why is writing the 500 word synopsis harder than writing the whole 90,000 word novel. i am Suffering

Well the comics did a good job squandering any sympathy and shiz for dicklander, and the show too. I only feel bad for his child self. His grown ass can get attacked by rabid kryptonian dogs for all I care.

i disagree.

and look, i ain't gonna tell you how to feel boo, i can't obviously. i can only spew out nonsense and hope i might reach you or someone else who comes along to read my long winded bullshit.

but while both renditions are pieces of shit, i feel so much for comics homie too if not more. he's even more whoobie than show homie but gets dismissed but i digress.

throughout the story, we're made to feel *suspicious* about the claims on homelander or that his story may have more than meets the eye. ennis presents it point blank. he doesn't tell the reader how to feel about homelander, or anything, or anyone. he makes it clear how billy feels, how other characters feel, but he also certainly makes it show that things aren't quite adding up about him and billy's claim. he presents the story and lets *you* the reader feel (which is what real *good* writing does)

BUT it's framed out in a way to make the reader realize he *wasn't* this big bad awful guy he was made out to be, a piece of shit sure, but and not the real monster they were after, that billy was fuckin' wrong (like his dumb ass always is), that his end and final point in the story was manipulated, coerced by outside force, and not truly justified as a result.

leik, this guy got his WHOLE LIFE fucking RUINED, his whole self image, gaslit into fucking oblivion to *believe* he was a bad guy until he *became* a bad guy, after literally never once getting a *choice* for anything, ever, at all, at any point in his whole gotdamn life.

this boi never had a chance... and even after ALL that. people STILL want to control or punish him when he lacks one major vital thing that would warrant him *actually* deserving that.

AGENCY. fucking agency, the answer is agency, homelander has none of it, never has, and still does not have it. (he pretends to but it's not quite the same, the lack of it is what makes him a ticking time bomb)

you seem like someone to really value your own agency so idk, i feel like you should get that??

BUT GOTDAMN LET THE BOI JUST FUCKING BREATHE AT LEAST ONCE PLEASE????

UGH

just try to imagine if every single choice in your life was made *for you* by *someone else*, and that's homelander. and it doesn't stop into adulthood, it just turns into a fucking fucked up conservatorship beside someone who wants to kill you, oh yeah, and stunted growth so you never get a chance to really grow up and feel like or be your own person either.

like i'm not kidding, he might as well be a child STILL in that regard and it is super fucked up how often people exploit and groom him that way. i don't care if he's fucking 16, 40, or in his 70s, the man *ain't* grown like he should be and *needs* the space to actually *grow* before we decide to fucking judge him, else we're no better than his abusers.

and when a kid commits a crime, it's the parents/guardians that are brought up on charges/trial. there is a *reason* for that.

homelander's very clear lack of sanity/mental capacity and vought being his 'guardian'/conservator?? (if he even is a real legal person...) would put him under this spectrum of bullshit, and baby i don't want to say it's ableist not to acknowledge this, but...

i mean if i'm being real, it kinda sorta is...?? wait... HOLD THE--- FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! OH MY FUCKING SATAN--it IS!! and I JUST GOT WHIPLASH FROM WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE BOYS FANDOM WHEN IT COMES TO HOMELANDER.

this motherfucker is *CRIMINALLY INSANE*, emphasis on that last fucking part, in every sense of the word *CLINICALLY*. and when that happens, even the fucking laws in the fucked ol' U.S. of A. DO NOT 'punish' a mofo by regular 'incarceration', they still order institutionalization but with a HOSPITAL for TREATMENT. (granted there are a whole mess of other problems in this country that still do not handle this properly jesus fucking christ--)

ABLEISM! it's fucking ableism that doesn't let fandom recognize this!! EVEN some of the people who claim to love him!!

except THEN make it WORSE on top of everything *because* of the stunted growth and vought AND limited personal agency and... fuck me... UGGGGGGHHHHHHH--

but THAT is homelander. and uh... yeah. yeah, you'd probably lose your gotdamn mind too, i don't think ANYONE could walk out sane, realistically speaking. pain is easy to say we'd walk out clean from, and then we all turn into pussies the *second* it's our turn to deal.

and the whole point of the twist is to rob you of any satisfaction of his death and make you angry at his circumstances rather than at him. again, ennis doesn't explicitly *tell* readers how to feel because it's more of a graphic novel but...

i personally think the show is aiming to recreate this effect because if they can pull it off (and manage to make an entire population feel like utter ableist shitheads for wanting him dead), then they'll be pulling off some kinda magical MAJOR amazing heist of the feels for the ages that will *hopefuly* be enough to push society in some better directions than its current state (man, we really could not have asked for a better time for this series... holy shit--)

as much as it pains me, *this* was why he was killed in the comics. not just for... ugh, sadness, realism... but because it was *part* of the lesson in exemplifying what was actually wrong.

man i am just way too fucking hyper analytical with this shit and also sometimes SO SLOW i--

('-' ) *looks to the left*

( '-') *looks to the right*

🔨 *breaks a hole into the fourth wall between Carol and the mun*

". . .

"Wait whaaaa--"

CRASH!!!!!

((oh what the fuck--

((DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO FIX THAT THING. IT'S NOT LIKE IT'S SOMETHING EASY, Y'KNOW. THAT SHIT TAKES TIME AND EFFORT--))

"Wait, haven't I heard that voice before?"

((son of a bitch.

((ahem. okay, uh

((hi! it's me again. how have you been in the past several years since we've talked.))

". . .

"Why are you a fox?"

((do you not like the fox form?

((i can be lilac if you'd rather--))

"WHAT THE--

"Okay, no. Please go back to the weird fox. Please do not shape shift in 'ta Lyli. That is just... so weird."

((figured you say that! fair enough

((this would kind of be the point where id probably ask you things but i kind of write for you so i already know like. all of the things.))

"What."

((you dont have the funny fourth wall breaking abilities so like, i guess now would be the time to ask me things instead?

((pretend like none of this is freaking you the fuck out right now and just ask me questions you dont have answers to. i can probably answer them, spoilers withholding.))

"Uhm."

Okay. Okay! Okay. This is fine.

This is so not fine.

It's just... a meeting with... god? If she remembers correctly? Or is this a goddess...? Would it be right 'ta say that???

She kind of hates this. She kind of really hates this.

That fox thing is just staring at her.

Smiling.

What the fuck, man.

...

Well, she can probably ask a big question right off the bat.

"How do you... work?"

((haha

((I Don't Know!

((like, realistically, im not even real--for you, anyway. this whole interaction will be completely forgotten about because of canonicity, unless explicitly brought up again by another anon or something. these kinds of talks arent supposed to happen in canon and there's no easy way to explain any of it if you dont have a vague understanding of the fourth wall.

