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thexsilentxwordsmith · 5 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Cockwarming Simon as you two make out in his office.

From the request here

“I need it in ya, baby,” Simon gasps in between the breaks in your lips connection. “Just for a bit. Ya know ya fuckin’ want me in ya too.”

The tiny office is silent save for the deep groans and sharp breaths as Simon holds you close, you perched comfortably on his beefy thighs while he sits at his desk so that he can steal kiss after heated kiss, relishing in the feeling of your soft lips against his own. Rough hands run up the length of your back, following your spine over your shirt until they reach the back of your head where he uses them to draw your face in tighter until your mouth stings from the pressure.

Sitting in the middle of his lap you can feel his cock poking against the cheek of your ass, pulsing and throbbing as it strains against the fabric of his pants. It’s no surprise what he needs; it’s the same thing he wants every time he calls you into his office for a “meeting” during your lunch break, which is becoming more and more frequent these days.

You are a very addictive problem, one that he is constantly losing himself in and making every excuse in the book to spend as much time wrapped up in that he can. A pretty thing like you, how is he supposed to keep his hands off? If that means setting up a quick make out session to get through the day, then he’s gonna make it happen one way or another.

“Have training in a bit,” you mutter as you break from his mouth just for a split second. “Don’t want to be late.”

He’s right back on you before the last beat of your reply can hit, not wanting to be parted from you for longer than needed. It takes a minute before he tries to reason with you again. “Not gonna be late,” he reassures. “But how the hell am I supposed to stay outta ya, hmm? Not when ya feel so fuckin’ good. Just want ya to warm me for a bit and then I’ll make sure you’re outta here with plenty ‘a fuckin’ time.”

His hand rubs along one of your thighs as the other is still tangled in the strands of your hair, not wanting to give you the chance to get away from the barrage of his lips. Fuck, it’s getting harder to think straight the longer his mouth captures yours in that tangled dance that he seems to be an expert in. You lean into his embraces a bit more and Simon is sure he has you right where he wants you now.

There is not a chance in hell you are going to deny him. “You better make it up to me later,” you say breathlessly and you can feel his lips upturn into a smile against your own.

The grip on your hair tightens as he gives it a sharp tug. “Take off your fuckin’ pants.”

That gravely, heavily accented tone sends a full shiver down your spine. No one can make a demand like that sound so fucking good, especially now that he’s made you delirious off his kisses alone.

The officers building is full of people today so privacy is near non-existent and though you know this is probably a terrible idea, you can’t be stopped. Helping you off his lap Simon sets you on your feet to the side of the desk, giving you the space to do what you need to do. He watches with hungry eyes as you undo the button keeping your bottoms secure; goddamn you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?

Adjusting himself, he sits back more in his chair. “Slower,” he demands firmly.

Instantly your movements become measured as you take your time undressing while you keep those beautiful eyes directly on him. He doesn’t break eye contact at all; instead his hand slips down over his abdomen to the crotch of his own pants where he tugs at the fabric tenting there before massaging the spot as he watches your little striptease. Those unflattering uniforms keep all those voluptuous curves hidden from his view and so any chance he gets to see you out of them is a treat indeed.

You drag the zipper down painfully slow, making sure to give him all the tantalizing he wants. As the front now hangs open, you slide your hands back to your hips where you slip your fingers into the waistband and begin to push them down until the top seam of the panties clinging around your hips are exposed.

Eyes unblinking, breathing stayed, Simon is caught in the moment, his hand pulling up the hem of his shirt just over his navel so that he can fiddle with his belt buckle until he can pry the damned thing loose. He grunts as he has to roll his hips back so that he can slip his hand between the bulk of stocky muscle on his lower abdomen and the seam of his pants to get it off. The metallic clink rings out and he quickly undoes the rest, plunging his hand inside to pull out his cock so that he can palm it and give it a proper stroke as you continue on.

Instantly you freeze as your eye catches that trail of sparse hair traveling down the line of his stomach below his belly button towards his member and your mouth begins to salivate and a hard, throbbing pulse between your thighs makes your legs feel like liquid. God, you are so down bad for your superior that it is bordering on pathetic the way that even that small patch of hair has you chomping at the bit.

Simon clears his throat as he catches your sight lingering and as you meet the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his kiss-raw lips, you refocus on the task at hand. These pants still have to go and time is of the essence. You continue on, pushing the fabric down over the curve of your ass to your thighs and then your ankles in the same slow fashion, only this time more unsteady as your heartbeat pounds. They hit the ground and those damned pants are finally off; there you stand before him in nothing but your panties.

“Off,” he hisses as his head nods down to the last article of clothing keeping you from being filled by him.

There’s heat bubbling in your cheeks now, making them flush, and though you are almost rendered dumb just from the tension alone there’s still a little fire in you yet. “What’s the magic word?” you ask with a good bit of sass.

A chuckle escapes his mouth as his hand strokes harder around his dick; he does love a bit of cocky pushback, but make no mistake that that will be remembered for later. His mouth yearns to devour your lips again and he doesn’t want to wait any more than he already has, so he lets it be…for now. Leaning forward in his seat he reaches out and his large hand wraps around your wrist to pull you back to him.

“Keep ‘em on all ya fuckin’ want sweetheart, don’t need ya to take ‘em off for what I wanna do,” he groans as he grabs onto your hips and forces you to move yourself back on top of him straddling over his lap.

Fair enough.

You can feel his warm fingers twitching with anticipation as they move in between your thighs and up against your clothed sex before his digits hook themselves into the crotch of your panties and wrench them to one side roughly. The seam digs into that soft area at your upper inner thigh as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck while a hand on your hip aligns your body at the perfect spot over top of him.

Holding the base of his cock, Simon pushes down on your hip and you don’t fight it. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl, now let’s get this in,” he praises as the tip pokes through your petals and against your entrance. A harder press on your body and his cock shoves its way inside, stretching you wide as it slips in and you whine inside your closed mouth as you struggle to take him in so quickly.

“F-fuck,” he exclaims, his body shuddering as you come all the way down until you are once again sitting on his lap only this time with all of him thrust deep inside you. “Isn’t this better? Goddammit, this is where ya fuckin’ belong princess.”

His forehead comes to rest on your own, staggered breath being siphoned between the pair of your lips before he leans up into you and crushes your mouths back together in sloppy kisses that leave you with a yearning that situates itself deep in your core. Your mouth is like candy, sweet and addictive, and each brush of your lips against his own only makes him vibrate with a need for more. Long fingers find their way back to tangle in your hair to grip it hard as he smashes his face in until your features are molded together.

Those soft, supple lips are his to ruin and he will, by fuck he will. With each fiery embrace he lays his claim upon your mouth as if he wishes to bind your faces together so he never has to do without their euphoria. Without warning his strong, thick tongue parts your lips with ease and plunges fully inside your mouth to dance and twist with your own, filling the orifice to capacity as he shoves it down the back of your throat.

You can barely intake air with your mouth full of his tongue, but it doesn’t matter. Suffocation feels like a dream when you are stuffed so overwhelmingly from above and below. Your pussy holds him tight, tight enough that the throbbing from the blood rushing to engorge his cock feels like he’s being stroked without any movement. Each throb has a visceral reaction and you can feel the wetness gathering by the second with every beat.

The dizzying intensity of his kisses and the pulsating of his cock are too much and leave you clenching your thighs, squeezing him in the process as you cannot help rocking your hips, but that is dangerous territory. Simon is already teetering close to the razor’s edge.

“Don’tcha fuckin’ move,” he says with a sharp hiss of breath, wrangling your hips down square against his pelvis with a heavy grip so that you cannot shift them at all. “We don’t have time to do this proper, just need to feel ya to get through this fuckin’ day and then I’ll do it right later.”

There is desperation on his lips something vicious and it can be felt in the way his embraces become more aggressive; through the haze fogging your brain you instinctively know he is holding on by a thread. Doing as he says, you do your best to keep yourself still to allow his cock to soak in you just as he wants.

Your arms around his neck tighten as you grip on to sanity and his hands travel back up your body to cradle your face between them. There’s nothing outside of the taste of your lips, the burn from the pressure of your mouths together, the throbbing from inside your tight pussy as it coats his cock in your nectar. It all becomes an insatiable blur as his mind numbs and he forgets everything else outside of the ecstasy of you.

The longer he’s buried in you the more your walls swell to squeeze him tighter and he does not realize what is happening. Simon forgets that he is getting too worked up, succumbing to all that pleasure that he cannot stop his body from its more primal instincts. With each passing minute the tension from the coil knotting in his abdomen is drawing closer together, threatening to snap at any second and send him coming and coming hard.

Eyes closed, mind gone, body so warm it feels like he is on fire, the feeling of your body driving him insane, it is all too much. That coil has tightened all it can and he finally becomes aware of it just as you accidentally rock your hips ever so slightly, but it is enough that there is nothing else he can do other than accept what is about to happen.

“Fuck,” he groans against your parted lips as he realizes that he has miscalculated just how much he can take. “Ugh…fuck, baby.”

It’s too late, this cannot be stopped and at the last second he reacts. With a sharp, loud grunt he picks your hips up and rocks his own back to pull out of you just as he pops off. The sticky, warm emission spurts out of him with force and up onto his exposed belly, catching the bottom half of his t-shirt in its intensity. His lips lock to yours in an effort to keep the noise from those deep, guttural whimpers down as he rolls his hips, milking every last out of the aching tip that he can as you grind against it.

A couple of minutes pass before his pace finally slows and comes to a stop with nothing left to give as that swift flow of exhaustion floods his body. Those bruised lips unlatch from your own as he falls against the back of the chair to sit limp as he works to regulate his breathing. Being so worked up is something he is still getting used to, losing himself like that is not a problem he had before you came along. But no one has ever made him feel as if he’d been struck by a live wire before: all excitement whenever you are around.

Just one of the hazards of being with such a vixen.

There is still a pulsing in you that causes your body to continue to ache, but as your wandering eyes land on the watch around Simon’s wrist you see that there are only a few minutes left before you need to be in training and you still have to make it across base. Carefully, you get up off of him and make your way to your pants, redressing fast as those brown eyes cling to your every move.

“See what ya fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart? I’m a goddamn mess for ya,” he sighs as he watches you fix your soaked panties back into place before pulling your pants back on, sad to see such a gorgeous sight be concealed once more.

“Seems like we have that in common,” you smile as you finish up and lean back into him, using his thighs as support as you give him one last, lingering kiss. You’re already gonna be late, might as well make it worth it.

Simon wants you to stay, to have you for the rest of the afternoon, but he knows that duty calls and if he doesn’t tell you to go then it’s only going to get harder to leave. “Best get outta here ‘fore I change my mind and do somethin’ stupid to get us both in fuckin’ trouble,” he says with a nod of his head. “We’ll finish this up later, I swear.”

You lean in one more time for a short peck before turning tail and quickly making your way out of the office. Simon’s gaze lingers on your form until you exit and shut the door behind you, leaving him alone to deal with the mess he’s made of himself while his raw lips are already craving yours again.

“She is a problem,” he chuckles to himself, “a very big fuckin’ problem.”

Tag list: @llelannie

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n0sewise · 4 months

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Intern Watch 2k24

(aka posting a first draft snippet of my killugon and leopika The Office AU in the vain hope that it’ll motivate me to finish it)

The office had gotten three interns for the summer. This in and of itself shouldn’t have been notable, but watching the interns had devolved into something of a spectator sport, and Kurapika was not above participating.

It hadn’t started out this way. Kurapika worked in accounting, so he didn’t have much interaction with the interns initially. The first time they spoke, he’d been working on something requiring a great deal of concentration when he heard the distinct sound of someone delivering a sharp, swift kick to the photocopier.

“Come on!”

“Don’t break the copier, Killua!” Gon whispered.

“It’s an ancient piece of junk anyway,” Killua muttered. “Hey, pull up a video on YouTube if you’re not going to help.”

“What kind of video?”

And Kurapika couldn’t help but sigh right along with Killua as he stared at his fellow intern in disbelief.

“How to use a fax machine, genius.”

“Ohhh,” said Gon. “That’s a good idea.”

Eventually Kurapika lost his patience and abandoned his task entirely to show them how.

