- but was really only 32 hours.

She threw the soil behind her, as she kept limping forward. Every inch of her ached, it burnt in agony- and all she wanted to do was succumb to the darkness and join the 47 she had murdered.

But she refused, she kept digging as she hoped and prayed for a way out.

Her prayer was answered when she heard muted voices. Pressing her ear up against the compact soil, she concluded that the voices were speaking English.

This only fueled her encouragement, as she begun to dig faster and the dirt walls crumbled away. Finally a dim light enveloped the pitch black that she had been in for all those hours.

She was free.

And then she was thrown against a wall, she struggled against the strong force as her head cracked against a wooden support beam.

She was panicking and this only intensified when she spotted the glint of a silver blade.

She just had time to move her body slightly to the left before the knife plunged into her shoulder. She screamed out in pain.

“I’m fucking English!” She shouted, “Stop!”

The man’s blue eyes had been filled with confusion and frantic frenzy. She could have fucking swore she recognised those eyes.

“Why you wearing a fuckin’ German uniform then?” A different man who was pointing a gun at her head spoke up.

“Look if you go through the tunnel you’ll find 47 dead Germans.” She stammered, “I killed them- there’s also an allies plane, it’s mine I was shot down.”

The men seemed to confer with eachother as they decided to take the trek and see if their ‘captive’ was being truthful.

The next time she woke up she was in a bed, bandages wrapped around various parts of her body.

Her entire body ached and it was only when a nurse entered the room that she realised she was in a hospital room.

The nurse informed her of the injuries she’s had, a shattered kneecap, 3 bullet wounds, a stab wound to the shoulder, and gash in her thigh, a near cracked skull.

And yet the thing that hurt most wasn’t physical, it was the news that she had been honourably discharged from her airforce squadron.

She felt worthless, like all her effort and time that she had invested was just gone.

She had written to John and Harry, explaining what had happened and how she felt unsure of the future.

And then she was shipped off to a rehabilitation centre for recovering soldiers. It was nice to get some time away- where she could learn to walk properly and to heal up.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Miss Fenton, please sit down.”

“It’s Sergeant!”

“Sorry, Sergeant Fenton, Please sit down.”

“You’ve taken everything from me!” She cried, “and your biggest issue is that I’m not sat down?”

“We apologise. It just isn’t appropriate to give you an award for your services.”

“My services? It was not my job to become partially disabled and to nearly get killed.” She began to rant, “You said this would be over by Christmas years ago! And here you all are, sat in comfy offices. As we’re fighting for our country and laying down our lives only to you not giving give a shit!”

“That is enough!”

“It is the fucking truth- and you would be shot for cowardice!”

“We are going to ask you to leave.”

“Gladly!”

It was the letter that arrived two weeks later, that letter was the needle that broke the horses back- the letter that informed her that Thomas Shelby, her saviour, had received extra medals for her services.

Harry woke up to the screams again, Eliza wasn’t coping at all. And it broke his spirit to see his little sister struggle like this.

Eliza was beginning to lose sleep as well, she was beginning to lose her functioning side of logic.

That became apparent when John ordered a drink at the bar and it was apparent that Eliza had not heard him.

“Liza?” John waved his hand in front of her face.

Eliza finally came back into the present. It was obvious that she wasn’t sleeping well as the dark circles under her eyes popped out and the pale shade of her skin made her look ill.

“You look shit.” John said bluntly

“I can’t do this anymore- I’m not sleeping, I’m barely functioning.” She began to tear up.

John took her out from behind the bar and took her to the private room, so that his friend could cry in her own space.

She sobbed as John held her frame, he put her on his lap as he rocked them both in an attempt to calm Eliza down. It barely worked but soon enough her heavy sobs were replaced with quiet sniffles.

“Talk to me Liza.”

“It’s Tommy- I’m falling for him and I can’t stop myself.” She sighed and rubbed her face, “but the fucking history between us.”

“What history El?”

She began to unbutton her blouse as she pulled down the fabric to show the old stab wound that ran along the junction between her shoulder and collarbone - It was long and jagged and it stood out against the milky skin.

“He was the one in the tunnel that night, the one who attacked and stabbed me.” She shook violently, “I’m falling for him but every time I look into his damn eyes all I can see is the knife and the pain.”

John just kissed her head, as his own tears began to spike at his eyes.

The door flung open, Eliza didn’t realise how wrong the position they were in looked. What with her hair messy and her button undone all while being sat on John’s lap.

It became even worse when she realised who had just walked in. It was Tommy. He looks furious and betrayed.