((that's probably why pinkie has such an easy time with all this shit because she's kind of that wacky, kooky character who knows Too Much while still Not Knowing Enough to actually do anything about it. she and i talk on the regular, actually. she's fun when you get to know her.))

"What? Really?"

((probably! i can practically will it to be that way if i so wanted because of all my technical bullshit powers over everything. im like a god that didnt really want the job but continues with it anyway because it was actually way more fun than i ever thought itd be.

((plus wouldnt it just make sense if she did? that's what i usually what i go with. does it make sense? does it align with previous lore? then i go for it.

((as far as you know, i'm just another character in your universe that's some sort of deitietic figure that you hear vague nonsense about every so often from people you hardly know.

((but in reality im just a twenty something in my bedroom writing about a strange green cat. if we were to ever actually meet youd beat my ass pretty easily.))

"A-... Are we not meeting right now???"

((ah shit did i get too meta. ((how did old me have the restraint to not ramble on about things jesus christ.

((wait hold on, image limit.

((c'mon i can take us to another post to finish this off.))

"Wh--"

Got a question for you, I saw you had a theory that the Pope and the people in the Vatican are sacrificing people and kids there. I'm a Catholic myself, and well, that's a pretty scary thought. If it's true, what should I do? I couldn't abandon my Faith for God, I believe in Jesus and all he has done. I also have respect and care for the Saints and the Holy Family, such as the Virgin Mary. I've even by their intercession had prayers answered, and I'm active in my Parish community. And before you say it, no I am not worshipping Saints, it's more a call center idea rather than putting them on equal footing with God, I see it as more asking a friend or family member for prayers. I'm just kinda concerned, I don't know what to do. Plus if the Vatican is doing nasty stuff like that and summoning demons, how can the Faithful be doing anything beneficial, such a prayers, charity, helping others, etc.? I'm just kinda lost and confused. God Bless you and your family, by the way I hope your new fashion business is going well.

Yeah I often hear that from Catholics. That they're not "praying" at Mary, just asking for intercession, and you speaking of the Saints you're talking to like "friend or family" member, but....you realize you already have all of this in Jesus, right? so why looking for someone else? what do those saints or Mary that Jesus cannot. Why not talk directly to the decision maker instead of mortals?

You say you believe in Jesus and what He's done so then why don't you respect his words? Jesus said to let the dead bury the dead, so why do you pray dead people? Dead people can't do much for us, that's why Jesus said we should live for the livings. Jesus is the God of life, not death.

Jesus won over death, that's not the case of Mary or any Saints. They obviously are in heaven but they have not resurrected after 3 days. They are not sitting right next to the Father. They can't do anything more for us than the billions of people who died before them. Oh and this "but when we die in Christ we aren't dead but living forever in Christ so praying to the Saints isn't praying to the dead" doesn't make sense ; why aren't you praying to every single Christian/Catholic who died then? Why only a handful of cherry picked European Catholics from centuries ago are chosen to be patron saints?

It's crazy to me how Catholics don't realize how European-washed this 'patron saint' thing is. Like, you're telling me that of all Jesus believers around the world, only a handful of them who *coincidentally* are almost all from a Europe, would become patron saints...? That's why Christianity is so great imo : it transcends cultures. That's why there's no "Christian outfit" "Christian language". Catholicism is an Europeanization of Christianism that cannot translate in other cultures without exposing itself for what it is: a rehash of the message of Christ through the lens of European cultures.

I you follow me for a while, you'd know that I myself a former Catholic (I've been to catechism as a kid, got baptized as a Catholic) but I snapped out of it the moment I realized this whole praying for Mary/Saints thing is NOT in the Bible. Though at least Catholicism is consistent in that it doesn't abide to Sola Scriptura. But preaching things that directly go against what the Bible says (i.e not praying anyone beside God -so not Mary, Saints or dead people-) is where I draw the line. It's lowkey funny to see Catholics pull out their catechism literature (they have written themselves!!) to back up their non biblical beliefs when.... that's literally what Revelations 22:18 warned us against 💀 It's like someone justifying their headcanon with a fanfic they wrote themselves...

THAT BEING SAID, I make a huge difference between Catholics and the Pope. Yes, I'm convinced that the Pope summons demons and that there are black masses in the Vatican undergrounds with child sacrifice and orgies, but that's not remotely relevant to regular Catholics. The way non believers constantly attack Catholics over what the Pope or abusive clergy does is retarded, especially when they are the ones who freak out when we use individual action to diss entire populations (whether it's race, sexual orientation, countries, etc.), but somehow when it's Catholics or Christians that's a totally ok thing to do... Go figure.

Theology aside, I really appreciate Catholics. I've always said that when it came to works, they were more faithful to what the Bible commands (helping the poor, the sick, etc) than protestants who usually freak out at the idea of giving out money to the needy.. They're also less politically driven though it's interesting how in my country, Catholic embrace leftist ideals (charity, helping the poor, social work), unlike (US) Protestantism which is more right oriented.

Just by reading your ask you seem to be a lovely person anon, and as all the Catholic who follow my blog, I just want you to know I don't consider you as an enemy just because you're Catholic. If you are lost and confused about your faith, I really recommend you to seek Jesus (not Mary, Peter, or whomever else 😭). Honestly I can Imagine him being also confused about you not going directly to him when he's just eager to meet you close and personal.

(Just wanna say right off the bat, this isn’t meant to be a “gotcha” of any sort, this is something I’ve been genuinely worried about for a while) if Calvinism is the correct interpretation of the Bible, how do I know if I’m elect or not? I’ve fallen away from the faith a couple times, and though now I want to follow Jesus, I’m worried that the fact I decided to leave multiple times is a sign that God hasn’t chosen me. It really freaks me out. Do you think it’s still possible for me?

Oh wow. The first time I open my mouth on Tumblr about being a Calvinist, I get a toughie like this! ^^' Thanks for asking, and I'll do my best to be coherent and to the point. (Dear God, please give me the right words to say. Amen.)

Let me start off by saying that you shouldn't just take my word for it about anything I'm going to say. Measure everything against Scripture first and foremost, and if there's someone you trust with more theological expertise in your life, definitely run it past them as well. Also, let me just add that while Calvinism is the system of theology that makes the most sense to me, I'm sure it's not right about everything, because it's the result of finite human beings trying to make sense of the divine. I'll honestly be surprised if I get to heaven and find out that every denomination isn't wrong about something.

(Also, please excuse me if I end up overexplaining things; I don't know how familiar you might be with any of this.)