“That’s dumb,” said Killua. “Why not just send a pdf?”

“I don’t know, just send the fax,” he replied. “And please, do try to keep it down.”

“We will!” Gon called over his shoulder loudly, already trailing after Killua who’d walked away while Kurapika was mid-sentence.

Their third intern was a boy named Zushi, who Kurapika quite liked and was so polite and respectful that he nearly made up for the other two.

Nearly.

“That Zoldyck kid is a menace,” Leorio grumbled to him about a week later. Kurapika had taken to spending his lunch breaks outside on the bench between their office building and the walk in clinic, and more often than not, he ended up sharing the space with Leorio, one of the doctors who worked there.

He looked up from his pasta salad in surprise.

“You’ve met our intern?”

Leorio snorted. “Oh yeah, we’ve met. Multiple times.” He stretched out on the bench and Kurapika found that he didn’t mind when their shoulders brushed for the briefest of moments. Leorio went on, oblivious to the entire thing. “Stupid kids, the both of them. Came into the clinic right when we were about to close because someone watched a parkour compilation and decided to jump off the roof of the building and into some boxes three stories down.”

Kurapika had abandoned his lunch entirely, leaning in with open interest. “And this was Killua?”

“No! It was his batshit crazy friend, the one with the spiky hair, but it might as well have been with the way they were both carrying on. Zoldyck had him hoisted up on his back, and the entire time he’s demanding we shut everything down so that multiple doctors can tend to his friend— meanwhile the kid just has a sprained ankle.”

“Gon’s crutches,” Kurapika murmured absently, connecting the dots.

“Oh right,” said Leorio. “Gon. I’ve been calling them Thing 1 and Thing 2 in my head. Nice kid on his own, but Christ, what a mess. You would’ve thought he’d been shot with the way Zoldyck was losing his mind. Both of them in my office arguing over whose fault it was that he got hurt, and now I have to put in another order for cotton balls because Gon ate so many.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t mention that part, huh?”

Kurapika shook his head emphatically, knowing he was wasting his lunch on nonsense and needing to know the answer anyway.

“Yeah, so they’re both arguing over how it’s their own fault it happened, Freecss is trying to say it’s on him because it was his idea to go onto the roof, Zoldyck’s nearly in tears because he came up with the addition of jumping onto the refrigeration boxes; I stepped out of the room to get some crutches— and let’s be real,” Leorio grinned, “to give them some privacy. When I got back, the little shit was eating my goddamn cotton balls!”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Kurapika admitted. “Why did Gon eat the cotton balls?”

“To make Killua laugh,” Leorio said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The kid was so upset, convinced he’d gotten the other one nearly killed— and if I’m being honest, with the amount of times I’ve seen them for stupid shit over the past few weeks…” He trailed off, scrubbing a large hand over his face with a groan. “If they were regular people they’d probably both be dead, but the two of them are weirdly indestructible, so it wasn’t a big deal, except now I’m out like half a jar of cotton balls.”

Kurapika blinked. “Are you certain he ate them? That seems...“

“Yes, Kurapika, I’m certain he ate them. I walked back in time to hear, ‘Killua, Killua, don’t be sad! Look how many of these I can fit in my mouth!’ And then the little fucker swallowed them when I tried to stop him.”

“Oh,” said Kurapika. “That’s…that does sound like them,” he sighed.

He didn’t give the interns much thought after that because Leorio wanted to know if Kurapika would like to get dinner sometime, and his brain promptly short circuited at the thought of going out with the hot doctor from next door.

#nosewise writing tag #killugon #leopika #all my aus are unserious but this one is Really unserious

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stick-ball · 7 months

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I WAS LOOKING FOR A JEREMY BPD/ANGER ISSUES POST I THOUGJT I HAD SEEN THIS MORNING PLEASE WRITE YOUR HEADCANNONS AGAIN I BEG OF YOU GIVE JEREMY KNOX THE LOVE HE DESERVES

Okay so this is long overdue, but might as well. I guess this is an observation of fandom Jeremy as much as the canon one, so don't come at me.

I dunno read Jeremy as having BPD bcs... bcs honestly have you ever met anyone who has Sunshine shining from their ass? Me neither. Though I have met ppl with severe personality issues who had a coping mechanism like that, of course they weren't young and talented sportsmen looked up to by many ppl and rooted for by many, so they had enough free space and privacy to go absolutely fucked up at other ppl when they were having bad brain hours.

Yes im including myself here.

The name of the game is If I Give Them No Reason to Leave Me They Won't.

Or If I Give Them No Things To Hate Me For They Won't Hurt me.

But spice it up with black and white thinking, paranoia and unhelathy behaviours jumping off the standard spectrum of bottling things out into like, going on a 4 hour run to cool off bcs you are undeserving bcs you are a bad captain bcs you're annoyed at the freshmen bcs they dont care about your shared goals enough and is thay really a them issue? Or is it actually a You issue? Are you blaming others for your own failures again? Look at yourself, you're fucking pathetic, and egoistic at that, you demand things from others but how do you show you care for what others need huh? You think you're a good captain? Keep telling yourself that, before you know it they will all turn against you. Because you're a failure, bcs you cant even make them care? Maybe you're just not a good enough player , or maybe they can see straight through you, see what you are udnerneath the happy exterior. Yo have just not good enough, not trying hard enough, and you want them to look up to.. to That???

Or maybe it is a them issue bcs fuck that, fuck the smiling, fuck the caring, you don't actually care, if they don't care, why would you? 🤔 you don't owe anyone anything you are so done with everyone and everything cant they LEAVE YOU THE FUCK ALONE, HAVENT YOU DONE ENOUGH TO HAVE AT LEAST ONE SMALL THING GO RIGHT ONCE? YOU ARE SO FUCKKNG ANGRY so you have to do something you feel like smashing something, you could, your body is literally a machine, you could show them what you actually think about their Opinions, how pathetic and annoying they are and actually fuck that you have to leave you cant stand being in the same room as them for one second longer.

But the sunshine Jeremy 🌞 exterior slips on so even though you want to crash the doors closed you smile and wave and say something stupid and cheery you even have a fucking spring in your step.

Bcs you're a fucking liar a fucking impostor you can't help it at this point you are a clay figurine that's hollowed out inside.

You are so tired it's like there's a lump of cloth absolutely soaked weighting on your lungs

You actually feel like crying while you wave at alvarez from the stretch of the corridor, making goddamn plans to meet up for group studying maths later in the evening while your lungs constrict holding down a sob.

You hate them all for the next 3 hours.

And then on hour four while you're circling the campus heading back from your walk/jog/run/staring into the distance/jog again you tap into the very comfortable very familiar hating of yourself.

This is a light version of course but I bet Jeremy is that person that dissapears sometimes like at parties ect bcs they are doing some absolutely stupid shit like having sex with a complete stranger or getting drunk but they know enough about the emptiness and self hatred they will feel ten minutes after they succumb to thay behaviour that they learned to do it when the judgment of the ppl who know them won't touch this piece of him. Bcs it feels like a separate piece.

Like he is parcelled into different breeds of fucked up inside and they are all set on a loop in a music playing machine from a highway diner. One song ends another starts you can choose which one if you throw in a dime.

And also we gotta add in the sensory issues, he sees things, he hears them, sometimes he does a dodge while there's nothing coming bcs he thought it was. Some weeks it feels almost he lives from one training to the next bcs he doesn't remember a minute from what's in between. Good thing he taught himself this sunny persona bcs its an autopilot mode that gets him having to answer the least amount of questions when he doesn't fucking remember what happened from 8 am till late afternoon that day.

#jeremy knox hc #just my headcanons #jeremy knox #jeremy knox has bpd #bpd problems #with a douse of #anger issues #on the side #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg headcanon #aftg hc #the sunshine court #tsc #usc trojans #tfc headcanon

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southelroydrive · 2 years

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breathe with me.

pairing: Robin Buckley x F!Reader summary: Robin helps her girlfriend when she has a sensory overload. word count: 1.8k warnings: self harm (hair pulling, lip chewing), sensory overload, reader talking bad about themselves, non-sexual undressing?? a/n: this is purely self-indulgent comfort, my first fic so any constructive criticisms are appreciated!

Everything was just too much.

You knew you shouldn't have gone to one of these stupid parties. The pounding music, flashing lights and stench of beer was enough to send you spiralling. You asked yourself what the hell you were doing here if you knew this would happen, but you knew you wanted to do it for her.

Robin Buckley. You two had been dating for six months now. You met in the Summer of 1935 when your parents demanded you actually get a job. That's when you found yourself in a stupid sailor costume at Scoops Ahoy and where your hopeless pining for the girl began. After the chaos of the Upside Down, Vecna and evil Russians, Robin decided it was better late than never to confess her feelings. Since then, your relationship had been a dream come true. You had never loved anyone more than you loved Robin and you never thought you'd be loved the way she loved you.

Of course, being two lesbians in the 80s had its downsides. The only person who knew of your relationship was Robin's best friend, Steve Harrington. You obviously knew Steve from your time at Scoops. You'd call yourself friends, considering he and your girlfriend came as a package deal. Inevitably, you warmed up to the fluffy-haired boy. You often wished that you could openly express your love for Robin. You wanted to hold her hand down the street or greet her every morning with a kiss on the cheek, but in Hawkins, that dream was just that, a dream.

So, when your girlfriend looked at you with those pleading ocean-blue eyes, begging you to come with her to some jock from school's party, you couldn't refuse. You pushed away all the anxiety that gnawed at your stomach; you just wanted to make her happy and if that meant going to one of those goddamn parties, you would. You'd already followed her to hell and back (literally), this party was nothing you couldn't handle... right?

The first hour was great. You danced with Robin to one of your favourite songs, her hands lazily placed on your waist and yours slung around her neck as you swayed. At that moment, you felt like you were the only people in the room and after everything you had been through, it was all worth it for that moment in time.

Now, you were standing in one of the bathrooms in this stupidly big house. You clutched your hair with your hands tightly, pulling at the roots as your elbows rested against the cold edge of the sink. Sob after sob escaped you. The music was too loud, the sound of electricity crackling through the walls pierced through you and the low mumble of people talking downstairs made a frustrated cry spew from your lips. The jeans you wore sat uncomfortably on your body and you were unbearably hot. Your skin felt like it was on fire. The necklace hung around your neck was too constricting, choking you, and the rings that adorned your fingers rubbed uncomfortably against your hands.

The frustration bubbled aggressively inside you as you pulled at your hair. You sunk to your knees, holding them to your chest as you rocked back and forth in a desperate attempt to soothe yourself. You wanted it to stop, you needed it to stop. You could barely think, mind muddled and thoughts racing too fast for you to comprehend; you needed Robin. She had gone to speak to one of her friends from band, leaving you alone in the corner. That's when it all started to get too much and you fled to find some privacy.

Almost as if she knew you were thinking of her, a soft knock made you snap your head towards the door. Through your panic and frustration, a small sigh of relief left you when you heard her voice through the door.

"Y/N? Angel, are you in there?"

You feel your heart skip a beat, this time from her words instead of the panic clawing at your lungs. 'Angel'. It was a nickname that she refused to let go after you smacked away a demobat that came dangerously close to biting her. She insisted that you were her 'guardian angel sent from the heavens' to save her life and since then, she rarely refers to you by any other name.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn't respond to her. You didn't feel in control of your body and couldn't bring yourself to open the door. You bury your face into your knees, sobbing quietly.

You didn't even hear the door open, or her footsteps as she crouched down in front of your quivering form. It isn't until she gently places a hand on your shoulder that you lift your head abruptly, body freezing at her touch. She takes note of your reaction, dropping her hand from your shoulder with a quick apology muttered under her breath. Her face was full of concern, you could see her trying to hide her panic to not stress you out further.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to breathe with me, angel." She looks at you pleadingly. Her voice cracked as she spoke, making your chest swell with guilt. You hesitantly nod, focusing your attention on her and her solely as best you could, vision obscured by your tears.