“So this is why we couldn’t be together Aye?” He spat, “Because you’re whoring around with me brother. You’re a fuckin’ slag Eliza.” He turned and left as Eliza frantically scrambled to her feet in an attempt to explain.

But it was too late, he had left.

She’d added another injury to her list in that moment- fucking heartbreak.

#cross my heart #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders #PeakyBlinders #peaky fookin blinders

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skz-candy · 4 years

Text

oh (ye)dam

sometime in January 2019

"Yo, Yedam," Junkyu came over to him, making him stop working on a song.

"I'm busy, what is it?"

"Have you seen this?" Junkyu showed him the post from Dispatch of Candy and Minho. His heart broke, but he was also angry. She had only said him and Jeongin, but maybe she fell for Minho too. Or any of them.

January 30, 2019

“There you are,” Yedam smiled, joining Candy and a female trainee in the YG Cafeteria.

“The trainees here are so nice,” Candy smiled at the girl. “Thank you for talking to me.”

“Of course! It was so nice to meet you!” The trainee waved and headed off.

“Yedam,” Candy pulled him to the side as soon as they left the cafeteria. “You’re aware of how much people look up to you here, aren’t you?”

“Do they?” He blinked, shrugging slightly. “I never really noticed. Between school and training, I was kind of just running without looking.”

“Can we like, really talk though?” Candy licked her lips. “About the Dispatch thing.”

“About your boyfriend? Sure,” Yedam led the way to an empty room, deciding to confront her about her shady love life.

"I’m not dating Minho,” she stated as he closed the door.

“If not him, then one of the others,” Yedam sighed. “I’m not an idiot, Candy. You’re friendships or relationships are on display for the world to see. It’s not too crazy for anyone to figure out you’re dating one of them.”

“But I’m not,” she threw her arms up slightly. “I told you I had feelings for you and Jeongin. That’s it. No one else.”

“So you’re telling me you’re dating Jeongin?” Yedam bit his lip, not really knowing whether to be angry or upset.

“When did those words ever leave my mouth?” Candy stared at him. “Yedam, I know you’re upset but don’t accuse me of things.”

“Then make a decision,” Yedam crossed his arms, fed up with the back and forth.

“Fine,” she huffed, blowing hair out of her face. “Let’s be friends.”

“Fine. Friends it is.”

February 01, 2019

Hyunsuk: are you still working on that one song?

Yedam: no.

H: are you even in the studio?

Y: no.

H: she's just a girl, you know.

H: you could always get another one.

Y: i like this one though.

H: i'm sorry. :(

Y: :(

February 04, 2019

“You look nice, even though you have practice later,” Yedam stuck his hands in his pockets, looking her over.

“When have you ever seen me look anything but nice?” Candy raised an eyebrow.

“When you were angry with me,” he admitted. “You were actually kind of scary, believe it or not.”

“Me?” She coughed slightly. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“No, you’re scary when you’re confident. Everyone thinks you need taken care of, but you know how to handle yourself,” Yedam nodded.

“How are you younger than me?” Candy joked, smiling at him. “Thank you for complimenting me when I’m sure you don’t want to.”

“You act as though you led me on. You were honest with me from the start and I was selfish. I know we angrily said friends, but I want to be happy friends,” Yedam laughed, bringing a smile to her face, and it widened as Hyunsuk joined them.

“Are you guys friends again? Yedam has been a mess without you,” Hyusuck put an arm around Yedam, who rolled his eyes. “Does that mean you’ll be coming back around now?”

“I’d love to!” Candy smiled and nodded. “But I’ve got to go to my own practice now.”

“Text me,” Yedam told her, and she waved goodbye.

March 31, 2019

"Hey, Hyunsuk, come here," Yedam waved him over. Hyunsuk rolled his chair over, crashing into him slightly.

"What? Is it something Candy sent you?" Hyunsuk pulled Yedam's phone to his line of vision. It was just a couple YouTube videos. "I don't really want to watch a video right now."

"They're Candy's," Yedam pointed out. "Well, one is from her EP and the other is a project she had been working on."

"So?"

"You know how I told you she had feelings for Jeongin and we had agreed to be friends, after I trusted that her and Minho weren't together?"

"I can't forget, you live to remind me. You literally have her saved as 'The One That Got Away' in your phone."

"Whatever, just listen. Her project was with Hyunjin - a phenomenal dancer. But the guy in her music video wasn't Hyunjin. It's Choi San from Ateez."

"Are you jealous?" Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow."

"No!"