Now, if I understand things correctly (and can remember my doctrine classes from my college days -_-), Calvinism is actually not all that different when it comes to assurance of salvation than any other branch of Protestant Christianity. One of the defining doctrines of Calvinism is the perseverance of the saints, which in Calvinism refers to the teaching that if you have true faith in Jesus Christ, you can't lose your salvation. If God has elected you, then even if you reject the faith and walk away, your path will always lead back to Him in the end. One of the clearest verses I can think of that points to this is Philippians 1:6:

"And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ."

But it's worth noting that, even if you believe this, that still doesn't answer the question "Am I elect or not?" (Which is really asking, "Am I truly saved or not?" because the elect are the ones God predestined for salvation.)

It's a vitally important question, and I can definitely understand why that would be weighing on your heart, if you've fallen away from time to time. I think it's a question we all have to face at one point or another, whether you're a Calvinist who worries "maybe I'm not elect, which was why I fell away," or an Arminian who worries "I was saved before, but then I lost my salvation."

There are certainly indicators of whether your faith is real or not, just as you can often get a sense of whether someone else probably has genuine faith or not. "A tree is known by its fruit," after all. Things like whether your life is different now than it was before you turned to God, or whether you feel convicted by your sin, are good indicators. (And, you know...being worried that you might not be elect or saved can also be a pretty good sign that you don't actually have anything to worry about. If you didn't belong to God, why would you care?)

But at the end of the day, assurance of something is ultimately a feeling, not a scientific fact. I can't look at someone's DNA and see if they're elect or not - and that goes for myself too. Like so many other theological things, it's a matter of faith and trust.

Having assurance of your salvation is a bit like having assurance that someone loves you. Think of someone in your life who you know loves you - a parent, a best friend, a significant other, whatever - and ask yourself how you know that. There's probably evidence of it: They tell you they love you, you can see how they care for you with their actions, etc. But at the end of the day...do you really know what's going on in their head or their heart? No, you have to trust that they mean what they say.

And I do believe that God has something to say on the matter, such as what Jesus says in John 6:37, 40:

"All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out. ... For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day."

There's no caveat in there about "unless they fall away for a time, then I don't want anything to do with them." And I don't think you'll find that anywhere else in scripture either.

On the contrary, Romans 8 says:

"He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? ... Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? ... No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Did you hear that? Nothing in creation can keep you from God's love. Not even you.

If you're worried about your standing before God, I would encourage you to go ahead and ask Him about it directly. Christianity is first and foremost a relationship, and God always wants to talk with us. It might require time and patience before you get an answer, and it might be a question you have to keep asking Him again and again, but there's no better place to go for assurance about something like this than straight to the source. I think He would love to reassure you that you belong to Him.

Like the father in Mark 9: "I believe! Help my unbelief!"

And you know, don't think that Calvinists are immune to doubts about whether we're elect or not either. I grew up in a Christian home where my siblings and I were raised in a Reformed understanding of the Bible from day one, and all of us have wrestled with doubts about our salvation from time to time. Only by the grace of God and the work of the Holy Spirit can I rest in the assurance that I am His.

I pray that He'll work in your heart to give you that assurance as well.

"However weak you are, know that you are a Christian, whether you believe perfectly or imperfectly, even while weakness and a feeling of death and sin remain with you. To such a person we must say, Brother, your situation is not desperate, but pray…for the perfection of your faith." - Martin Luther

delicate; b.barnes

chapter one - “to wakanda”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader works for what used to be shield as a highly skilled neuropsychologist. after the events in vienna involving the sokovia accords and a bombing, she gets an interesting request from friend and coworker sharon carter...a request involving none other than steve rogers and james barnes.

warnings: brief and indirect mentions of abuse/trauma

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

"I don't know Sharon. Are you sure I'm really the right person for this? I'm not, like, an Avengers level tech. Are you sure they don't want a genius or someone like Stark to do it?"

"Well, Stark is pretty busy right now, and honestly, no one knows psych like you. Not who I've met anyway."

"That is so not true. I'm willing to bet there's tons of other people you guys got somewhere who are ten times what I am."

"Agent (Y/L/N), in case you missed it, SHIELD isn't what it used to be. Sure we have old agents who aren't formally 'SHIELD agents,' anymore, but we don't have the expendability we used to. You're our best bet at the moment."

"Damn. I'm your best bet. I'm sorry," she almost chuckled, but then she thought for a brief moment. "Are you sure this is completely necessary? I mean, I saw the photo on the news. The quality's poor at best, and..."

She leaned in, discretely, and whispered.

"...not to seem like a conspiracy theorist commie or anything, but it kinda seems like people are jumping to conclusions here. Are we even sure it was Barnes who set off the bomb?"

Sharon looked around them, cautiously. No one seemed to be listening, but she scanned the room like her life as she knew it was hanging in the balance. She weighed her words in her head, making sure she picked the right ones, then formulated a response appropriate.

"Regardless of if it was him or not, Barnes still escaped. and before that, Ste-we'd been looking for him for almost two years. This analysis is necessary," Sharon brought her voice down even lower. "At least that's what I keep being told. Of course I'd like there to be more solid proof, but I'm not in charge here. He's gone, and they want to be able to find him and 'sort things out.'"

"'Sort things out,'" (Y/N) repeated, questioning the genuineness of whomever told Sharon that. "Unless they have hard evidence that it was him who set off the bomb in Vienna, shouldn't they leave that to uh...Captain America?"

She wondered how Barnes was able to escape in the first place. She saw the containment module he was in; there's no way he could've gotten out without a fight. ...But maybe it wasn't a fight. Perhaps it was a trigger word induced rage. (Y/N) understood a basic layout of the "Winter Soldier." SHIELD would've kept any information they had classified. However, after the fiasco in Washington, d.c. with Hydra and the whole releasing of all files predicament, she was able, with Sharon's help, to put together a simple outline. With that being said, he couldn't have broken out without going Winter Soldier mode. But doesn't someone need the trigger words for that?

“That's what a reasonable person would think, but once again, I'm not in charge," Sharon shrugged. "Things would probably be going a lot smoother if I was, but you can't have everything."

(Y/N) cracked a smile. Sharon was a friend, and a good one too. They'd known each other since before SHIELD was shattered in 2014. In fact, Sharon helped train her.

The only thing was: Sharon was a higher ranking agent and often withheld certain information from (Y/N). It frustrated her. This was where their personal boundaries got in the way of their professional ones.

She could tell there was something Sharon wasn't telling her, but she wasn't about to compromise either of their positions by pushing for information she wasn't supposed to know. Hell, maybe even Sharon knows something she isn't supposed to. Or maybe she knows something that Everett Ross wouldn't like. What if she was keeping something from him? Defying him? What if she was working with Steve Rogers? Now that would be interesting.