You copy her breathing. In and out. In and out. Slowly, you feel the panic begin to subside, shaking breaths becoming more and more stable. That is until you hear a burst of laughter from downstairs. The sound pierces through your skull, making you cry out in frustration once more. You cover your ears with your hands, fresh tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay. You can do it, just focus on me." Her voice is calm and soothing and you can't help but listen to her. She holds eye contact with you, making gestures with her hands to help your breathing slow. Your hands still covered your ears tightly, knees pressed against your chest and rocking yourself back and forth as you breathe with your girlfriend.

You weren't sure how much time had passed when your hands finally fell from your ears. Your sobs had stopped, leaving only shallow breaths.

"I-I'm sorry..." You mumble, chewing on the skin of your bottom lip. You felt horrible. Robin wanted to spend one night with you, pretending you were normal teenagers and now you had ruined it. You feel your eyes prick with tears again, turning your head to face anywhere but the girl in front of you.

Her hand cupped your cheek, turning your head gently to look at her. Her eyes scanned your face, making sure that you were okay with her touching you. When she didn't find any discomfort, she smiled softly. In one swift motion, she enveloped you in her arms. Face pressed against her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of cherry that made you relax into her hold.

"You have nothing to apologise for, angel." She runs her hands through your hair gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sniffled, wiping your face and nose with your hands in a feeble attempt to be more presentable. "Come on, let me take you home"

You left the party quickly. Robin didn't even stop to say goodbye to her friends from band, she was just focused on making sure you were somewhere safe. You had never been so grateful for the open air, a shiver running down your spine as the autumn wind nipped at your exposed skin. Luckily, your house was only a short walk away, yet your girlfriend still insisted on wrapping you in her jacket after noticing your slight shivers. With a hand placed snuggly on your waist, you walked in comfortable silence until you reached your front door.

After fumbling with your keys, you unlocked the door. Your parents were out of town for the week for a reason you didn't care for, meaning that Robin had taken the opportunity to sleep over for the last few nights and tonight would be no different. You step inside, sighing contentedly as the warmth of your home engulfs you in its embrace. She's not far behind you, shutting the door gently. Her hand slid from your waist to your hand, the comforting weight of her hand in yours causing a smile to grace your lips. She tugged at your hand, leading you up the stairs into your bedroom.

You slumped onto your bed with a huff. The exhaustion of your meltdown finally catches up to you. Your legs dangled off the bed and your arms stretched wide above you, making your t-shirt rise up and uncover your stomach. Your head tilted to watch your girlfriend as she tugged her converse off her feet. She offered you a small smile that made your cheeks twinge a light pink. Sometimes you couldn't believe how lucky you were to be with someone as gorgeous as Robin. She walked over to where your legs dangled off the bed, kneeling down to untie the laces on your shoes and slip them off your feet. You hummed as a 'thank you', making her smile grow.

Once your shoes were off, you hurriedly unbuttoned your jeans and slid them off your legs. You sighed heavily, eyes closing as the itching feeling that drowned your leg in unpleasant tingles disappeared. You heard a light chuckle from her and the sound of rustling through your drawers. With one eye cracked open, you gaze returns to Robin as she shuffles through your clothes. Eventually, she pulls out one of her t-shirts that you had 'accidentally' stolen a few weeks prior. She meets your gaze, eyebrow raising accusingly. You only smile sheepishly in return.

As she walks towards you with the item of clothing in hand, you sit up. Your admiring gaze turning into one of curiosity. Your questions are answered when she tugs at the hem of your shirt, silently asking for permission. Your arms instinctively raise, allowing her to pull the shirt off you. Her fingers graze your stomach, making your breath hitch. She gently pulls her shirt over your head. You hum in contentment. A soft peck is pressed to your lips before she pulls away, taking her own clothes off.

Soon, you were both cuddled into your bed, only in t-shirts and your underwear. The smooth skin of her legs tangled with yours and your hands clutched her shirt, breathing in the calming scent of her perfume. Her hands find their place in your hair, making your heart turn to putty as she massages your scalp.

"Are you okay now?" She asks, sincerity dripping from her raspy voice, the voice that always made you weak in the knees.

"Yeah.. thank you." Head buried into her chest, she's barely able to pick up on your words.

Your breathing begins to slow, the grip on her shirt loosening. One hand remained in your hair, the other rubbing circles on your back as you slowly drifted off to sleep. You were exhausted, the night's earlier events having drained every ounce of energy in your body.

Before your eyes finally shut, you feel her lips against the crown of your head. "Goodnight, angel. I love you."

A/N: I really hope my description of a sensory overload is okay, I tried to base it off my own experiences so I hope it translated how I wanted to :]]

#robin buckley #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x reader #robin stranger things #stranger things #stranger things imagine #robin buckley x you #x reader #robin buckley fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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bloody-bee-tea · 7 months

Text

Beetober 2023 Day 29 - Cavern

Suguru is tired. He is tired, and cold, and the curses he had to consume in the last week rest heavy in his stomach, making him sick enough that even the thought of food almost makes him throw up.

And adding to all of that, there’s a crater in his chest, right where his heart used to be; a crater formed by the absence of Satoru and Riko and one that Suguru doesn’t know how to fill, not with Satoru always away on solo missions and with Riko dead.

It feels as if he was swallowed whole by that huge hole and there is no way out for him. It’s deep enough that he doesn’t even see the light anymore and by now Suguru is tired enough to simply accept this darkness as his new normal.

Suguru barely has the energy to bring himself to get up for his newest mission, but he knows that Yaga will yell at him if he doesn’t and Suguru doesn’t know what he’s going to do if that happens.

Either burst into tears or kill him. Neither option seem desirable and so he does somehow make his way out of his room.

Only to run face first into Satoru.

“You look like shit,” is what Satoru greets him with. “And don’t tell me you’re just tired from the heat. I call bullshit on that.”

“What are you doing here?” Suguru breathes out because as far as he knows Satoru is supposed to be on his own mission right now.

“I’m here to pick you up,” Satoru shrugs. “We’re going together.”

“Yaga—”

“Can suck it. We’re going together,” Satoru insists and Suguru’s eyes burn.

“Are you sure about that?” he still asks, his sense of duty winning out because if they are going together that means the curses have more time to run rampage than if they went alone.

“Yes, I’m sure, Suguru.” Satoru tilts his head in question and looks at him over the rim of his glasses. “Do you want to go alone?”

“No,” Suguru immediately says, with a vehemence that even surprises himself and Satoru grins at him.

“Then it’s decided. We go together.”

“For this mission,” Suguru agrees and yelps when Satoru drapes himself over his shoulder.

They have spent so much time apart lately that he almost forgot how easily Satoru invades his privacy and he didn’t even realise how much he missed this close proximity.

“For every mission,” Satoru corrects him without missing a beat and something in Suguru unclenches at hearing that.

He knows he should protest, but he doesn’t actually want to, so he keeps his mouth shut and simply lets Satoru steer him on.

Missions with Satoru are easy and Suguru barely gets to do anything. The curse is dealt with quickly and without much input from Suguru and before he knows it he has the condensed curse in his hand, ready to swallow it up, his stomach already turning in anticipation of the foul taste that will assault him in a second.

And then Satoru exorcises the curse right out of his hand.

“What are you doing?” Suguru asks, a beat too late, but Satoru caught him off guard.

“You’re not eating that,” Satoru decides. “Not until I have seen you eat something real first.”

“I’m supposed to collect these curses,” Suguru weakly protests because Yaga and the higher-ups have been very insistent on that.

“Is that what the higher-ups want?” Satoru asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“They said I should expand my arsenal.” Suguru is aware of how hollow his voice sounds and he is sure that Satoru notices it as well.

And he doesn’t seem too happy about it.

“How many curses do you have now?” he wants to know and Suguru doesn’t even have to think about that one because Yaga asks him the same goddamn question after every mission.

“423.”

“And they want you to consume even more.” It’s not a question but Suguru still nods.

“They said we don’t know what’s coming and we want to have as many different curses in our possession as possible.”

“Did any of them ask how you feel about that?” Satoru demands to know but of course they both know the answer to that. “Fuck those higher-ups then” Satoru sneers when Suguru wisely stays quiet. “You’re not eating any more of these, not if I can help it. If you want one of these curses, then fine, otherwise, I’ll just exorcises all of them.”

“Satoru, you can’t just—”

“Have you seen yourself, lately?” Satoru interrupts him and he sounds angry, but Suguru can spot the worry underneath his sneer.

It warms something in Suguru and the hole gets a little bit smaller.

“I know I can’t quite beat you when it comes to looks—” Suguru trails off with a shrug, even though that is really not what Satoru means.

But he has missed this, missed joking around with Satoru, missed talking to him.

“That’s not even true, you’re fucking beautiful, always,” Satoru almost says offhandedly and Suguru briefly forgets how to breathe. “But you look like shit recently, if I’m being honest, and you’ve lost so much weight. And it’s because of them, right? Those stupid curses and how they taste?”

Suguru opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He has never told anyone just how vile they taste, didn’t want to get any pity for it or risk having to swallow them anyway because the other person just doesn’t care. But of course Satoru would look right through him.

“Yeah,” he breathes out and he clenches his hand, as if he was still holding the curse in it.

Satoru notices it and reaches out to take his hand in his own.

“No more of that. If the higher-ups want these curses, they can come eat them themselves.”

“And who is going to tell them that?” Suguru asks, clinging to Satoru’s hand.

“Me, who else. It’s not as if they can do anything to me, anyway. They like to pretend they can but if I decide I don’t want to go on any more missions, then there is nothing they can do. Same for you. I won’t let them force you to do their bidding anymore.”

“Satoru—”

“No. No! We’re the strongest because we are together and it’s time we get back to that. No more of this splitting up bullshit.”

“You’d still be the strongest even without me,” Suguru quietly reminds him, because it’s true.

Satoru will always surpass all of them and he is only growing stronger with every day.

“I won’t, because I don’t want to.” Satoru hesitates briefly before he goes on. “I don’t give a shit about them. It’s you and me, right?” There’s something searching in his gaze, something that reminds Suguru of the way he had looked at him when he retrieved Riko’s body.

It suddenly occurs to Suguru that he could probably break Satoru with just a few, well placed words—or maybe make him break the world, if Suguru so wished for it—and something wells up inside of him.

“You and me,” he agrees, the words coming out choked because he feels completely overwhelmed with the trust Satoru puts into him.

At hearing that Satoru’s look loses it’s intensity and he gives Suguru a grin. It feels so much like coming home to Suguru that he immediately relaxes.

“It’s just us,” he whispers and Satoru squeezes his hand.

“Just us,” he repeats and it sounds like a promise.

And it settles warm and comfortable around Suguru’s very essence.

~*~*~

Suguru feels cold. There is rage welling up inside of him, so potent that it turns him into ice, turns him brittle, and he knows that Satoru feels the same because he has gone stock still at this side.

And Satoru is never this still.

“What is this?” Suguru forces himself to ask and the non-sorcerer standing right behind them steps forward.

“What do you mean what? These two are responsible for the latest incidents, aren’t they?”

“No, they’re not,” Satoru answers and Suguru can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes.

The two girls in the cage are clearly terrified and they have just as clearly been beaten and Suguru is going to lose it, he just knows it.

“These two are crazy. They used their mysterious powers to attack the villagers!”

“We’ve already exterminated the cause of those incidents,” Satoru tells them but it doesn’t seem to do much.

“My granddaughter was nearly killed by these two, too!” The woman’s voice is high and clearly terrified and Suguru wants to shut her up very badly, especially when the girls in the cage flinch.

“That’s because she—” one of the girls still pipes up and Suguru has to admire her bravery but she is immediately interrupted.

“Shut up, you monsters! Your parents were just as bad. I knew we should have killed you two when you were babies!”

“Everyone, shall we step outside for a moment?” Suguru asks, a smile plastered to his face as he turns around and he honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

There’s a coldness spreading through him, though he can feel the beginning of burning rage as well and he thinks he might just kill these two if they say another word.

The girls continue to look at all of them with terror in their eyes.

“Suguru,” Satoru suddenly says and reaches out for him, grasping his wrist in his hand. “Why don’t you take the girls outside and let me talk to these two?” he asks with a nod towards the grown-ups in the room and Suguru blinks at him.

“Satoru,” he starts, though he doesn’t even know how to finish that. He doesn’t know what he wants to do anymore.