"Whatever you say."

sometime in May 2019

"Come on Yedam, you can do this!" He told himself, quickly deleting all the Candy related things on his phone. He kept following her on Instagram and he kept her number. He felt proud of himself, and even more proud when he changed her contact name to "Do Not Answer".

June 17, 2019

"Should we tell him?" Doyoung mumbled, biting his lip.

"I don't know," Jihoon sighed. "Maybe he already knows?"

"It's Yedam, he probably doesn't know," Junkyu pointed out.

"I don't know what?" Yedam sat at the table with them, but Hyunsuk was the one to slide the phone over.

It was her Instagram, her most recent post being her holding someone's hand.

"She moves around a lot," Yedam scoffed, guarding his heart.

"What are Cali girls for," Jihoon joked, trying to lighten the mood.

July 01, 2019

Yedam just stared at the picture Candy had posted recently where she declared she was going on a hiatus from the group. Her hair was cut and she still looked amazing, but he still didn't know why she was leaving. They were supposed to be friends but she rarely reached out to him. Eventually Yedam just gave up, but he can't say he didn't miss her sometimes. She was the first girl he let himself fall for and this was what he got.

"What are Cali girls for," he mumbled as he locked his phone, his thoughts jumbling. Candy had said him and Jeongin, but she had posted Jeongin a couple times and then had things with other guys. He felt lied to and played. It hurt him way more than he ever thought it would.

October 04, 2019 - 3:41 am

Yedam's phone lit up, saying that Candy had posted on Instagram for the second time that day. Well, second time for her since she was still in L.A. Stopping music, he looked at the picture. It was her and Jisung. He scoffed slightly then paused, realized he wasn't all that surprised. She had been moving around guys since he knew her. If he was surprised it would have been because he let her in again. Not again. Not on his watch.

December 19, 2019 - 3:27 pm

"Hey, Yedam?" Hyunsuk tapped on the door, pursing his lips. Yedam slid the headphones off his ears, looking at the screen another moment before looking up at his friend.

"What is it?"

"I know you and Candy are over and whatever, but I feel guilty about something now that she's back."

"What?" Yedam took the headphones off completely. "What are you talking about?"

"On the twelfth of June," Hyunsuk cleared his throat. "I answered your phone when Candy called. She needed someone so I went. We ended up making out in an alley."

"You did what?" Yedam laughed, he really couldn't believe his ears.

"I liked her too! Physically anyway," Hyunsuk rubbed his hands together. "It only happened that one time and she got a hickey-"

"A HICKEY?!"

"-and she got with someone a few days later, remember? You said she moved around a lot."

"Little did I know she was moving around with one of my friends too," Yedam grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to ask her; hear it from her."

4:03 pm

"Hey!" Yedam yelled, seeing the concession of Stray Kids walking away from JYP.

"Oh, hey," Jisung stopped, the rest of the boys stopping behind him as Yedam approached.

"Where's Candy?" Yedam looked around, visibly becoming angrier.

"She's with Woojin, they are spending the day together. What do you need from her?" Changbin asked. "You couldn't text her?"

"I wanted to ask her in person, but obviously she's already on to the next guy," Yedam rolled his eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jisung stepped forward.

"Her and Hyunsuk almost hooked up before she left for L.A. I'm just saying she's more than open to anyone who gives her the smallest bit of attention," Yedam raised his hands in fake surrender, a smirk on his face. "I mean, what more would you expect from a Cali girl?"

"I think you should take that back," Jisung stepped toward Yedam again. Everyone was silent as they looked between the two boys, barely any space between them.

"No."

Jisung pushed Yedam, stating again that he should take it back. Yedam, being just as headstrong, refused again. Jisung pushed again, making Chan step toward them and tell them to cut it out. He was just a fraction of a second too late before chaos ensued after Yedam swung at Jisung, landing a hit hard enough to make his nose bleed. He honestly felt all his rage come out. He needed to do it again, and again, and again.

Immediately Chan was trying to break them apart, but Jisung was hellbent on teaching Yedam a lesson. Any punch he could get in he could, with Yedam landing a few as well. Somehow Jisung got around Chan, punching Yedam so hard he fell back. Felix and Hyunjin tried to help him up, but he shook them off.

As Yedam walked away, Jisung spit at his feet. Their eyes connected and if the rest of Stray Kids wasn't there, round two was Yedam's.

#candy #candy au #kpop au #kpop #stray kids 10th member au #stray kids 10th member #bang yedam #bang yedam scenarios #yedam

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starker-stories · 4 years

Text

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 10

Okay, let's try this again.

I posted this chapter Friday, like it was supposed to be, and then found an absolutely massive amount of serious mistakes. So I deleted it and spent the day fixing them.