(Y/N) was used to secrets around her all the time. She knew Sharon had her fair share, and trying to figure them out wouldn't really get her anywhere.

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll get on this then. Thanks, Agent Carter," she teased in late response to Sharon's 'Agent (Y/N).’

Sharon offered a quick smile before walking off to attend to other business.

- - -

Pain. That was all it was. In every sense of the word. As she strenously made her way through the densely packed file of one James Buchanan Barnes, pain was all she could see. All she could read. It leaked out of the page and seeped into her skin like poison.

It was horrific what they did to him. She knew he had his memory wiped, had someone pull him out and stick someone else in. But it was more than just that. They took his past, his memories, his thoughts; and they ripped them from his mind, leaving an empty space to mold into their own. It was after this when Hydra, in every way they could, dehumanized him, made him less than. He was striped of his freedom, his control, his choice, his humanity, of everything that made him him. They beat and bruised and broke it out this empty human shell until he was nothing but a shadow of faded morality and consciousness.

But hell, she couldn't look away. She was glued to the aftershock of this horrible wreckage. All the years of studying Psychology and Neuroscience couldn't have possibly prepared her for the absolute horror that was his past, his abuse, his torture. It was heinous. Frankly, she questioned how he was still alive. How he still had the will and the drive to be alive. How do you live after that?

"Fuck," she breathed after eons of silence.

She seemed to lose her sense of time whilst she was immersed in the harrowing nightmare of Hydra's cruelty. 'Cruelty' doesn't even come close to doing it justice. When she came to, her desk looked like a bomb went off. Papers were bursting out of manilla folders, littering the linoleum surface with classified files and secret information. She leaned back in her chair, and gave herself a minute to debrief.

(Y/N) almost felt guilty, like she things she looked at were so vile, so violating that she didn't have the right to see them. Sure, she had read and analyzed all sorts of trauma and psychological profiles. But he was different. Something about James Barnes was different. It tangled her mind the fact that a person could endure all that. She could only imagine the effect that would have on the human brain. The possibilities are endless. Suddenly bombing the UN didn't seem so far fetched.

- - -

"Jesus Christ," (Y/N) murmured, staring at her office floor as Sharon finished explaining to her what happened at the Leipzig Halle Airport.

She sat mostly in silence as she pondered over the information just fed to her. Apparently Tony Stark gathered a 'team' to try and intercept Captain America - sorry - Steve Rogers and his (supposed) fugitive friend. It was chaos.

"What is this? Fuckin' Avengers Fight Night?" she wondered aloud. "How many people did you say were there?"

"Twelve total," Sharon clarified. "Five with Stark and five with Steve."

The psychologist shook her head, dumbfounded. "How did it end?"

"Steve and Barnes got out, but everyone else with them were captured and sent to the Raft."

"The Raft?!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "That's for, like, super humans! Not people like Sam Wilson or Clint Barton!"

"You're telling me."

Sharon seemed in agreement with everything she was saying. However, there was something she couldn't quite place. Like she was holding back. But holding back what?

"So what of Rogers and Barnes?" (Y/N) pushed.

Sharon got up and closed the office door before returning to her seat, leaning in, and lowering her voice. This secretive woman, god damn it.

"Well... That's what I came to talk to you about."

Oh boy. She didn't have a semblance of a single idea of what to expect. Apparently Sharon noticed.

"We're the only ones that know this. They're fine..." the agent trailed off, "They're in Wakanda, but they need a little help."

"Are you leaving?!" (Y/N) all but yelled before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth and uncovering it only to whisper, "Do you and Rogers have a thing or something? Cause' I don't know how else you would know all of this when I'm sure that no one else does considering he's now an enemy of several governments!"

"My relations with Steve Rogers are not the focus here." She could've sworn Sharon flushed. "But we have been in contact; I'm one of the few people he can trust right now, and I don't plan on letting him down anytime soon."

They totally have a thing.

"Noted," said (Y/N) with a nod, "but why are you telling me this? Does he want the profile analysis or something? I don't see how he would need it if he's known Barnes for however long."

"Not exactly..." Sharon fidgeted with her hands. "We need you to go to Wakanda.”

-

[A/N:] this is a repost of chapter 1 because my masterlist is being fucky

Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually  --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training. 

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger. 

 Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. 

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk. 

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth. 

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself. 

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek. 

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it. 

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate. 

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees. 

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much. 

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw. 

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing. 

Tyrants | Chapter One - Disclosure

A/N: This was supposed to be a Jax x Fem!OC fanfic, but it took a little turn as I started to write more of it. So, it’ll be Tig x Fem!OC, but Jax does play a very important role in this.

SUMMARY: A sick turn of events sees Isla Telford thrown in at the deep end, battling to govern the sudden pressures of all that her father's club decidedly bestow upon her.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of murder, the guy that got his ass shit is in this one. Jax and Tig get their own warnings, too, for obvious reasons.

The older I get, the more I realize that age doesn't bring wisdom. It only brings weary.

John Teller was always so astute.

His judicious character befell his son, too. Jax had that same perceptive nature as his old man--everyone would comment on that.

To Isla, it was admirable. For Jackson Teller to be a man of such stature--to hold such a reputation--and to remain somewhat level-headed through it all, was only something she could commend.

She'd seen many of her father's friends crumble under the pressure of Samcro, unable to balance the weight of living with the responsibility and commitment to the club, and meet their unfortunate demise--in some not-so extreme cases.

But Jax was different. He'd always been different.

Maybe that wasn't so great, however.

"You're fucking insane, Isla."

"Not insane." She mumbled, sifting through the box of shitty medical supplies that Gemma had left atop the pool table last night.

"Just trying to patch this shit up so Hayes doesn't kick the fucking bucket before Jax gets back here."

Tig snarled. "But it might be infected, and the bullet is still in this dude's ass--"

Isla whipped her head to glare at the man, her eyes wide, forehead slick with sweat--and a little blood, too.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Isla--"

"Tig, with all due respect, unless you're gonna help, please get the fuck outta here."

"That's not gonna suffice," he pointed out, referring to the medical tape, ignoring her scolding.

She wanted to throttle him. Truly, Isla was willing to wrap her crimson-coated fingertips around Tig's neck and squeeze the absolute life out of that man.

"I know." Her lips kneaded together in frustration, watching her father dab an alcohol-infused pad on the wound. "But unless you've got any better ideas, then we're just gonna have to keep reapplying this shit."

"But the infection, Isla."

"But the lack of medical equipment, Tig."

He slapped his palm against the table and glared at her, pointedly. "Why've you gotta be such a bitch all the time, huh?"

"Watch it, Trager." Piqued, Chibs growled.

"I'm not a bitch all the time," she dismissed her father, wiping at her palm with a wet rag. "I'm actually able to control the way I act around other people."