“Just take them, they shouldn’t be in there any longer. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

Suguru trusts Satoru so he doesn’t doubt his words for a moment but there’s something strange to his tone.

“Take them,” Satoru encourages him again when he takes too long to answer and Suguru turns back towards the cage with a sigh, crouching down so the girls can see him better.

“Hey there,” he greets them, keeping his voice soft, even as the man and woman behind him start to yell.

He doesn’t pay them any mind, trusting Satoru to handle them for now.

“What’s your names?” Suguru wants to know and the girls share a look before the blond one speaks.

“That’s Mimiko and I’m Nanako,” she whispers and Suguru gives them his most reassuring smile.

This one at least, is real.

“I’m Suguru, and that guy over there is Satoru,” he points at Satoru who is still apparently listening to the grown-ups yelling. “Would you mind coming with me for now?” Suguru asks and Nanako immediately throws him a suspicious look.

“Are you going to kill us?” she asks, and it doesn’t seem she would be surprised if the answer was yes.

“No. We’re going to take you away from here, alright? We have a very good friend who is good at healing people, she’ll check you out. How does that sound?”

“Too good to be true,” Nanako hisses at him but Mimiko tugs on her shirt.

“Nanako, don’t,” she whispers and then they stick their heads together, furiously muttering to each other.

Suguru decides to give them a minute before he takes them out of the cage anyway but a few seconds later they turn back to him.

“Fine,” Nanako sniffs out. “But if you do kill us, we will haunt you.”

Suguru bites back a chuckle and nods instead, letting them know he received the threat loud and clear. He doesn’t waste any more time and opens the cage instead, holding out his hands for them. When the girls are holding on to him, he leads them outside, not sparing the non-sorcerers in the room another look.

Outside, he immediately crouches back down.

“How hurt are you?” he asks them, looking them carefully over.

He can’t spot any outwardly bleeding injuries, but they are both roughed up and one of Mimiko’s eyes is swollen shut.

“It’s alright,” Mimiko whispers, her voice much quieter than Nanako’s and Nanako scoffs.

“It’s not, Mimiko,” she insists and Suguru has to agree with her.

He’s just about to say so when he feels a rise of energy from inside the house and he whirls around.

“Domain expansion,” he whispers, because it’s the only thing it can be, but Satoru can’t do that yet and they were sure that they exorcised all the curses in this town.

Suguru can’t even detect any cursed energy.

“What the hell,” he whispers out and just as he’s about to run back into the house, a hand shoots out and stops him.

“Don’t leave us here alone,” Nanako begs him and Suguru immediately steps back to them.

He’ll have to trust Satoru that he can handle whatever is happening inside. He’ll have to trust him to call for help if he can’t.

He’ll just have to trust Satoru.

It’s easier said than done because Suguru is worried sick that Satoru is going to get hurt while he’s out here playing babysitter but not even two minutes later, Satoru comes out of the house, hands in his pockets and a shit-eating grin on his face. Suguru is not sure he has ever seen that particular edge to his smile though.

“Satoru, what happened?” Suguru immediately asks and he flutters his hands over his body as soon as he’s in reach. “I felt your domain expansion. What’s going on?”

“Oh, there was this real pesky little curse,” Satoru says and grins down at the girls. “And even though I’m really good at what I do, I couldn’t maintain a proper domain. I’m really sorry but those two back in there? I accidentally killed them.”

“Satoru, what—”

“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me,” Satoru says and leans in close so that the girls can’t overhear them. “You were going to kill them, too, don’t even try to deny it, I saw it in your eyes. And rightfully so, if you ask me. But like this we have the advantage of reasonable doubt. The higher-ups will be too happy that I finally got to do a domain, no matter how unstable it was, and the unfortunate death of these two will just be waved away. It’s the best outcome.” Satoru searches Suguru’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re upset over their death.”

He seems unsure all of a sudden and Suguru can’t have that.

Satoru is right; he would probably have killed them himself if they followed him outside and then he’d have to suffer the consequences. But like this, the higher-ups can’t say anything.

And it’s all thanks to Satoru.

Instead of putting all of that into words, Suguru moves forward and captures Satoru’s lips in a kiss.

“Thank you,” he breathes out when they part but it seems as if Satoru isn’t quite done yet, because he pulls him back in.

“Gross,” Nanako says after a while and Suguru can feel the blush on his face when he and Satoru finally part.

“Not in front of the kids. Not like that,” Suguru gets out, his voice rough, and Satoru laughs before he leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Ah, they’ll just have to get used to that. We’ll do that a lot, so they’ll have to see that a lot,” he says and then sticks his tongue out at Nanako who immediately matches Satoru.

“They’ll see that a lot?” Suguru asks and startles when a small hand fits itself into his.

It’s Mimiko and Suguru immediately gives her a reassuring smile.

“They are ours now, aren’t they?” Satoru asks, a cheeky little grin on his face and Suguru loves him so much it steals his breath away. “Or do you want the higher-ups to deal with them?”

“Fuck no,” Suguru decides and bends down to pick Mimiko up. “They won’t get their hands on them, not if we can help it.”

“And help it, we can,” Satoru grins and picks up a seemingly unwilling Nanako but after a moment she relaxes in his hold. “You’re safe with us now.”

“Something like that will never happen to you again,” Suguru tells them and adjusts Mimiko in his arm so he can reach out for Satoru’s hand.

“Promise?” Mimiko mutters, resting her head on Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru looks at Satoru and he sees the same determination in his eyes as he feels and when Satoru squeezes his hand in reassurance Suguru smiles at him.

“Promise,” he simply gives back and then watches how Satoru gently bonks his head against Nanako’s.

“As long as you have us, nothing will happen to you. And we’re the strongest, so you’re stuck with us for quite a while,” he tells them as well and Nanako and Mimiko finally relax.

“I love you,” Suguru mouths at Satoru who immediately sucks in a scandalised breath and puts a hand over Nanako’s ear.

“Not in front of the kids, Suguru,” he gasps out and Suguru has to swallow back a laugh when Nanako rolls her eyes.

“You’re so weird,” she mutters and Suguru can’t even deny it, but it’s not as if it matters.

“Ah, they’ll just have to get used to that. We’ll do say that a lot, so they’ll have to hear it a lot,” Suguru repeats Satoru’s earlier words and a warmth blooms in his chest when he spots the faint blush on his face.

Trust Satoru to appear completely unaffected by a filthy kiss but blush like a maiden at a love confession.

“You truly are so weird,” Suguru says, his voice incredibly fond and Satoru pouts at him.

“You’re so mean to me, Suguru, you’re not supposed to side with the kids. You’re supposed to side with me.”

“I will always side with you,” Suguru reassures him and the smile he loves so much is immediately back on Satoru’s face.

“Then everything is right in the world.”

He says it with such conviction that Suguru simply has to believe him. The world is shit, and the higher-ups will make their lives hell, and the curses will continue to run rampage but as long as Satoru and Suguru are together, everything is indeed right in the world.

And that is all Suguru needs to finally have that cavern in his chest close up completely.

#bt writes #beetober23 #jjk #satosugu #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #hasaba nanako #hasaba mimiko #hidden inventory arc #canon divergence #fluff #hurt/comfort #love confessions #off-screen murder

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mechamangamonkey · 2 years

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listen, it’s rare that i make one of these rant posts about public identity and presence cultivation, but i am literally begging y’all to listen the fuck up here ‘cause, full offense, some of you have worms in your goddamn brains!

(and yes, this is absolutely about what happened to kit connor.)

just this morning, about an hour or so ago, i saw a bi creator on my twitter timeline talking about how they might have to hide their identity as a queer person from their family if their work gained a significant amount of traction and how, if/when that happens, they would likely end up being decried as a “straight person profiting off of queer narratives” (only somewhat loosely paraphrasing that quote because i don’t wanna reveal too much about the author in question for the sake of their privacy) and being harassed and victimized by the same “activists” who were all but calling for kit connor’s blood and ultimately forced him to come out before he was ready by accusing his very fucking existence as an actor and as a goddamn human being of being “queerbaiting”.

obviously, this is a huge issue in and of itself; it’s awful, and nobody should have to go through that crap. anybody who’s got at least two brain cells rattling around in their skull to rub together like sticks over a campfire in order to form a coherent thought can understand why that’s an issue and why forcibly outing someone has harmful repercussions for the entire queer community at large—and yes, vilifying someone who’s stayed closeted to protect themself to the point that they’re eventually forced to decide that coming out is the lesser of two evils in that situation is still forcibly outing that person even if they’re the one who ultimately ends up disclosing their identity, because forcing someone to choose between a rock and a hard place isn’t really a choice at all. many other people on this website have, correctly, pointed that out already, and we could all sit here and repeat that until the heat death of the universe.

the thing that really pissed me off about that tweet was seeing someone else in the replies say that, and i quote, “Identity gatekeeping is such a slippery slope.” no, it’s not! it really fucking isn’t!!! it’s not a “slippery slope”, it’s just plain unacceptable! someone’s identity is absolutely none of anyone else’s goddamn business!!! yes, we are living in a time of unprecedented access to a wide variety of knowledge and differing human perspectives, and in certain cases, yes, that can be a wonderful thing, but jesus christ on a flaming unicycle and the holy mother’s marvelous trapeze act—y’all, i cannot stress enough that just because the internet has revolutionized the spread of information absolutely does not mean that all information is fair game!

people still deserve the right to keep personal information about themselves to themselves unless and until they are comfortable with the idea of sharing it!

it does not matter if they’re a celebrity or not. it does not matter how many followers they have. it does not matter how popular whatever the thing they’ve worked on or contributed to is. whatever the fuck it is you’re thinking of, i promise you it does not fucking matter! their personal business is their business, and nobody else has the right to demand access or knowledge to that end—full stop.

it’s not a “slippery slope”, it’s just a straight-up cliff, and, whether they’re closeted or not, we have got to stop pushing members of our own community off of it.

whatever good you think it does closeted queer folks to see an example of someone who’s like them be successful and in the public eye, i guarantee you it does exponentially more harm to see that person be put under a microscope and interrogated about their identity until their queerness is ultimately snatched away from them to be dragged out and paraded around under the spotlight in the name of Progressiveness™ or Woke Points™ or whatever the fuck else y’all think means that you’re “winning” your online-discourse-du-jour. forcing queer famous people out of the closet does not send the message to average queer people that it’s safe for them to be out—it sends the message that they’re damned if they do and damned if they don’t.

#kit connor #discourse #queerbaiting #public outing #lgbtq #in which cj is McFuckin Pissed #cj speaks #heartstopper #listen i don’t even go here but everybody responsible for this shit should be ashamed of themselves #psa #chronically online #long post #textpost #long textpost #long text post #lgbtq+#queer

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wkemeup · 3 years

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Play Pretend (II)

summary: In the aftermath of Munich, Bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. But now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: smut (18+), mutual pining idiots a/n: here is the final part! make sure you catch up at part 1 first! gif by @crispychrissy

Bucky couldn’t get the image out of his head for days after the mission in Munich. Pictures of you laying so beautifully beneath him, the slight curve of your lips as a moan slipped past, skin so soft it begged to be touched and soothed and worshiped. He couldn’t let go of how you sounded, how you cried out his name or the gentle whimpers spoken so sweetly against his ear. He couldn’t stop craving you wrapped so tightly around him, your hands caressing down his arms, his back, his shoulders, your unbridged desire to touch every part of him, even the parts he despised.

Memories that found him in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the shower when his legs were weak and tired, at the breakfast table when you strolled in wearing a t-shirt down to your thighs and the evident curve of your breasts bare beneath the fabric.

Bucky tried to push the thoughts away. He tried to stop thinking of what happened in that cold, abandoned Hydra base. He tried to bury that longing somewhere deep, somewhere he’d never be bothered by it again. But it always came back in the image of you in that cell.

It plagued him. It taunted him.

He wanted more.

He didn’t know how to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to you. So, he did his best to suffocate those feelings, those cravings for something real, but they still found their way to the surface.

They spilled over on movie nights with the team and Bucky would find himself inching closer to you, in the gym when he took just a second longer to lift his weight from your body after a winded match that ended on the surface of the mat, on walks around the compound when he found himself wanting to capture your hand in his own as your fingers brushed by.