So here's Chapter 10, take 2...

This fic is on a weekly update schedule. Every Friday.

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “My boyfriends are super-villains,” Peter said giggling. “I’m the only pure innocent one in this place.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 10: Brooklyn

“I hate being the only person in this house that gets hungry,” Peter said, breaking their post-kiss snuggling session.

Bucky laughed. “I’ll cook.”

“Menus. By. The fridge. I am not waiting for one of Pretty’s delicious, but time consuming, Depression meals.”

Bucky climbed out of bed and started pulling his shirt on.

Tony shrugged. “If you want,” he said, climbing out of bed and not bothering to put his clothes back on. Bucky didn’t either.

Peter pulled his jeans on. “Not all of us are exhibitionists, Tony.”

“My body is a fuckin’ gift and you are blessed to see it,” he answered as he headed to the kitchen. To get the menus.

Bucky raced past him for the bedroom door, poking him in the stomach as he passed. “My body is a fuckin’ gift. You need to work out with me.”

“I’m going on fifty,” Tony defended.

“I’m in my second century. I’m cooking. I can only eat so much Asian food and pizza in a month.”

“Don’t let the teenager order dinner. He refuses to let any restaurant that doesn’t normally deliver make an exception for the billionaire in the house.”

“It’s not fair,” Peter argued, speeding past both of them using his spider abilities. He settled on the kitchen stool, waiting to see who would get to the kitchen next: Tony to the menu drawer or Bucky to the stove.

“You are depriving whatever poor waiter Molly sticks with bringing me dinner of a ridiculously huge tip,” Tony said, tossing the menu for Marea on the counter. “Touch that stove, Bucky, and I swear…”

Bucky picked up the menu. “So what’s Molly’s Place have to offer?”

Tony sputtered. “I’d tell Michael what you said, but I value my permanent reservation at his restaurant too much. It’s Marea and it’s the best restaurant in the city.”

Bucky looked at the menu. “Billionaire, right?” he asked, grinning.

“Leave me a few pennies in the bank account,” Tony said.

“Il branzino, il caulini e l'antipasto, il di manzo.”

Tony’s eyebrows headed for the ceiling.

“I’m fluent in Italian, Spanish, Catalan, French, German, Finnish, Hungarian, Romanian, Czech, Serbian, Russian, Chechen, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, and Arabic. Oh yeah, and English. All accentless except for English. Now that I’m me again, I can’t get the Brooklyn out of it.”

Tony hooked his arm around Bucky’s neck and kissed him. “I can live with the Brooklyn,” he said, happy that Bucky wouldn’t ever speak unaccented English again.

“And I was impressed by your Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese!” Peter said.

Bucky shrugged. “He wasn’t involved in the overthrow of as many governments as I was.”

Peter burst out laughing, then caught himself. “I shouldn’t find that funny, huh?”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, Pete. It’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He winked at Bucky. “Maybe not as many, but it’s a non-zero number.”

“You’re both awful!” Peter said, a smile still on his lips. “Wait. You didn’t,” he asked Tony, more seriously.

“Sometimes privatizing world peace is a less than honorable pursuit. And do you think the same people are running Afghanistan as were before my visit there? Not an official government on that one, but it counts.”

“Sorry. That mess was my fault,” Bucky said sheepishly.

“I’m sure he did a lot for Russia there, Pretty, but not arm the damn Taliban. That would be Howard and then me after your dead twin brother put me in charge. So yeah, Pretty,” Tony smiled, “a non-zero number.”

“My boyfriends are super-villains,” Peter said giggling. “I’m the only pure innocent one in this place.”

“Why do you think we keep you around,” Tony said.

“That’s why we keep you around,” Bucky said, almost in unison. They high-fived. And found their hands stuck together with webs.

“Where did you…” Tony said in shock.

Peter chuckled. “Bucky… how many guns do you have hidden in the penthouse?”

“A… lot,” Bucky said sheepishly.

“Tony,” Peter said in a sing-song. “How many of those bracelet thingys do you have laying around in case the micro-repeaters stop working?”

“Um… like he said.”

“Do you think I only have two webshooters?” Peter laughed.

“Get us out of this,” Tony said, irritatedly. “I have to call and order dinner.”

“I can do it.” Peter picked up a phone.

“I am not going to listen to you mangle the Italian language, kid. Get your super-villain boyfriends out of this. Or we’ll kidnap you and take you to our secret lair.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, “that sounds like fun.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Tony grinned.