"Oh, fuck you--"

"Christ!"

The Scot's yell was muffled by the cap of his whiskey bottle, his hand pressing against Cameron's skin as the man screamed into the cloth Isla had placed underneath his head.

"God, for fucks sake, both of you just pack it in."

"Chibs--"

"Shut the fuck up. You're a fucking geriatric and you're spending your morning bickering with an almost thirty-year-old. Grow up, Tig."

Despite laughing at his comment, and enjoying the irritation wash over the other man's face, she felt bad.

For riling her father up--who was simply trying to help the innocent Irishman caught in the literal crossfire--she felt fucking awful. Especially because he never seemed to get mad at her all too often.

Tig, though...That was a different story entirely.

"I'm gonna go see if Clay has any more shit lying 'round here." She declared, throwing a damp towel onto the table, backing out of the room.

Her heart was in her throat, stomach in damn knots. Isla wasn't confident that Cameron was going to make it--not with such a deep wound.

And in his ass, too? Jesus. She wasn't confident at all.

Of course, she'd seen men get shot. Her own father, for one. But she hadn't seen somebody have to go so long without actual medical attention.

Chibs was ex-army med, but there was only so much a man could've done with a bottle of liquor, gauze, and a towel.

She was relieved that the bullet hit Cameron and not Clay, though. As sick as it sounded, she was so fucking glad that he'd managed to dodge the line of fire--initially intended for his own skull--and come out completely unscathed.

But for every ounce of relief she'd felt, an even more fervid sense of anger prevailed at the thought of Jax taking so damn long with those medical supplies he'd sought to get last night.

Gemma mentioned something about heading to the hospital--or a friend's house, or something--but Isla wasn't paying any mind to the woman as she, and Chibs, were trying all ways to stop the bleeding coming from Cameron's ass cheek.

It was the most bizarre turn of events she'd ever experienced.

One minute, Isla was sipping on a glass of wine while she eagerly awaited the spirited ping of her tiny microwave oven, ready to spend a rare--though well fucking deserved--night alone.

However, things took a drastic turn when she received a call from Tig--on behalf of a very busy Chibs--casually requesting her assistance because the Mayans had tried to assassinate Clay.

But Tig failed to mention that the man was completely fine.

She'd spent fifteen minutes on the way over mentally preparing herself, wondering what hell she'd walk into when she set foot into the clubhouse. But it was normal--strangely so.

Isla wasn't a professional, she didn't exactly know how to handle such a trauma, but she trusted her father and she just wanted to make sure he had a helping hand.

God knows that Tig wouldn't have been very much use, and Juice was a little nervous--though, he was doing incredibly well throughout the ordeal regardless of his internal apprehension.

"How's it looking?" Gemma threw at Isla, getting to her feet.

"Bloody."

She quickly scanned the room, taking in the uncomfortably sparse bar. It wasn't usually so empty, so quiet.

Clay, Gemma, and Juice. That was it. Not even Piney--not even Epps.

"Is he doing okay?"

It was still early in the day, though. She guessed that they'd pop in once they properly came around.

"He's better than he was last night." The brunette nodded. "Dad is certain the laceration is gonna get infected if we leave it any longer without trying to get the bullet out--"

"You've gotta wait 'til Jax gets back here, Isla, we can't risk Hayes dying on us."

"I know, Clay. He's just fucking tired--he's been up all night. We need a real medic on the scene before something bad happens. It's only a matter of time."

He mumbled something to himself that only Gemma seemed to catch, but Isla didn't particularly give a damn at that point. Like Chibs, she was exhausted.

The tattered and torn plaid shirt she had thrown over a random tank top--now smeared with another man's blood--was wrenched between her fingers as she pulled it off, folding it not-so-neatly.

She hadn't dealt with such a bloody wound in a while. Not since her mother's palm, decorated with shards of glass, was in dire need of stitches and her father was across the country, unable to offer his medical assistance.

"I'll grab one of Jax's shirts for you--"

"No, Gemma, it's okay," she smiled, taking a seat on one of the couches opposite her.

The older woman pinched her eyebrows together skeptically, watching Isla shift. "I insist."

"It's fine." Isla was adamant. "I'm gonna head home as soon as Jax gets back here--if he gets back here--so, really, it's fine."

A minimal amount of already dried blood was spread over her wrists and fingers, and the excess had been rubbed off on her crimson flannel, so she didn't particularly feel bad about making any mess.

Though, she shouldn't have felt bad. Not after she'd been coerced into helping and eventually receiving that shitty reception from Tig.

"Aren't you cold?" She questioned, waiting for Isla to capitulate, but she never did.

The thought of wearing one of Jax's shirts--after it being given to her by his fucking mother--didn't sit right with her for some reason. Plus, she didn't particularly feel like walking out of that building wearing the damn reaper on her back.

She didn't want to flaunt their patch. Not any more than she already had been for the last ten years.

"Where the fuck is he?"

Clay glared at the clock on the wall, realizing they'd been without the Vice President for hours. In an attempt to put him at ease, Gemma ran a hand along his shoulder.

Isla could only watch them--admire, perhaps.

"He told us he was gonna swing by Tara's place for the equipment. But that was last night, man." Juice shrugged, circling the lip of his beer bottle with his thumb.

She felt her throat thicken with a sick sense of trepidation. She hadn't heard that name in years.

"Tara?" She stuttered, feeling Gemma's piercing glare.

The woman hated Jax's first love, though she never said it aloud. Isla knew her perception of her, however, and she'd started to feel the exact same as the years went on.

Bitch.

"Yeah, y'know, Tara Knowles--"

Her heart sank--fuck that, it dove straight to the deep caverns of her chest, throbbing away into nothing. Until she felt completely void of all emotion. Completely fucking numb.

"I know her, Juice." Her response came hastily, snappy. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect you to say that."

He shrugged it off. "It's alright. I wasn't expecting her to be back in town, either. I thought you already knew."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Isla's head shook.

The crow situated at the bottom of her spine began to smolder, blistering away at her skin until she physically flinched.

It was a brilliant idea at the time, getting a matching tattoo with Jax's old lady--the one woman she truly adored and trusted, never once feeling an ounce of malice toward.

Because that was a rare thing for Isla, and she wanted their friendship--and relation to Samcro--to prevail for eternity, she supposed.

But as time went on and Tara decided to distance, and eventually alienate, herself from the club, an ample sense of regret persisted for fucking months.

Isla loathed her ink. She hated the negative connotation of the crow she once lauded, and the mere idea of that thing being slapped above her ass forever churned her stomach.

It wasn't one of her finest moments, she had to admit. But she was young and extremely fucking dumb. She'd bet top dollar that Tara felt the same--if she hadn't gotten the crow covered up already.