Those feelings slipped from his smothering hold on missions when he watched your back far more than his own, when he’d missed an obvious target in an attempt to clear your enemy line and ended up catching three bullets himself. He lost composure whenever you didn’t respond on coms or when you’d stumble back onto the quinjet with an injury you’d been hiding. He dove headfirst into fires and threw his body up as a shield and spent every night in agony wondering if you knew that he’d give his whole life to you if you’d asked.

It made him stupid. It made him reckless. It might actually get him killed.

But it hadn’t started in Munich. No, that was just the catalyst of it all. Bucky had loved you long before that drug infiltrated his system and left the two of you in an impossible position. He’d managed to keep his feelings at bay for years; hiding behind quick witted jokes and friendly banter and a genuine friendship and it had been enough. Honest, it had.

Only, now he knew what it was like to be with you. He caught a taste of what it would be like to make love to you and he didn’t know if he could ever forget and move on. It had been weeks since Munich and it still felt like it happened yesterday.

He had to do something to keep it from consuming him, even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke his, too.

***

“What the hell do you mean you can’t work with Y/n anymore?”

Steve groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day of debriefing with about a dozen agents making demands he was unwilling to compromise on. This, separating his best team, was among them.

“It’s just not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky said, arms folded tightly over his chest as he watched Steve pace relentlessly down the conference room.

“That’s ridiculous, Buck.” Steve slumped into the chair beside his friend. “You two are the best insurgent team I have.”

“Just trust me. You’ve seen how I’ve been in the field lately. I can’t keep a straight head around her, okay? Not after—” Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away.

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “You ever gonna tell me what happened in Munich?”

Bucky’s lip was chewed raw; scars over broken wounds, teeth digging into painful cracks. It was a nasty habit he picked up after Munich. He wasn’t used to this kind of nervousness; a deep and unsettling feeling churned to stone in the pit of his stomach.

“Reassign me, Steve,” Bucky asked again, firmer. He could feel Steve’s eyes burning on him, tracing every inch of his face, searching for a tell, but he wouldn’t find one. Bucky was trained better than that. He knew to keep his features cold, stoned, even if his heart was pounding against his chest. He wondered it Steve could hear it, too.

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“Alright,” Steve finally conceded. He shook his head reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky sighed a breath of relief, the weight of months filled with a longing he couldn’t tame and painful twist in his heart slipping from him in seconds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Steve stood up from his chair, gathered the papers from the desk and made his way to the door. He paused just at the frame, turned around slowly to find Bucky had relaxed a little too much for his liking and added, “you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“What?” Bucky scrambled out of his chair, nearly losing his footing and all composure as he stood to face Steve.

“You’ve been partners for years,” Steve shot back tensely. “She’s had your back on countless missions, saved your life on more than one occasion, and—come on, Buck— you guys are friends! The two of you spend every day together, even when you’re benched! You don’t want to give me an explanation? Fine. But you sure as hell owe her one.”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, hands clenching at the fraying edges of his t-shirt. “Steve, I—”

“Just talk to her,” Steve said, a heavy disappointment lingering in his voice. His lips parted, as if there were more he wanted to say, but decided against it. He hung his head, pat Bucky firmly on his shoulder, and left.

***

Had he always been able to hear his own heartbeat like this?

It was pounding in his ears, thunderous, deafening, and he swore just about everyone else on the floor could its thumping as he approached your room.

The door was open ajar with a small glimmer of sunlight streaming out into the dimly lit hallway. You were singly quietly to yourself – humming, maybe – as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring down onto your phone. You didn’t seem to notice him at the door. He knocked.

Your head popped up, surprised at the sudden intrusion and your eyes only narrowed upon finding it was Bucky standing below the doorframe. You looked at him for a moment before you turned back to your phone without saying another word.

He deserved that.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was still staring into the room through the small slit in the door.

You shrugged. “Depends. Are you still avoiding me?”

A sharp sting burned in his chest as Bucky tried to unclench his jaw. Truthfully, he had been avoiding you for days now. Ever since he made up his mind to ask for a reassignment. It didn’t matter if Steve shipped him off to Alaska or the Amazons or out into space with the goddamn raccoon; all he knew was that every minute he spent beside you was agony and he needed to get away from it – away from you – before it consumed him whole.

None of that was your fault. You didn’t know why he was suddenly too busy to spar on your usual weekdays or join the team for movie nights. He never told you why he suddenly started pulling away, cutting off all contact as if you hadn’t been friends for years before Munich.

“I’ve got something important to talk to you about,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat.

You sat up, sitting the phone down by your side as you recognized the tone in his voice. Clinical. Mission oriented. Business. He didn’t want it to sound so cold, but he wasn’t sure he could do this if it wasn’t.

Bucky stepped into the room, prying the door open gently with a slow squeak on its hinges as he closed it behind him. He’d been in your room dozens of times before, but somehow, in this moment, it felt like an invasion of privacy, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep focus. He took a few steps forward and gingerly sat on the edge of your bed, keeping careful distance as he wrung at his hands in his lap.

“I’m being reassigned.”

You furrowed your brow. He could practically hear your heart skip a beat.

“What? No. They can’t do that!” You shook your head, determined. There were traces of disbelief on your face – anger, too. Your hands gripped tightly into the sheets at your sides. “They can’t just reassign you, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y/n, you don’t understand,” he started to say, but you were already on your feet, pacing around the room. It was how you calmed yourself when your thoughts were racing too fast. The stabbing pain in Bucky’s chest only seemed to dig deeper.

“I know the field has been messy lately, but that happens to everyone! They can’t split us up because of a few extra trips to the med bay,” you argued, wearing trenches into the carpet of your bedroom. You stopped abruptly. “Who gave the order? Steve? Tony? I’ll take this up with Fury if I have to, okay? I won’t let them—”

“Y/n, stop. Please.” Bucky hung his head. His right hand was red as his left clasped and tugged at the skin. He couldn’t find the courage to meet your eye but he could tell from the way you stilled that you knew what he was about to say. “It was me. I asked for reassignment.”

It didn’t seem to hurt any less though because your stance still faltered. It was barely noticeable, not to the human eye, but Bucky’s sensed were advanced thanks to his time in Hydra. He saw the way your body weight shifted just slightly, how your breath caught in your chest, the slight flicker of your eyes. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“You said it yourself,” Bucky reasoned, trying to find excuses where there were none, “there’s been too many ER trips lately. I keep getting hurt.”

“Because you insist on using your body as human shield, Buck!” you retorted, arms flung out to the sides. “Just knock that off and we’ll be fine!”

Bucky shook his head, his lips curling ever so slightly though it didn’t touch his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is!” you argued. You started pacing again. “Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. I’m not losing my partner. Go tell them you were joking or concussed and not thinking straight!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Bucky clenched his jaw. His right hand was starting to lose feeling from how tightly he was gripping it.

Why couldn’t you make this easy on him? You were supposed to be angry with him for ignoring you for the last week. You were angry with him and yet you still fought for him. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The pacing stopped again, though this time it came in slow, like a realization that found its way piece by piece until it melded into a visible image.

“Was it something I did?”

Bucky jumped up to his feet, instinctively wanting to walk towards you but you held your ground. He froze, standing several feet away.

“No,” he said firmly. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then what?” You raised your arms out to the side in question. “We’ve been partners for years, Bucky. I’ve relied on you all that time to have my back, to keep me alive out there, and—and—” you groaned rather loudly, “you’re my best friend! You can’t just up and decide you’re done with me and move on!”

Bucky frowned. “That’s not what this is.”

You shook your head, arms folding tightly over your chest protectively. “Sure feels like it.”

The silence between you was unbearable. Bucky didn’t have a good excuse. You were right to be angry with him. He was abandoning you. He was a coward. He was running away from a painful situation to avoid facing it head on because he was terrified to lose you. Though, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, pulling them away a moment later to find a soft glisten of reflection in their wake, Bucky started to wonder that were already true.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, a heavy realization in your voice as you turned to him. Your shoulders slumped. “This is because of Munich, isn’t it?”

Bucky flinched. He tried not to, but you noticed. A look of absolute devastation crossed your features as your lips parted, sinking down onto your bed.

“I knew things were different after that mission. I mean, how could they not be?” You leaned over against your thighs, letting your hair fall down to shield your face where Bucky could not see. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have given in. You couldn’t consent with that shit running through your veins. Not really. So— fuck – I completely understand if you can’t be around me after I—”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky interjected sharply, shaking himself from the fear coursing through him as he crossed the room to you. He knelt down beside your bed and waited patiently for you to lift your head and let the curtain of hall fall away from your face. “I could have fought it. It hurt like hell, but I would have survived it even if we… if we hadn’t…”

He let his voice trail off, his cheeks turning a slight side of pink. He sighed. “The point... is that I wanted to. I really wanted to. And that’s the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

Was he really going to tell you? Wasn’t this what he had been trying to avoid? Throwing away years of friendship to confess deeper feelings he was all but sure you’d never reciprocate?

But there was something about the way you were looking at him. With tears glistening in your eyes and a grief he couldn’t quite place nestled into the lines on your forehead, Bucky began to wonder if walking away would give him any relief at all. He wasn’t sure he could ever leave this room again if you were left blaming yourself for his crimes.

Bucky slowly placed his right hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently along the dimple. Your eyes followed his movements, watching curiously until he found the courage to speak.

“We’ve been partners for a while,” he started, clearing his voice when it came out shaken. You nodded. “I feel like sometimes I know what you’re thinking just by looking at you and when we’re out in the field, even in the middle of chaos, it’s like you can tell what I’m doing before I actually figure it out myself. We’re really good together. Out there. It’s hard to find that these days.”

You didn’t say anything and for that, he was grateful. He needed to get this out before he shut down completely.

“I think we only got that good because we’re… uhm… we’re close, you know?” Bucky took a deep breath, releasing his grip on your knee when he realized he’d started to squeeze it a little too hard. Your hand was sitting on your thigh, but you’d inched it closer to his, enough so the tips of your fingers overlapped onto his.

“We’re friends.” Bucky paused at the term, deciding it wasn’t strong enough. “It’s more than that though. I trust you with things I wouldn’t even tell Steve. You were the first person I felt like I could be myself around. Not the Bucky that Steve remembers or the one Hydra manipulated. This one. Whatever that means.”

Your whole hand covered his now, as much as it would allow. He glanced up to find your fingers curling under his, a slight squeeze to tell him you were still listening. He exhaled another breath and the pressure in his chest felt a little lighter.

“What happened in Munich didn’t awaken anything or… or open my eyes to something I didn’t know was there,” Bucky continued, his eyes trained on your legs, unable to find the courage to face you. “I’ve known how I felt about you for a long time. I was okay with it. I learned to live with it and manage it because being your friend and being your partner was too important to lose. But…”

He felt your hands squeeze his again.

“But after Munich… I don’t know how to go back. I don’t think I can.” Bucky didn’t dare to meet your eye. He could feel the words slipping past his lips before he had a chance to pull them back in. A waterfall of confessions he couldn’t hope to control. “It’s why I’ve been so reckless in the field, why I keep ending up in the med wing. I can’t shove it down anymore and it punctures me right through the goddamn heart when I see you surrounded by armed agents or when there’s a weapon aimed at you and my instinct is to run towards you. Screw what happens to me.

“I know you’re good at your job,” Bucky stressed, shaking his head. “I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me to protect you but… but I want to. I want to keep you safe and hold your hand when you’re getting stitches and curl up beside you at night just so I can remind myself you’re real when the nightmares get the better of me. I want… I want more than I should.”

He could hear the skip in your heartbeat, how it gradually picked up in pace the longer he spoke. Your breathing was shorter, too. Shallower. Bucky was certain it was all confirmation of the story he’d been telling himself for years.

“This… How I feel… It’s not good for us. As friends. As partners. I’m trying to do us a favor and just remove myself from the equation.”

Bucky still had yet to meet your eye. He’d turned to examining every detail he could find on the fabric of your sleep shorts, in the sheets you sat upon, in the divots and dimples and blemishes on your thighs. He wasn’t sure he’d have the resolve to leave if he looked at your face.