“Yeah. It does,” Peter chimed in. “When I’m not fuckin’ starving! Karen, hit them with the dissolving fluid.” He aimed his hand at Bucky and Tony’s joined wrists.

Tony’s left eyebrow questioned him.

“Tony… of course I can move Karen to my webshooters like you move FRIDAY to your glasses. If you want your proprietary tech to stay proprietary, stop letting FRIDAY do everything for you.”

“He’s…?” Bucky started, incredulously.

“A genius? Yeah. Gonna put me out of a job. Give me the goddamn phone.”

“Nope,” Bucky made a grab for it. “I am not gonna listen to you mangle the Italian language.”

Which led to a string of cursing in said language as Peter facepalmed. “I am never going to eat.”

~~~~~

“That wasn’t Italian,” Bucky said as they finished dinner.

“Of course it was. I mean I am fond of Gargulio’s for old times sake, but Marea’s better.”

“Not the food,” Bucky said, making a dive for the last of the desert.

Tony laughed. “Not exactly Italian. But you didn’t speak it when you went to Gargulio’s did you?”

“Italian? Fuck, I could maybe manage proper English.”

“You would’ve heard the difference. It’s Napoletano. Like your English can’t lose Brooklyn? My Italian can’t lose Naples because I learned it from my mom.”

“She was actually from Italy?” Bucky said, still hesitant to bring up the subject.

Tony nodded. “She came here to go to university. An unexpected me put an end to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly, looking down.

“Why? Did you kill her?” Tony asked.

“Yeah.”

“You gotta stop taking credit for his bullshit, Pretty.” Tony reached out and brushed Bucky’s hair back then lifted his chin, turning his face to him. “When those words were said, were you you?”

“I did it.”

“Not what I asked. Before 1945, would you have done that?”

“Never.”

“You didn’t kill her, Bucky.”

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep them back. Tony ran the backs of his knuckles lightly across his temple and his tears fell.

Tony scooted his chair next to Bucky’s. “You didn’t kill her.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the side of Bucky’s head. He closed his eyes and his own tears silently fell.

Peter watched the moment pass between them. Tony’s mom’s death was something that had weighed heavily on him his whole life. He was finally getting closure. How could he be jealous of that? They needed each other right then. Peter stood and both men looked at him. He walked around the table and put kisses on top of, first Tony’s, then Bucky’s heads. “Take Bucky to bed,” he said tenderly. “I’m gonna go study.”

“Baby,” Tony said, looking up. He pinched the bridge of his nose after sliding his fingers over his eyes to wipe the tears. “Do you mind?” he asked Peter quietly.

“Not even a little,” Peter said. “Take him to bed.” He paused and brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

~~~~~

“C’mere, Pretty,” Tony said. Their tearful moment past, he felt playful. He turned Bucky and pushed his back gently against the closed door. He draped his arms around Bucky’s neck and chuckled. “Peter’s shorter than me.”

Bucky stood straighter.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine!” He pulled himself up on Bucky’s shoulders, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him.

“Not used to taller guys?” Bucky grinned.

“Not in awhile, no.”

“Problem?”

“You’re shorter than me laying down, Pretty,” Tony said with a smirk, standing flat on his feet. He dropped his voice to a whispered purr. “And when I’m on top of you.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said on a long breath.

“Problem?” Tony asked as he grabbed Bucky’s hands and led him to the bed. They rolled facing each other, Tony on his left side, Bucky on his right.

“I’m used to being the most charming, smug, and seductive one in the bedroom, that’s all,” Bucky said laughing.

Tony kissed the laugh off his lips. He brushed Bucky’s hair back. “I love that sound, Pretty.”

Bucky ducked his head, resting his forehead on Tony’s chest. Who was taller than him laying down. “You asked me something when we were all talking earlier.” He put a light kiss on the square inch of skin underneath his lips.

“Hmm? And?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I know, baby,” Tony said tenderly. He’d watched it happen, Bucky slowly fall in love. When he settled into it, it made Tony realize his own love. Feeling actual love for anyone was new, brought out by Peter. Feeling love for Bucky, just as deep but different and needing both, was entirely outside of his experience.

“Will Peter mind?”

“I’m pretty sure Peter already knows. He’s just scared because he’s younger.”

“You’re younger than me.”

“I mean, being an adult. He’s not, but he’s more than just a kid. I kinda toss an extra five years or so on him from the shit he’s been through.”

“About the same age I enlisted,” Bucky nodded. “That’s about how he feels.” He paused. “I love him, too.”

“I know that. And both of us love you. Not just because you give great head.”

“Tony,” he said in mock complaint.

“Most seductive and tallest,” he said, tilting Bucky’s face up for a kiss.