"Jesus, Jax, where were you?!"

Her eyes flicked upward, attention on the blonde as he sauntered across the wooden floor of the bar.

She hadn't even noticed his presence until Clay spoke, but she soon started to heed how Jax was trembling a bit with every step that he took.

It wasn't obvious. To most people, the slight shake of his wrist would've gone completely unnoticed. But to Isla--to the most observant woman in Charming--his discomfort was striking.

Jax ignored him, stomping his way toward the back room. His line of sight never satisfied Isla's. It didn't even come close to it, either.

Something had happened. It was obvious that, in the time he had been with Tara, he'd encountered something grizzly enough to chill him to the bone.

Which was saying something, what with the horrific shit that he'd already seen in his time.

"Jax!" Clay yelled, following closely behind him. "Hey, asshole, where the fuck did you put the bag--"

"I've got it."

If she had the option, Isla would've allowed the floor to swallow her fucking whole.

"Tara." Pissed, Gemma acknowledged. "You're here because?"

"I asked her to help, mom."

"But Chibs had it covered. He just needed some actual instruments--"

"Gemma, quit it."

She simply nodded at her son, not wanting to cause another problem that she'd have to fix later--which, honestly, Isla was shocked to see.

"He's in there--"

"I know." Jax cut her short, ushering Tara to the back of the clubhouse--striving to get her into the room before she heeded Isla.

But she did.

The first person she clocked--aside from Clay--was Isla Telford, the woman she had purposely alienated herself from ten fucking years ago.

It wasn't anything that she'd particularly done to Tara, more like the crowd she ran with--and the way her loyalties never seemed to lay very closely to her friends, or anything outside of the club.

Isla wasn't a part of Samcro--she didn't want to be a part of Samcro--but her coalition was strong enough to convince anybody that she was more than merely a daughter of a Sgt. at Arms.

She had been brought up around the Sons--her father's choice, of course--and when her mother passed, she had no choice but to dive a little bit deeper into that world. But, as expected, it was constantly under the watchful eye of her old man.

She was dedicated to them. They were, essentially, family, and she was an honorary member.

"Isla." Jax mumbled, nodding his head toward the entrance of the clubhouse as he closed the back-door. "Outside."

He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his leather vest, shaking the box as he strived to seem a little less suspicious to Clay and his mother.

The blonde wobbled to her feet--knees weak after hours of standing--while simultaneously pulling her bloodied flannel back onto svelte, freckled arms, recognizing that the chill was to hit her the second she stepped onto the gravel.

Jax was casual while he strutted ahead, taking long strides that Isla found fucking impossible to keep up with.

He pushed the door to close behind her, offering a cigarette that she hastily declined.

"What's she doing here?" Was how she decided to break the silence, her eyes searching for a hint of something written on his face.

But there was nothing. Not an ounce of emotion--scarily so.

"She's fixing Cameron up--"

"Not at the clubhouse, Jax. I meant back in Charming."

He ran a thumb across his lower lip, trying to soften his gaze on Isla, but it was futile. He looked discomposed--unsettled.

"She's uh--she's workin' at the hospital now." She started to nod, waiting for his elaboration. It never came, however.

"Oh, that's nice. I wonder what happened in Chicago...Do you know why she's back here? Or how long she's gonna be staying in town--"

"You sound like my fucking mother--give it a break with the thirty-seven questions about Tara, damnit."

He snarled, heeding the distaste of his words the second she glowered at him.

"Excuse you?"

"I didn't call you out here for a sweet little conversation, Isla, I called you 'cause I need your help--"

"With what?"

Jax's hand hooked onto the back of his neck while he tilted his head to look upward, thinking of a way--any fucking way--to explain just what damn mess he'd found himself entwined with over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

He didn't know what to say or how to say it--if he should've fucking said it. He trusted Isla with his life--always had--but sometimes he appreciated that she mightn't have appreciated finding herself tangled within Jax's boisterous, at times frightening, life.

But it was too late for that. She'd been dragged through the deepest shit and wasn't crumbling that easily.

"Jax--"

"Kohn." He stated simply, waiting for the cogs of her brain to begin turning.

"What about him? You got in trouble with the ATF or something? Because we can handle that--"

"I already did." Jax laughed humorlessly, finally meeting Isla's line of sight.

The skin underneath his eyes was red raw, blotchy and irritated after he had used the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away the tears he'd shed.

The tears he hadn't wanted to shed, but had fallen freely--uncontrollably--from those cerulean hues Isla never tired of looking at.

"What do you mean by that?" Nervously, she quizzed.

He didn't even have to say anything. She fucking knew. She knew exactly what he meant by that, but there was a tiny morsel of something within her that hoped and prayed that he'd declare that her gut feeling was wrong.

But he couldn't. Because it was right. Like always, Isla's intuition didn't fail her.

"Jax, honey, what did you do--"

"I killed Kohn."

Hi! I love your writing and uhm I recently encountered a fic that looks a lot like yours? Maybe I'm just imagining things tho!! because I read the first chp of timeless so long ago. It's called "like a ghost", I'm sure you can find it on Tumblr, I think you should check it out yourself,, just wanted to let you know. Have a great day!

Yeah, I just went and read it and it is scarily similar which is quite concerning because I’ve put a lot of time and effort into crafting my story. I’m going to be honest, I’m shaking, my heart is racing, and I’m about to cry. This is my story beat for beat. Anyone who has read it knows this. I’ve worked really hard on timeless, I started writing this back in august, this is my happy labor of love and for this to happen...I’m just really distraught. For any of my followers here are just some plot points that are way too on the nose in my opinion (and these are direct quotes from “their” story):

“As time goes and the baby grows up, they start to notice something was odd. And then they discovered the baby's powers. Sometimes it unintentionally became invisible and they had a hard time finding it, sometimes it went through a wall, and sometimes an object went through it like there wasn't anything. They started to help their kid control it's powers, but it wasn't a simple task since they were just ordinary people.“

“A dark-haired boy was sitting in his room thoughtlessly looking from his window”

“Reginald held out his hand and you accepted it not saying anything."Tell me," he started, "what are your abilities?"You hastened but then you gave him an answer."I can become invisible, or go through walls and I can let things go through me."

“Five was walking down the hallway muttering to himself. "Idiot Klaus, why he has to poke his nose everywhere, now I-" he didn't finish because he bumped into something and fell on the floor. As you fell you lost focus and became visible again. At first, Five was confused about how it was possible to bump into something invisible, but then he noticed you lying on the floor.”

“You were regularly visiting the academy, learning how to control your powers and improve them. The only time when somebody knew about your presence was that bump accident with Five, but since then everything went well.”