Several beats of silence passed by and Bucky wondered how it was possible you hadn’t lashed out at him yet. He expected you to be angry for driving a wedge between you with something as reckless as love and affection. He expected you to turn your shoulder, reject him for everything he was, because it was one thing to befriend the Winter Soldier, another entirely to love him.

Bucky slowly rose back to his feet, letting his hand slip away from your knee and your gentle hold on him fell away. He mistook your silence for acceptance, maybe even agreement. He cleared his throat, starting to back up towards the door.

“So, um,” Bucky said nervously, trying to fill the silence in his escape, “that’s why. I hope you can forgive me some day for all of this. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

Bucky barely had his hand on the knob when he heard the soft squeak of your mattress springs as you rose to your feet.

“You’re wrong.”

The sound of your voice startled him, enough to get him to look back at you before he could stop himself. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes red with tears, bottom lip chewed raw.

“Y/n, I—”

“You’re wrong,” you said again, almost angry and somehow that was a relief. It would make it easier for him to leave if you were angry, but you had different plans. “You’re wrong if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor by leaving.”

Tears were on your cheeks now and Bucky’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was agony.

He took a step closer to you. “You have to trust me, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“You’re wrong,” you continued, cutting him off again as you rubbed at the tears under your eyes. “You’re wrong to assume that I don’t feel the exact fucking way about you and—and if you leave, Bucky, I swear to God it will kill me.”

Bucky froze. His heart stopped beating completely, might have plunged down through his stomach, broken through the floorboards and buried itself into molten lava and dirt, because of all the things he was expecting you to say, that was not one of them.

“Don’t do this,” you implored, voice a little broken, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. He never even considered you might beg him to stay, that you might feel for him in the way he felt for you. It never once crossed his mind. It felt like a dream.

“I miss you.” Your voice was so small and still, it nearly tore him straight in half. “I miss how we used to be. I miss seeing you smile and your stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times in the field.” You laughed to yourself, under your breath, and even through the tears it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But you sighed, the smile falling away. “I miss you when you’re not here. All the time. So much it hurts. I feel like I’m going out of my mind when I’m not with you. You’re my best friend, but I… I also… I miss Munich.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and you only caught a glimpse of him for a second before your face was in your hands, trying to shield yourself from him.

“I know it’s wrong,” you murmured, muffled by your palms. “I know it’s not right to miss a moment when you were in pain and made to feel something you didn’t ask for, but… I think about it a lot and... how much I want more.”

Stunned silence. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

“What are you saying?” Bucky finally found the courage to ask.

You lifted your head, finally meeting his eye and there was a relief there as you looked up at him. Your shoulders eased. A soft smile returned to your lips and it nearly melted him completely.

“The same thing you are, I think.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky watched, near frozen, as you crossed the room, bare feet padding softly over the carpet until you were only inches from him. The space between you closing as your hands slid up his arms, resting against his shoulders, cupping at the sides of his face, just observing, just feeling. There was no venom in his veins and yet, Bucky felt electrified under your touch. His heart stammered in his chest as your fingers wove at the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you told him and he wondered for a moment if he stopped breathing entirely. "No Hydra chemicals. No foreign influence. Just us, okay? You and me.”

Bucky nodded, a little stunned.

Slowly, you inched up closer to him, your eyes drawing closed until you were a breath from his lips. Just barely grazing upon his own, waiting, and Bucky let his hands slid up against your back, tugging you closed against him, and captured your lips in his own.

It was different than the first time in Munich, less rushed, less desperate, but instead filled with a longing that had spanned years between you, coated in affection and heartache and need for one another beyond anything a serum in a lab could fabricate.

Your hands wove into his hair, his arms pressing you firm against his chest, and it was like you were holding onto him for dear life. Your feet began to carry the two of you backwards, dragging Bucky towards the bed, and you yelped as your knees caught on the edge of the mattress, sending the two of you spiraling onto the bed.

“You alright?” Bucky laughed, brushing away the hair in your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows caged around your shoulders; most of his weight laying upon you in the sweetest comfort of pressure.

“I'm perfect,” you replied, bright smiles and joy radiating from every pore. It was contagious.

“We can stop here, if you want,” Bucky offered sincerely. He was riding a high he never thought he’d ever experience and anything you’d be willing to share with him was a gift within itself. He’d kiss you for hours if you’d let him.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” you questioned, staring up at him with a hunger in your eyes. Your fingers trailed down his t-shirt, dancing around the hem of the fabric at his hips. “If I wanted to keep going... If I wanted you...?”

“I’m yours, sweetheart.”

A simple answer. A true one. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Bucky knelt back, tugged on the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. You watching him as he tossed it to the corner of the room before he settled back down against you. Your hands ran along the lines of his muscles, over the scars and imperfections, and for once, Bucky didn’t shy away from the hands of a woman. It didn’t feel like a twist to his gut, he didn’t hold his breath. No – instead, it felt renewing, healing almost.

His hands slid under the waist of your shirt, inching it higher as he rand his touch along the curves of your sides, until you leaned up for him to help remove the fabric. It joined his shirt at the edge of the room.

Perfect and bare. Stunning in your nakedness. A privilege he never thought he’d be granted.

“You want to take a picture or...?” you teased him, noticing how long he’d been staring at you.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t temp me. Besides, I’m hoping I won’t need a picture to see you like this again.”

“Definitely not,” you confirmed, tugging him down to meet your lips again.

It was laced in smiled and laughter and ages of holding back from one another all rolled into one. A freedom of taking your time, of enjoying one another, and learning to memorize your bodies. Bucky would have wondered if he were dreaming if not for the way you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his hardening cock – no dream could produce a feeling like that.

With his lips on your neck, Bucky played with the hem of your shorts, waiting until you lifted your hips just enough to give him the access to slid them down your legs, removing the last remaining fabric along with it.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail from your neck, to the hills of your breasts, to your ribs, to the comfort of cushion at your stomach, to the crevices at your legs and inner thighs. He paused for a moment, setting his cheek against your thigh as he drew his fingers between your lips, separating them to give access to the sweetest parts of you.

You flinched a little as he touched your clit, a gasp emitting from your lips as your hands curled into the sheets. Bucky grinned, encouraged by your reaction as he began to circle the pads of his fingers at your entrance. Listening for the subtle changes in your breath, the moans the slipped past, and the curl of your fingers, Bucky leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit.

“F-fuck, Bucky,” you whined, hands snaking into his hair and gripping tight against his scalp.

He smiled at the feeling, at the way you cried his name, and he pressed his slicked fingers inside of you. Perhaps it was the haze of the foreign chemicals the last time he had you under him like this, but he didn’t remember you being so vocal, so sensitive to his touch. It was a rush and he had to keep himself from rutted up against the mattress as added a third finger, curling them just enough and massaging at the walls as they squeezed tight around him.

Tongue lapping at the wetness, sucking around the sensitive bud of nerves, fingers perfectly drawing out the high as it built at your core, it only took moments before you crashed. You cried out his name, legs wrestling against him in the sensitivity as he drew out the feeling as long as he could, moving slower and slower until you stilled under him.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, a laugh entranced in your voice.

Bucky grinned, pleased with himself as he crawled his way back up the bed to meet your lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the remnants of your high from his mouth and you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him, certainly tasting yourself upon his lips, and it only made him want you more.

“You’re turn,” you smirked, trying to slide out from under him as you licked your lips, but Bucky held you down.

“Next time, okay?” he countered and you sunk back into the mattress with a pout on your lips. “I don’t think I can last if you get your mouth on me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you teased, running your fingers down his stomach until he began to shiver.

“Yes,” he chuckled, swatting your hands away playfully. He winked. “I’m gonna die if I don’t have you right now.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t even joke,” you laughed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, someone's gotta,” Bucky grinned as he tugged down his pants, kicking them off to land amongst the rest of the discarded clothing. “If it got me here, I’ll happily make light of a fucked up Hydra breeding experiment.”

“Would you have told me if it hadn’t happened?” you asked, voice a little softer, peering out from behind your hands.

Bucky stilled, his grin falling into something gentler and he shrugged. “Don’t know if I ever would have had the courage. I never thought we’d be here. Never could have imagined you’d feel the same way.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Would you have said anything?”

“I don’t think I really knew until you threatened to walk away,” you admitted.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, pressing a trail of kissed along your collarbone as he settled between your legs, his length pressing against your thigh, “good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” you murmured against his lips as you drew his mouth to yours.

Then, as he felt the hitch of your breath against his lips, he sank into you. Stretching walls and guiding your legs to wrap at his waist to offer an angle that left your jaw slacked. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, and Bucky felt a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even through the smoke filled haze of that serum in Munich, he’d never felt an ounce of the relief as he did in this moment. To be completely and entirely yours.

He felt you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him to move, and slowly, he rocked his hips against you. Slow and steady. Needy. Until your nails dug into his spine and Bucky couldn’t prolong the tender build up any longer.

Chasing and chasing; higher and higher. Bucky could tell you were close from how tight your walls were clenched around him. It took near everything he had not to come on the spot, but he held on, waiting, watching as your lips parted, as the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard slipped past, and you cried out his name.

“Oh fuck—fuck—Bucky, don’t stop.” Your breath was hot against his cheek. “I’m so close. I’m—ah—”

A hitch in your breath and your whole body seemed to fall slack. It only spurred him on. Hips snapped, fingers rubbing quick circles at your clit, until you were whining and shaking under him, until he was satisfied with the blissful look on your face and he let himself go.

He spilled into you, rutting his hips in a few final, lazy thrusts as he sank into the crook of your neck, panting. Dizzy and content, riding a high that extended beyond his body, Bucky hummed into your collarbone as he felt your nails draw patterns along his back in gentle sweeps. It tingled on his skin, send shivers along his spine, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You paused, just for a moment, before you resumed tracing the lines on his back, over muscles and scars alike. “Yes, Bucky?”

He could hear the teasing in your voice, the light-hearted laugh, the warmth that made him fall in love with you and his heart clenched. He wrapped his arms under your shoulders, the full weight of his body still pressing you down to the mattress, still buried inside of you.

“Promise me this is real.” An embarrassment crept up as he said it, though the drawing on his back didn’t skip a beat. “You and me. I’m not dreaming or stuck in my head. This is real, right?”

Your hands slid up along his shoulders to his neck, and then to the sides of his face as you guided him off your chest to meet your eye; more beautiful than he’d ever seen you, with a glimmer of sweat and an afterglow radiating in the smile lifting your cheeks.

“This is real, honey,” you told him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Bucky grinned, cheeks flushed in heat. He settled back against your chest, resting his cheek to your heart as you resumed drawing the lazy patterns on his back.

Perfectly content.

Warm. Safe.

Home.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut

8K notes · View notes

writtenjewels · 3 years

Text

Matchmaker

Questions, More Questions

The moment Zain opened the door he was practically attacked in a hug by his father. He let out a soft “oof” and hugged back. When they pulled apart Baba gave him a stern look.

[I was calling everywhere for you. Where have you been?] His eyes slid from his son's face to the man standing just behind. Baba's eyes widened, roaming the figure before him in a mixture of disbelief and longing. “Jason,” he breathed out.

“Hey,” the American greeted with a little quirk of his mouth. Zain carefully inched out of their way. “Your boy came all the way to Camp Slayer lookin' for me,” Jason explained. “He said you weren't doin' okay.”

[You went to the American military base?] Baba demanded of Zain. [You could have been hurt!] To Jason, he said, “Thank you for bringing him home.”

“ 'Course.” Zain inched a bit more toward the open door and into the house. Maybe if he gave them privacy... “Honestly, I'm kinda grateful for the excuse to see you,” Jason admitted. “Been thinkin' about you, wonderin' if you made it home.”

“I had my 'sword',” Baba assured him.

“But not your 'shield'.” Jason took a step closer. “I shoulda made sure you got back here. Salim, are you okay?” There was a moment of silence between the men. Zain couldn't see either of their faces from his angle so he moved to a different window. They had moved a little closer, both men wearing expressions of tenderness. Why? Why did you ever separate?

“I think I worried Zain when I told him about the vampires,” Baba confessed. “But I didn't want to lie about what happened.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you all right, Jason?”

“Some fuckers in hazmat suits showed up and started grillin' us about when on down there.” A dark shadow passed across the American's face. “Assholes had the nerve to bring you up. I almost decked them.”