Bucky laughed. “And I thought you were tickling Peter when I heard you two laughi… Oh fuck… He can hear us!”

“Not yet, but I’m gonna fix that,” Tony purred. He ran his palm slowly down Bucky’s chest until he reached his waist. He stopped briefly at the button of his jeans before unfastening it.

It took some entirely unseductive wiggling around before they were both naked and in each other’s arms again. Bucky’s kisses were biting and hot. Tony’s were possessive and deep. Their hands clutched and pulled. It was very much closer, tighter, harder, now!

“I know you like riding me,” Tony said, struggling to catch his breath. “Do you like it on your back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, rather flatly.

“Not what I asked.” Tony rolled himself on top of Bucky. He reached his arms under Bucky’s shoulders and slid himself up along the man’s body. “Baby, that’s something you gotta get used to with me.”

“You talk too fuckin’ much during sex?”

“Okay, that’s two things you gotta get used to with me.”

“The leftovers of your fuckin’ Long Island accent make three?” Bucky grinned and bit again.

“All right, Brooklyn. Since you aren’t objecting…”

Tony found the lube under the pillow he always put it under and kissed Bucky through the awkwardness of doing so. One-handed he managed to squeeze enough of a dollop onto his hand to reach between them and stroke Bucky’s cock. He didn’t play, but directly went for things he’d discovered by rubbing him through his pants.

“Fuck,” Bucky panted, eyes wide at how fast he’d gotten so far.

Tony rubbed precome and lube over the head of Bucky’s cock. “Oh baby, that is… Fuck me, you’re gorgeous when you’re getting gone.”

“Getting? You’re gonna make me come.”

“I’m not gonna make you come before I’m ready to.” Tony took his hand off of Bucky’s cock, reached beneath his balls and slid his still-slick hand between his cheeks. The tip of his forefinger circled his rim and Bucky pushed down against it.

“Greedy,” Tony said, nipping his lip.

With only slightly less finesse than he’d done before — dammit! he and Peter were going to have to compare notes! — Tony coated his finger with lube and worked it inside of Bucky. “I’m not your fuckin’ child bride, Tony.”

“Ya ever think that I wanna do this because I…” Tony slipped another finger inside, “…like watching you?” He spread his fingers apart and slid his third in between them. “Fuck…” Tony moaned, watching the way Bucky moved when his fingers pressed up.

“What?” Bucky asked before he lost the ability to speak. From where he was lying… gasping… writhing… groaning… Tony wasn’t getting anything out of it.

“That, Pretty. That’s what I want. If I just want to get off, I can do that on my own.” Tony slid down a little which let his fingers push in deeper. They made Bucky gasp again. “This…” Tony breathed over his nipple before touching the tip of his tongue to it. Bucky’s breath caught. “…I only get with you.”

“From another person, you mean.”

Tony combined the movement of his fingers and the slow, wet drag of his lips across Bucky’s nipple. Bucky tried to move away from the overstimulation, but was held by Tony’s other hand on his shoulder. He could break free, easily, but he didn’t.

“I meant what I said, Bucky.” He dragged his open mouth down Bucky’s abs. The other man rolled his body up to meet his mouth. Kissing up the center of his body from his navel, Tony’s tongue swirled around the divot of his collarbone,

Bucky nearly came off the bed when Tony entered him. His back arched and Tony’s hands pulled him down, deeper onto his cock. He only thought about it after he’d cried out, but there was no way Peter didn’t hear that.

Tony pulled back with a long slow drag until he was almost entirely out of Bucky. Tony snapped his hips upward as he pushed hard and deep inside. Both hands on either side of Bucky’s head, his fingers tangled in his hair. He kissed him again, slow and soft, His thrusts were slow and long. He leaned up and whispered in Bucky’s ear. “I wanna learn you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s whimpers were nothing like Peter’s. Those were high, desperate, and pleading. Bucky’s broke into little short breaths, low and rising only at the very end. They started out demanding but Tony made them fall into begging.

Bucky groaned, his body broke out in a fine sweat, as Tony was managing to drive him fucking nuts with the way his thick cock scraped just the right way inside of him. Enough to get him hot but nothing more. Enough to make him need.

“Oh god!” Bucky cried out when Tony stopped playing and started fucking him hard. Not fast, but hard. He hadn’t realized that the two things could be separated. Bucky pushed down onto Tony’s cock. “Oh fuck Tony!” I didn’t…” His words were unintelligible. Broken on a rising moan. “That… could…” His attempt to make sense was lost to a loud cry. His cock dripped precome onto his belly.