"What are you doing here?" you asked. "I wanted to see you before you leave. Can we meet at Griddy's Doughnuts at 7 pm? If you know where it is," he asked shyly.”

"One plain, glazed for me," said Five. The waitress wrote the order to her notepad and left.”

“Since then you were seeing Five at Griddy's every day. The waitresses liked you and they often gave you some doughnuts for free. You talked about everything that came to your mind and you enjoyed each other's company. Five was enjoying the time you spent together. It was great having a friend that wasn't his sibling. It was so different and he liked it. But he wanted to spend more time with you and he came up with an idea.”

“It was almost seven o'clock and you were pulling the curtains when suddenly a voice came from the other end of the room."Good evening.""Jesus Christ!" you exclaimed scared. You turned around and saw Five leaning against your closet with a smirk on his face."Nah, just me," he replied nonchalantly."How did you get there?" you asked confused."I've got my ways."And then a new era of hangouts started. You were visiting each other's rooms and you spent even more time together than before”

"Yes I... I can make myself invisible, and go through walls or doors and things like that. I can also let objects go through me." you looked at Five, scared of how he would react.”

"When were you born?" "What?" you blurted. "When were you born?" he repeated his question. "Uh... October 1st, 1989 exactly at noon, why?" You were genuinely confused about why he wanted to know your birthday when he just discovered you had some superpowers. "Yeah that makes sense," he nodded muttered more to himself. "What are you talking about, Five?""I was born on the same day, the same year, and the same hour as you! And all my siblings too, and we have superpowers like you but different," he finally explained.

"Really? And I was scared that you'll freak out if I'll tell you about my abilities," you smiled. "What you can do?" you were curious. "Look," he said simply and then disappeared in a flash of blue light. You were looking at the place he disappeared in awe. Then he alerted you to his presence.”

“This was great, now you could be fully open to him and didn't have to hide your talents.”

It was too long for a direct quote but the reader plays a prank on Five’s siblings kind of in the same vein as how the reader in my story popped her head through Five’s chest to scare them

"Since all of my children most likely know about you, you will start training with them. At least it will be a new challenge for them. Training with an invisible opponent can advance their reflexes."

“Why didn't you tell us about her Five?" asked Allison. Five hastened. He didn't exactly know, he hadn't thought about it much. "I don't know," he said finally with a shrug. "Maybe because he loves her," exclaimed Klaus mockingly. "Shut your mouth," snapped Five. He suddenly felt hot and he didn't know what was that supposed to mean. Klaus laughed at his reaction.”

“After that, you were spending more time at the academy. You finally had the opportunity to meet Five's 'stupid siblings' as he liked to refer to them. You found out why Five liked Vanya and Ben the most. They were much calmer than Diego, Luther, and Allison, but you still liked them all. You met Grace, their robotic mom, and Pogo a chimpanzee who can speak to your amazement. You enjoyed being here because you could be yourself. You didn't have to hide your powers. You laughed with Klaus, spent time in the library with Five, listened to Vanya play the violin. You had deep talks with Ben, learned some tricks with knives with Diego, danced with Allison, or helped Luther with his workout. But your friendship with Five was the strongest. But time flies when you're having fun.”

“You were near the gates when Five rushed from the house, looking positively furious. You wanted to know what pissed him off so you ran after him because he was really fast in his fury. When you caught up with him you took him by the shoulder, so he can acknowledge your presence.”

"Not ready my ass..." muttered Five angrily. "Five!" you shouted at him, trying to get his attention. But he hasn't heard you. And there was another flash like before. Now it was snowing? You groaned and tried to get Five's attention once again.”

"Not now (y/n)!" He yanked his hand from your grip and disappeared in the same flash as the previous ones. "Ugh, screw you then,"

"Are you lost?" asked the woman with a worried look on her face. "No," you let out a nervous chuckle, "I live in here. With my aunt and uncle, are they in there?" You stood on your tiptoes so you can peek into the house. The woman looked even more concerned now. "Do you mean Mr. and Mrs. Harper? They moved out twelve years ago."

“You froze in shock. "What?" you blurted out in confusion. How much time passed? "What year is it?" "It's 2016..." she said.”

“You just simply couldn't be in 2016, it was 2002 minutes ago!”

“You were standing in the entrance hall for a few minutes, waiting for you to wake up from this horrible dream, but nothing happened. Any second now... "(y/n)?" you heard a shocked voice. You looked to the left and saw Grace, standing there with a duster, shocked expression on her face. "You're back," she said and put down the duster. She came to you and cupped your face in her hands. You gave up on the idea of you dreaming. This felt so real, it couldn't be just a fantasy. "Is somebody else here?" you asked. "Diego, Ben, Vanya, anybody?" "Oh," Grace sighed. "No, they all left some years ago. And Ben..." she looked sadly at you and you understood what she meant. You started shaking and you felt like there was some sort of pressure on your chest.”

“Nothing much changed, but then you looked at the fireplace and you saw a painting there. You looked up and froze once again. It was a painting of Five. You were looking up at it and then a wave of rage hit you.“

“His hand was turned palm up and he could see a tattoo on his forearm. It was the one they all got tattooed one day. The symbol of the umbrella academy. They really were his family. He felt a lump rising in his throat. He decided to go get his cart, but something caught his eye. He quickly rushed to it and he couldn't believe what he saw. It was you. You were much younger than the others. You looked like a teenager, just a few years older than he was. Your eyes were half-open, without a spark of life.”

“It was devastating seeing all of you dead. But the sight of your dead body was the worst for him. He carefully put your head down and stood up, not looking away from you. He had to find a way out. He had to prevent this from happening.”

“Since you don't have anywhere else to go, you can live there, but you will remain training and you will have a strict schedule, do you understand?"You snorted and said, "I won't be part of your silly academy.""I'm fully aware of that," he didn't look away from his papers, "Grace prepared a room for you."

hey! i have anxiety + adhd as well. i've seen you mention meds before, unfortunately i can't have a med change atm, it feels like my current med isn't working that well but 1 - it might be because i'm going through an intense spike of anxiety that i wasn't prepared for and 2 - my dr is out of town so i can't see him abt it. i haven't been able to sleep well and i feel nervous 24/7. is there anything that you find helpful you could mention to me? also, could you please pray for me? God bless you

oh darling honey!! yes of course i will be praying for you!♥︎i know the medication struggle all too well :( always remember you’re not alone!

i’m so sorry to hear you’re going through this anon. medicine can be really difficult when it feels like it’s not working the way it should. when i first started taking meds i always always had doubts in the back of my mind like “what if it doesn’t work?” “what if it doesn’t fix me?” “what if i’m broken?” but the thing to also remember is that you are not something to be fixed! you’re not broken at all, you just don’t feel good. you only need a bit of help getting back on your feet. when i need a med/dose change i try to remind myself of that.