“Oh?” Baba's face softened to one of fond amusement. “What were they saying?”

“Shit about me workin' with an 'enemy soldier'. As if that was more fuckin' important than the goddamn vampires.”

“Hm. I regret not being there. I would have liked hearing you defend my honor.” Zain smiled to himself. It was so good hearing Baba's playful side come out.

“Jason!” he called out. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” The two men turned to stare at him, then back at each other.

“Your boy's somethin' else,” Jason remarked. “Wonder where he gets it from?”

“Funny.”

“I'm fuckin' hilarious.” Jason's smile faded just a little. “So? You want me to stay for dinner?”

“Yes.” Zain watched as Baba's hand moved across the small distance and touched Jason's arm. “Please join us for dinner, Jason.”

Zain resisted the urge to clap. He finally let the men have true privacy.

#zain othman #salim othman #jason kolchek #jason/salim #house of ashes #jalim

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chrisevansjellybeans · 3 years

Text

TikTok Challenge (2)

A/N: Been getting a lot of love on the first part of this and that means the world so thank you guys so much! Here’s part 2 and I hope you enjoy :)

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: swearing(??), indication of smut

Word Count: 1546

(1)

You shouldn’t have been surprised that your TikTok with Chris would blow up. You weren’t dumb and you had been on TikTok enough to know that there was whole pages just dedicated to your incredible silly and loveable boyfriend. Hell, you followed most of them and quite frankly chatted with some of the creators because they loved your boyfriend as much as you did.

And yet here you were, stunned, as you stared at your video as it played the iconic scene over and over again and tucked nicely on the side was the number 2.3 million. Over 2 million people liked yours and Chris’s video, and it had only been up for about a week. And the comments were so kind and funny. People demanding that you continue doing small pranks on him or requesting other couple challenges. Your face lit up when you saw Chris Olson commented, since you had tagged him you hoped it would reach him but you weren’t sure.

“Holy shit.” You mumbled to yourself as you also stared at your follower count. When you had first downloaded your TikTok you had maybe 25 followers, just close friends and family. You had made a couple just silly videos with Dodge and that had made you get a couple hundred more when people started to recognize you, but now you were at 150k.

Quickly you started thinking of a different video that you could do. Immediately the video of girls going up to their boyfriends like they were about to initiate sex but then stand up and jump on them came to mind.

Perfect.

Now you just had to find a way to set up the camera while Chris was in the bedroom. You got up from the couch and made your way to the bedroom, luckily he was still showering after his workout. You glanced around the room and tried to pinpoint the perfect spot for your phone later.

The dresser on the side wall had some candles on it that would be the perfect prop and it was just out of the way enough that he wouldn’t really notice if your phone was over there. As you fiddled with your phone you heard the shower turn off and Chris’s voice, humming to whatever song he was playing, was getting closer. Quickly, you grabbed your phone and hopped on the bed trying to act like you were just relaxing.

“Hey babygirl,” Chris smiled at you as he walked out of the bathroom, running a towel through his hair as another was loosely wrapped around his waist. He made his way over to you instead of his closet and leaned down and gave you a kiss. “What ya doing?”

“Just going through Instagram. Thinking about my hot boyfriend all wet and sudsy in the shower. You know, the usual.” You grinned up at him. He raised his eyebrow slightly as he leaned more on you.

“Oh really?” He pressed his lips against that spot on your neck that had you melting in his hands. “And why didn’t you join me? I had something I needed you to take care of in there.” The vibration of his voice against your skin was felt as it made your nipples stand at attention and your core ache.

“Hmm.” You moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair, having him move up so that you could give him a proper kiss. “I’m here now.”

“That you are, babygirl.” Chris said against your lips as he let the towel around his waist fall down and pulled you closer to him. “Let me show you what you missed.”

You stood outside, waiting for Dodger to finish going to the bathroom before bedtime. As soon as he finished, you finished turning off all the lights around the house and blowing out any candles that Chris might have missed on his way to bed.

“Come on, Dodge. Let’s go find daddy.” Dodger followed dutifully behind you, his favorite stuffed Lion secured between his teeth.

Chris looked like every girl’s wet dream when you walked into the bedroom. He was leaning up against the bed frame with a book in front of him, bare chested and only in a pair of plaid pajamas pants. The icing on the cake though was his new reading glasses he just got. It seemed impossible but he somehow got even sexier with those on.

You quickly changed out of your clothes and put on your favorite of Chris’s t-shirts to sleep in and since you were about to film a video, put on some pajama shorts as well. You walked over to the dresser with the notion to take off your jewelry, but as you did that you also set up your phone on the spot that you had decided on before.

When the timer went off you walked over to Chris, once again trying hard not to break character as you tried to seem as seductive as possible. He looked over the top of his book as you moved onto him, straddling his waist. Immediately he set down his book and glasses on the nightstand and his hands found their way to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re ready for, what would this be, round 4?” You felt yourself blush all over knowing that Chris’s words would be heard on the internet. You didn’t say anything as you lightly kissed right under his jaw. Chris groaned and his head fell back as he gripped your ass tighter. But his face of pleasure soon turned to confusion as you stood up.

“Worldstar baby!” You laughed as you tapped your elbow and jumped. But of course your “I do my own stunts” boyfriend had reflexes like a goddamn cat and before you could fully land on him he caught you.

“Are you on crack?” Chris laughed as he tickled your sides as you fell to the side of him. You giggled as he continued to tickle you.

“It’s for-” you could barely finish seeing as you couldn’t breathe from laughing. You pointed to your phone on the dresser. “Tiktok babe.”

Chris groaned as he stopped his ticklish assault on you and pushed his face into the crook of your neck.

“Babe!” He groaned as he rolled over and sat up, looking directly in the camera like a scene out of the office. You sat up behind him and wrapped your arms around his neck as you smiled into the camera as well.

“Smile for the fans, honey.” You joked.

“Wait, so does that mean no sex tonight?”

“Christopher!” You glanced at the camera which had once again ended at the perfect time.

“Ha. Now you won’t post it.” Chris chuckled.

“Babe, if you don’t think that every girl, gay and they on that app won’t get excited at the sound of you saying that; you truly don’t know your own fans.” You kissed his cheek and bounced over to your phone watching the video. You bit your lip as you watched, slightly concerned that it might be a little too scandalous in the video. You knew that there were worse things on that app but you knew that you had to be more careful for Chris’s sake.

“Chris, come watch this.” You turned to him. “I don’t want to post it if you think that Caroline will kill me.” Caroline, his publicist, worked hard to make sure that Chris maintained his image as the wonderful human being that he was. He obviously didn’t make it hard to do but you didn’t want to cause any issues.

Chris sighed as you sat next to him, leaned your head against his chest and let the video replay.

“If it’s too sex tape-ish in the beginning I wont post it. Just having it for myself is enough.” You said as Chris watched the video closely. You bit your lip as the part where you’re on top of him played.

“But you want to post it?” Chris asked when the video finished. He turned to look at you fully, placing his hands on the tops of your thighs.

“I mean of course, it’s funny and I think people would like it. Our other video has already gone viral. But I’m not going to do anything that you are uncomfortable with. I know you like your privacy.”

“I think it’s fine to post. I mean there’s not much worse that can happen since the other incident.” You rubbed his hand that was resting on your leg. “If Caroline has a problem with it she can talk to me, but I say it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” You asked once more before you posted it. “This might be the video that shoots us into TikTok fame. Forget Captain America, this will be your biggest gig yet.” You joked.

“I can not stand you.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Now let’s please either have the sex that I thought I was getting or go to bed.” He laid down and raised his eyebrows seductively. He lightly tapped the spot next to him and then made circular motions with his hands.

“You’re a dork.” You laughed as you set your phone down and decided to reward your boyfriend for being so cooperative.

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x reader imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

#Superman and The Authority #Superman #The Authority #Manchester Black #Grant Morrison #Mikel Janin #Jordie Bellaire #Steve Wands #Opinion

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hartigays · 3 years

Note

rafe taking barry to a fancy kook party👀

“but you’re still coming, right?”

rafe is pacing back and forth in his room, gnawing on his lip with his phone pressed to his ear.

“sho’ thang, country club,” barry says from the other end, and rafe can immediately tell that he’s fucking blasted already.

it’s four in the afternoon.

but that’s fine, great even. the less barry tries, the better. that’s the whole point, after all. to make everyone but himself as uncomfortable as humanly possible at tonight’s fundraiser or gala or whatever shit his family is hosting.

rafe can never be bothered to remember.

barry maybe possibly perhaps could be a minor casualty in this little endeavor, when it comes to ward at least. it’s not enough to deter rafe - he’ll just. make it up to barry later, or whatever, if it’s a problem. that’s what normal people do, right? just do whatever the fuck you want then ask for forgiveness later. or something like that.

rafe can’t be bothered to remember timeless sayings or what the fuck ever, either.

“wear something- ” rafe pauses, effectively cutting himself off. he was about to tell barry to wear something nice out of habit (the words were even thought in ward’s voice. rafe can feel a vein start to pulse in his forehead). “wear whatever you want. and be late. bring the bike.”

barry is quiet for a moment, and rafe doesn’t know why, but he feels like barry is doing that small half-smile dimple thing that makes rafe feel all wobbly inside.

probably because, as rafe remembers with sudden clarity, barry lives for drama just as much as rafe. it’s kind of why they’re fooling around behind everyone’s backs in the first place.

sure, barry is nice to look at and decent in bed and blah blah blah, but the best part about their relationship is the knowledge of how much it’d cripple people if they knew about it. people like ward cameron, for example.

rafe thinks barry is just as interested as him in seeing ward’s head burst like a grape after seeing them together for the first time. although rafe is pretty sure that’s more because barry just wants their relationship to be public, and he doesn’t really give a shit one way or another how it happens.

ward’s head turning purple from stress is just, like, the cherry on top of the whole shit cake.

“heard,” is all barry says in response to rafe’s requests (or demands, depending on how you look at it) before hanging up.

rafe exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. he turns towards his mirror, smoothing a hand over the shirt that he’d stolen from barry’s closet earlier this morning.

he’d wanted to stay at barry’s all day and convince him that they should go to the fundraiser together instead of just meeting each other there, but rafe never even got a chance to suggest it, only getting so far as asking barry if he could go at all. because barry had to work, the busy fuck.

when he’s not working, he’s dealing nonstop. when he’s not dealing, he’s busy making rafe’s life miserable by filling him with all sorts of stupid mushy feelings that have him missing barry when he’s gone. it’s disgusting, and he despises the fact that he loves it so much.

but he’ll make an exception, because it’s barry. always because it’s barry.

that doesn’t mean that rafe has to fill barry in on all of his plans, necessarily. he can just invite him places and vaguely allude to the real reason for the invite without actually saying it and barry can either go along with it or not.

at least in this situation, barry is seemingly okay with being conned into going to a cameron family event for more reasons than just being rafe’s - well, they hadn’t exactly settled on barry being his date.

rafe had simply asked barry to go and barry had simply said yes.

after barry left for work, rafe had raided his wardrobe, and he’s been wearing the ratty t-shirt ever since. it smells like barry, and rafe wants to smother himself in it.

he also wants to show up tonight in it, just to make things that much worse for ward.

so, rafe does.

sarah’s eyes bug out of her head when she sees him. she opens her mouth when he breezes past her, but he doesn’t stop to listen to whatever she has to say.

rafe can deal with whatever sarah throws at him later. right now, he’s setting a plan in motion and can’t afford to be distracted.

by the time the party is in full swing, rafe has yet to make it into ward’s line of sight, and barry is late. which was the plan, but barry’s almost too late.

the speeches have long since passed, and everyone is either dancing or mingling at this point. his chance to crash the party on-stage, an idea he’d been toying with, comes and goes as the hours pass.

rafe had kind of been hoping he could make a scene.

in the end, he sort of gets his wish.

barry comes strolling in when the party is starting to wind down. he reeks like he smoked a blunt on the way over - rafe can smell it wafting off of him as he storms over.

“are you fucking kidding me?” rafe snaps, ignoring the way barry is eyeing his shirt.