“Around my waist now, baby,” Tony crooned and Bucky hooked his ankles across each other on Tony’s back. Tony stretched himself out over the taller man, pulling himself deeper as he slid up. Bucky’s heels dug in.

“Oh fuck, Pretty,” Tony moaned, his dark eyelashes fluttering. He snapped his hips sharply, seeking the depth that the new angle gave him. Tony reached up over Bucky’s right shoulder, and threaded his fingers into his long hair, holding his arm still, unable to move. But he said, “Hold me, baby.”

“Tony, no. I can hurt you.” Bucky realized that Tony meant for him to hold with his left arm.

He thrust in hard again. “Hold me, Bucky.” He kept Bucky’s right arm pinned with his elbow on the mattress under his arm, and Tony reaching up still into his hair.

Hesitantly, Bucky wrapped his left arm around Tony’s chest.

Tony kept a regular rhythm, deep and hard but not fast. He ached to go faster. Being inside Bucky was nothing like Peter. He knew Bucky could take it rougher. His body was used to responding to rougher. Tony hated knowing how that adaptation came about. He wasn’t going to blend himself into the body-memory that Bucky had of those times. So no matter how much his Pretty’s responses made him want to go faster, he stayed slow.

“Please…” Bucky moaned on a broken breath.

“Please what baby?”

“Faster. Please.”

“Mm hmm,” Tony purred as he dragged his lips, wet, open mouthed, across the stubble on Bucky’s sharply defined jaw. He went no faster.

“Tony,” Bucky drew out the name on a moan low in his throat.

“Mm hmm?” His thrusts were shallow, deep, and kept Bucky filled. The hand in Bucky’s hair lifted his head to where he could kiss him. It was Tony who bit, held Bucky’s lip in his teeth, and sucked. He nipped sharply and let go. As he did, the snap of his hips finally went faster. Tony felt the fingers of Bucky’s left hand dig into the muscle on his side. Then he heard the faint electromechanical whir of his arm’s strength being pulled back even as the man groaned, distracted with the pleasure of finally being fucked faster.

He released his hold on Bucky’s right arm and moved the man’s hand between them. He waited until Bucky wrapped it around his cock before he sucked his earlobe into his mouth. “Not yet,” he whispered.

Bucky’s eyes opened and he was about to say something when he saw Tony’s smirk. “Oh, fuck you,” he groaned.

Tony laughed softly. His words stuttered. “You can do it now… make yourself come… whenever you want. Or you can wait…” Tony’s smirk returned. “Gets better. Your… choice.”

“Fuckin’ hate you.” The whining moan Bucky made when Tony scraped his teeth along his neck and bit where it curved into his shoulder, proved his words a lie.

Bucky took his hand off of his cock entirely and out from between their bodies. He put it flat on the bed. “Now you have a lot to live up to,” Bucky said, Tony’s smirk transferring to his face.

Tony leaned back more on his knees and balanced his left arm near Bucky’s waist. “Gimme that hand,” he said, reaching behind himself, floundering around for Bucky’s left hand. He leaned forward, holding it by the wrist once he had it. He growled in Bucky’s ear. “I love you.”

Tony leaned back, pulling Bucky’s ass onto his haunches. When he rose up with his thighs, he fucked hard and deep. One hand was on his waist, urging him down to meet him. Bucky started pushing down to do that. Bucky was hot around him, the rocking movement and the man’s eagerness making him clench around Tony’s cock. Tony was groaning in pleasure, letting the powerful sensations distract him from the fear of what he was going to do. He took Bucky’s left hand and put it, flat palmed, on the center of his chest. The first test had been for Bucky. This one was for him. He was more deeply in love with Bucky than he wanted to admit. And Tony couldn’t love, not really love, without trust.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. He was going to object, but when he looked up at him; he saw Tony’s eyes tightly close. He watched as Tony pulled his lips into his mouth and bit them shut. He saw the wince of remembered pain and fear. He saw the struggle on the man’s face as the present warred with the past. He watched the two fight to reconcile. But Tony never moved Bucky’s hand away from the most vulnerable part of his body.

The man he’d betrayed so deeply, giving him that level of trust was unbelievable. “Oh Tony,” Bucky breathed out, overcome. He ground himself down on Tony’s cock, needing to be closer, and was rewarded with the man increasing his pace, pounding into him hard, but without anger or wanting to cause anything but pleasure. Bucky fell into babbling when Tony was at the height of his thrust and, more often than not, managed to hit his prostate. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…”

Tony kept his eyes closed as his hand held the back of Bucky’s hand. Instead of the metal fingers curling around the edges of the arc reactor, trying to hurt him, Bucky touched with nothing but the flat of his palm. He moaned, raised himself up and held in deep, feeling Bucky surrounding him. Tony’s fear finally broke and he let go of Bucky’s hand.