“that mine?” he asks, one brow arched.

rafe looks down at his shirt, then back up at barry, glaring. “yes? whatever. shut up. i had a plan. would it have literally fucking killed you to show up on time?”

“shit, baby boy. you said be late,” barry snorts, rolling his eyes. “ain’t i late?”

“you missed- ” rafe snaps again, an octave higher, before cutting his response short and pinching the bridge of his nose. “i didn’t say this late.”

“pretty sure i don’t remember hearin’ you specify, country club.”

which is fair, rafe was vague for a reason, and perhaps it backfired on him a little. but whatever, he’s mad at barry anyway and there’s not much he can do about that, except, well. be mad.

“i had a whole goddamn thing i was going to do,” rafe bitches. “and you missed it.”

barry glances around, eyeing the rather quiet crowd starting to notice their little display. for a moment, it looks like he wants to pull rafe outside for some privacy. but he must see something on rafe’s face, because his expression shifts, and then he’s grinning like a shark.

“ain’t i tell you to quit takin’ my shit?” barry asks, suddenly taking the argument in a new direction. “the fuck i give a shit about being late for when you taking all my damn clothes?”

rafe glances around at the crowd, noting sarah eyeing him from the corner of the room. and next to her, ward.

staring right at rafe, looking murderous. it’s entirely too good, and rafe could kiss barry.

but there’ll be time for that in - well. in like, the next minute, but rafe is determined to draw this out at least a little bit.

“maybe don’t ruin my clothes in the first place and i won’t have to steal yours,” rafe tosses back.

he’s pleased to see barry’s cheeks turn pink - just a little bit.

and then, “you want me to ruin some more? keep stealin’ my shit, that’s what’s gonna happen, princess.”

barry dangles the bait in front of rafe so nicely, he really can’t help but take it.

“i do, actually,” rafe says, then adds, thoughtfully, “wanna take this argument somewhere else?”

“shit, country club. i didn’t know you was such a romantic.”

rafe will certainly show him romantic, if that’s what he wants. only because rafe gets a whole hell of a lot more out of it, too.

he kisses barry right there in front of the whole crowd, with purpose. like it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.

based on the color of ward’s face, it just might be.

barry grabs the front of rafe’s shirt - or, well, barry’s shirt, technically - and hauls him in closer, kissing him deeper. barry always kisses him like it’s the first time - like he’s constantly discovering something he never knew existed, and now he can’t get enough of it.

rafe is utterly consumed by it. he feels like he’s burning from the inside out, like he’s being stripped bare in front of the universe itself, and he wants to drown himself in it.

“get me out of here and i’ll show you just how romantic i can be,” rafe breathes against barry’s lips, his fingers still knotted in his hair.

barry bumps their foreheads together before extracting himself from rafe’s embrace, barely sparing his surroundings a glance before dragging rafe right back through the front doors. rafe hears the heavy wood shut behind them.

he feels like he’s snorted the fattest line in history when he climbs onto the back of barry’s bike, hearing it roar to life. rafe pulls his helmet on and wraps his arms around barry’s middle, slipping his fingers under the hem of barry’s shirt.

just a touch to tide him over. just until they can get back to barry’s trailer.

it isn’t until they’re speeding out of the parking lot that ward storms outside, shouting something at them from the front steps. it’s completely inaudible, but rafe looks back in time to see the look on ward’s face. his expression alone speaks volumes.

rafe surprisingly finds that, in the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t really give a fuck either way.

#rafebarry #outer banks #i don’t like this but i also didn’t like any of the other versions either lmao #i don’t even know if it’s COHERENT but here it is #i feel like it’s way too fanon rafe for my tastes eugh but i just couldn’t get the vibes right idk #hopefully this is somewhat readable i’m sorry 😭#my fics #ask #anon

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ukaiknowsbest · 2 years

Note

What makes Tae more compatible with Gintoki than Tsukuyo, Takasugi, or Hijikata? I think Gintoki has way more in common with them considering he is a seasoned veteran with lots of mental health issues. I've never understood how Tae who is still immature and has never gone through the amount of trauma that he's been through could genuinely connect to Gintoki on an emotional level compared to those three.

So these are the “compelling reasons” you wanna bring up huh.

On Otae being immature.

Who’s not immature in Gintama? I’m throwing that back at you. She’s mature in some ways and immature in others. But so are everyone else: Matsudaira, Otose, The Joui, Shimura Ken, Shoyo are all immature one way or another. Maturity is a social construct.

Why is maturity demanded from Otae out of all people when Ya’ll are not demanding maturity from Sougo, Nobume and Kamui for some reason? They all belong to the same age group as Otae and are more popular.

You are all so weird.

Tae has never gone thru trauma as much as the other three.

Wow.

Getting orphaned at a young age, raising one’s brother by themselves since childhood, be abandoned by patrons /all relevant adults in their life, losing a first love, losing a best friend, losing a source of income, having to deal with relentless loansharks out to sell her to brothels.... isn’t traumatic enough.

Add relentless stalkers who violate her every right to privacy to that.

This isnt trauma olympics anon. Trauma is trauma no matter what form.

These asks are getting weirder istg. Are you stuck in 2016 tumblr or smth?

Gintoki more compatible with Hijikata, Tsukuyo, Takasugi coz they’re all seasoned veterans.

Anon. I don’t know if you realize how contradictory this ask is. You demand maturity from Otae as Gintoki’s life partner and yet you bring forth the following:

Hijikata “i blame a woman for all my male boss’s stupidity” Toshiro; Hijikata “if anyone commits one single minor mistake then they are ordered to kill themselves” Toshiro;

Takasugi “I will destroy the world that hurt you” Shinsuke;

Tsukuyo “Women are awesome, all men are shit except for that one guy who saved my town coz he was just doing his job” ;

I do not think you really want what’s best for Gintoki anon. You cannot think of Otae as a soul friend/partner who can give him a neutral and safe place to return to where he can just be himself, stretch his legs and grant wishes. Which is what she is already doing in the story anyway.

You want him to be mom’d. Yikes.

And before you tell me I’m reducing Otae to a “servile wife position” I’d like to remind you that Gintoki from the very start has been the one person who doesn’t worship an imaginary ideal Otae in his head and is who truly accepts her for what she is. Gintoki is the one she trusts with her brother, her life, her house, her dojo. He’s a safe haven for her too. (Well him and Madao actually but u cant ship her with madao cant ya?)

Hey idk if you are all the same anon. But this is disturbing. Im telling ya’ll. Please read my goddamn Otae notes. It’s all in there. Holy sht.

Last thing. GinTsu / TakaGin / HijiGin are all interesting dynamics okay? I get why people like them. They’re sexy and fun. Idgaf if u ship those. But I prefer GinTae more. Leave me alone and go your goddamn merry way with your fellow shippers. You dont have to keep coming at me for enjoying a ship that I like.

#gintae thoughts #fandom wank

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma.

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you.

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why? Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter.

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager! You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar - just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?”

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Text

Meet Me In The Hallway (4)

Pairing: Sky x reader

Summary: Sky takes Stella out for a date but it goes horribly wrong so he comes to your room afterwards wanting to prove he’s not ready to give you up despite Stella letting part of your secret slip but she hasn’t revealed the worst part yet keeping you in check.

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @grey-girl @intoanothermind @artsyle

Series Masterlist

“Is it true that you’re a changeling?” You take off running straight for Stella’s room. It has to be her but you just don’t get it because you’ve done everything she told you to do. She’s doing her outfit change when you get there.

“Why?” You don’t have to elaborate because she knows exactly what you mean. Why tell people you’re a changeling? You’ve tried to so hard to keep it a secret and within a week Stella has managed to ruin that for you.

“Because you needed a lesson. I told you to make him go on a date with me, not help him save Silva so that he’d fall even more in love with you.” She doesn’t even look at you but continues getting ready. It takes everything in you not rip her dress to shreds just for the sake of it.

“Is this what this is about? I helped save the one person that means more than anything to Sky?” you ask exasperated. How her mind works is being anything you’d ever understand but now that it’s out that you’re a changeling you can’t help but wonder if it’ll be so bad if they find out the rest.

“You should’ve told me. I could’ve gone with him.” You tell yourself that you’re not a violent person and that you won’t hit her, but she’s making it incredibly hard. That’s when it hits you that if the entire school knows then it’s only a matter of time before Sky finds out too. Will it change how he feels about you? Maybe he’ll shy away from you like the rest of them opting for pointing and whispering instead.

“You’re absolutely mental,” you say baffled by her calm demeanour. Has she completely lost it?

“No. I’m just willing to do what it takes to get what I want.”

“He’s not a clearance sale, he’s a human being. Maybe he should get to decide himself,” you argue not caring about the fact that she’s still keeping part of your secret at this point.

“I know what Sky needs. He’ll know soon enough himself,” she says finishing up with a little extra blush to touch up her makeup.

“I told people you were a changeling but I didn’t tell them who your parents turned out to be. There’s still the option to keep that between the two of us if you just stay in your lane.” One of these days, you’re going to smack that smile off her face but today you keep quiet. You’re not ready for everyone to know the truth. Especially not when you have no clue how Sky has taken this news. Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to tell him.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” you mutter going straight for your room. The few people you pass on your way make sure to stay well out of your way fear evident in their eyes. Right this instance, you don’t mind it all that much. It makes it easier to get to your room. You decide to hide out in your room for the day and eventually, you fall asleep despite having refused to go down to get some food. It’s the knock on the door at 2am that wakes you up. For a second, you think you must’ve dreamt it but then you hear it again.

“What are you doing here?” you ask seeing Sky standing outside in the hallway. He doesn’t say a word but instead grabs hold of you and kisses you. An audible gasp leaves your lips and while you know that you should stop him, you just don’t have the strength. The truth is that you want him so badly, you can hardly exist within the feeling. Being apart from him has only made that worse.

“I did what you asked. I went on a date with her and all I could think was that it should be you.” He kisses you again never letting you catch your breath. You’re standing half out in the hallway doing the one thing that would Stella drop the final bomb.

“Can I come in?” he asks and you have a momentarily brain bleed and nod. He closes the door behind him giving you the sense of privacy though the thought of Stella finding the two of you stays present in your mind.

“Did you hear the news?” you ask cautiously thinking there’s no way he hasn’t. The entire school knows you’re a changeling.

“I heard. Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes show no judgement, no fear of what you are and once again you can’t help but wonder if it would be so wrong if he knew the whole truth.

“I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to think worse of me,” you explain knowing your argument is weak but the shame is what keeps you from telling him about your parents. You’re not ready to face that truth yourself. All these years, you’ve done nothing but hide from the truth and the fear of becoming like them.

“You had no control over it. Is this why you ended things with me? Because I don’t care that you’re a changeling.” His eyes soften reaching out to touch you and you let him. Apparently, self-control is not something you have tonight.

“I ended things because I didn’t like you like that, Sky. I already told you.” You can’t even convince yourself that you’re telling the truth. He gently lets his fingers glide up your arm causing goose bumps where they touch you.

“If you don’t care for me, why do we keep finding each other?” he asks quietly and you don’t have an answer. Even with you trying to stay away from him, it seems like some invisible force keeps pulling you towards each other.

“It’s wrong, Sky. We don’t fit.” You pull away but he’s not ready to give you up just yet.

“It can’t be wrong when being with you feels so goddamn right.” And maybe you’re just tired of fighting yourself or maybe it’s because he’s looking better than ever in the soft glow from the moon but you crawl under the duvet patting on the empty space next to you. He strips down to his underwear making you feel slightly out of breath. His body is something you’ll never ever get tired of looking at. You haven’t forgotten about Stella and her threat but in the dark, everything seems so far away. All you can think about is Sky lying next to you wearing next to nothing. He wraps his arms around you but it’s not enough. You have a feeling you’ll never get enough of Sky.

“I want you,” you whisper feeling his body react instantly. You tell yourself that you’ll confront Stella tomorrow and demand she keeps your secret even if you get back together with Sky. Right now, you get lost in the moment just enjoying being back in Sky’s arms.

#sky x reader #sky blurb #sky imagine #sky gif #sky #winx sky #fate the winx saga #fate the winx club #fate winx club #winx saga #winx club #fate winx #fate

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

Text

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

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