He listened to Bucky panting, fast and shallow — catching, holding, shuddering, letting go. Small deep groans that ended on another caught breath. Bucky’s legs dropped from around his waist and he pushed up with his feet on the mattress, adding his force that of Tony’s as they fucked. Tony pushed himself deeper, ground their hips together, filling Bucky with his entire length. He opened his eyes and looked down.

“Oh Pretty,” he moaned at the sight.

Tony lost himself in those blue eyes, dark with desire, eyelashes fluttering until his eyes closed. Bucky’s lips parted with his ragged breathing — full and swollen, flushed bright pink, wet and shining.

Bucky’s scream was low and loud. His eyes flew open as, untouched, his orgasm tore through him.

“That’s it, Bucky. Come for me, baby. Oh god… oh fuck!”

Tony groaned as his breath held. Both breath and release escaped at the same time. As he shuddered as he came and fell atop Bucky. He draped his arms over his shoulders, under his neck, and held on as the quakes passed through him.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s chest. They held each other as gasps settled into slow panting and then as their breaths evened out. Yet once they had, they still didn’t let go.

Tony took Bucky’s face in both his hands and kissed him tenderly. He saw the wetness on Bucky’s cheeks and felt it on his own. “You are in control of you, Bucky.” He kissed him again. “You did not kill my mom,” he said quietly

“How did you know I wouldn’t…” He looked down the space between them at Tony’s chest.

“I just knew,” Tony said, brushing the long, sweat damp strands from Bucky’s face.

“I could’ve killed you.”

“Uh huh.” He paused for another kiss. “So can Peter. But, Bucky, look,” Tony said, rolling onto his side. He took Bucky’s left hand and pressed his fingertips onto his side where he had grabbed him while they were fucking. “Are there any bruises?”

“No, but I didn’t try to hold you hard.”

“Yeah, you did. You didn’t hear it. You were too focused on something else,” he said with an over-confident smile. “But I heard it. I heard you pull it back. The way I can feel Peter doing the same thing.”

“I’ve torn the shit out of beds before. I could’ve hurt you.”

“And Peter breaks headboards and walls and shreds my sheets,” Tony said with a shrug.

“You’re crazy.”

Tony chuckled. “Maybe. I just have a fetish for guys who can break me into little pieces — and don’t.” Definitely a fetish. Definitely a power rush of truly epic proportions.

“You made me come even after I stopped touching myself,” Bucky said smiling.

“He does that,” Peter said, coming into the bedroom. “A lot.”

“You give me too much credit, babe,” Tony said smiling as he noticed that Peter was carrying his clothes instead of wearing them.

“I have a feeling he doesn’t.” Bucky, who was still on his back, more or less in the center of the bed, held his left arm open wide for Peter.

Peter crawled onto the bed and over to where Bucky was and settled in his open arm. Though he pulled part of a pillow under his head. Resting it directly on hard metal wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“God that was hot. I came so hard,” Peter said as he kissed Bucky’s chest. He ran his finger through the mess on his stomach. Looking first at Tony, then up at Bucky, he put his finger in his mouth, sucked it, and smiled.

Tony reached for the towel he kept under the same pillow as the lube. He wiped Bucky’s stomach clean. Both he and Bucky chuckled and shared a glance before turning to accuse Peter. “You were sitting outside the door, jerking off to us,” he said.

“Not through all of it.” He curled up closer to Bucky, tangling their legs together. “I did get my studying done. Fast,” Peter added with a grin. “It was so different only listening. Having to use my imagination to see.” He slid his arm across Bucky’s waist. “Bucky gets to be in the middle tonight. How do you like to sleep? Side, back, stomach?” Peter asked, looking up at him. “We used to sleep spooned,” he began, not saying who the other one of the ‘we’ was. Steve, obviously. “But on my back is more comfortable.” He hesitated. “Body habit.” “On your back then,” Tony said. He’d seen the container tubes in Siberia that Bucky would’ve been put in, to sleep on his back. “Until your body decides on another habit,” he added with another little kiss to Bucky’s shoulder.

He balled up a pillow under his head and stretched out along Bucky’s side. Tony reached across Bucky’s stomach to hold Peter’s hand. Bucky’s right hand slipped up from between his side and Tony’s front, to join them.

#Starker #WinterIronSpider #WIS An Accord #Von writes stuff

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