i don’t know everything about your situation and i’m not a professional so i can’t provide like super mega amazing advice, but one thing i do recommend is that you just be as kind to yourself as you can right now. that sounds stupid but honestly, when i was struggling a lot this semester on bad meds, i deliberately did tiny things that made me feel comforted or at least not sad. when i woke up before school i would watch my favorite videos and eat my favorite food; i drank soda pretty often cause caffeine go brrr; i wore my favorite fun socks even though our dress code doesn’t allow it. all these things seem silly and simple, but they seriously lifted a bit of my burden day-to-day. when you are struggling, everything feels so frickin hard. and you are working so frickin hard to fight it. that makes you strong. you deserve to do small things that make you just a bit more happy, no matter how small. make time for yourself to help relieve the burden of what you are going through.

when i feel very anxious, one of my favorite things to do is turn on my favorite background noise—rain, thunderstorms, music (nintendo soundtracks :D)—and just do nothing. just exist. stare blankly into the 4th dimension. perhaps lay on the floor. eat a cracker or 2. idk why but that just uhhhh yeah :-) sometimes it feels like i can just float away and my anxieties dissipate for a few moments. doesn’t always work (because anxiety is very mean) but sometimes i just try it to see!

when i can’t sleep, my best bet is usually to do something to distract myself. preferably something like reading or drawing or playing music, but if i can’t bring myself to do any of those it’s just as okay to do something like watch a show, youtube, play video games, etc. something that helps get your mind off the anxious thoughts. you could also put your mind on God, spend some time just talking to him—whatever comes to mind, even if it’s silly. i believe he has a sense of humor :D you can be like “yo God i feel like crap right now, how you doin homie” IDK LOLSNDJ SOEMTIMES I DO THAT IDK IF THAT’S BAD

philippians 4:6-7 !!!

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

another of my favorite passages is Matthew 6:25-34. it says in a nutshell not to be anxious about your life, what to eat and drink, or about your body, what you will put on, because life is more than food or clothing. and God loves every little bird on this planet—and they don’t do very much, so just imagine how much he loves you. i happened to mark these verses when i was in like…6th grade, when i didn’t even know that i had issues with anxiety. and now that i’ve looked back on all i’ve gone through, these verses never fail to shock and comfort me.

i apologize that this ended up being so long anon!! i hope that some of it can be helpful? i will be praying for you. this road is long, but it’s worth it in the end. jesus is calling your name, he really really loves you, so much more than you could ever know. trust that he is worth it! he will guide you through the storm!!

much love anon, and God bless you!♥︎

hi! I'm loving all of your 911 fanfics. they're the perfect amount of smut lol! I was wondering if you wanted to write a first time bottom!eddie fic??

I don’t think this is going how you think it’s gonna go, nonny, but I hope you like it anyway. XD

There were few things Eddie liked better than pressing his boyfriend against a wall and making out with him.

It was something he couldn’t do too often, seeing as Buck was loud and Christopher was a kid who didn’t know about sex yet but sure as hell wasn’t deaf. Right now, though, Christopher was still at school, they didn’t have to pick him up for an hour, and for once they had a goddamn day off.

“Jesus,” Buck mumbled, biting at Eddie’s lip like it had personally offended him (it probably had at some point, being attached to Eddie’s mouth and all). “Want you to fuck me.”

Eddie worked his hands up underneath Buck’s shirt, scratching lightly and delighting in the full-body shiver that Buck gave in response. They were grinding pretty damn heavily right now, Buck’s legs spread and Eddie more than happily settled between them, and he was tempted to just keep at it right here, kissing Buck, feeling the broad muscle of him, rutting against each other like teenagers until they came.

On the other hand... he did have something he’d been wanting to try. And the up-against-the-wall thing was for when they were trying to be quick and quiet, not for when they actually had time and privacy on their hands.

“Mmm, actually...” Eddie nipped at Buck’s jaw. “Other way around.”

“What?” Buck sounded breathless and Eddie could practically feel the wheels turning in Buck’s head.

“I...” Eddie kissed just under Buck’s jaw. “Want you...” He kissed Buck’s neck. “To...” Buck’s throat. “Fuck me.” Buck’s collarbone.

Buck was panting, straining against his jeans, his hands flexing helplessly around Eddie’s biceps. “Are - fuck are you sure?”

Eddie licked at Buck’s pulse point. “Pretty damn sure. Let’s get you on the bed.”

Buck was like a goddamn puppy tripping over his damn feet hurrying to obey. Eddie rolled his eyes fondly as he followed, undoing his pants and pulling his shirt up over his head as he did so. No matter how many times they did this, he never failed to get a little jolt in his chest at seeing how eager Buck was, how enthusiastic and into this he was - and with Eddie? When Buck could have any damn person he wanted with his giving heart and easy smile?

It didn’t make a lick of sense but Eddie was done looking gift horses in the mouth.

He crawled over Buck, kissing him, and reached around for the lube and condoms. “But - are you sure?” Buck repeated. He was lazily stroking his cock, and he looked so fucking pretty, all flushed and biting his lip like that, and Eddie was really fucking tempted to slide inside him...

But no. Nope, he wanted to try being on the bottom, dammit, and he was determined.

He slung a leg over, straddling Buck, who took the lube from him nervously. “What if I...”

“Oh my God.” The effort it took not to roll his eyes was fucking insane. “Buck. You’re going to be fine. C’mere.”

Buck relaxed the second that Eddie started kissing him. “Unless you want me to do it myself and you can watch...”

Buck groaned, his hand sliding down Eddie’s back, grabbing his ass as if out of instinct. Eddie laughed into the kiss, flicking his tongue over Buck’s lower lip, teasing him. “I’ll take that as a no?”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed, and Eddie spread his legs, taking Buck’s wrist in his hand.

“Start slow.”

“I did sleep with a lot of women before you, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Eddie pulled Buck’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it. “Mmm. But you like being a good boy for me, and I want to take my time.”

Buck made one of those surprised little noises that sounded punched out of him, and Eddie grinned savagely, forcing himself to exhale and relax as he felt Buck’s slicked-up finger sliding inside.

“Good,” Eddie murmured, right up against Buck’s mouth. Buck’s eyes searched his face with this look of awe that Eddie knew for a fact he didn’t deserve, but craved anyway. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he worried it was selfish of him to keep Buck, to keep this man who gave and wanted affection so much and so easily.

Then he saw Buck looking at him like this, kissing him with reverence, following Eddie’s every order, and he knew - whether he deserved Buck or not, Buck wanted him, and that was all that mattered.

Buck curled his finger inside of him and Eddie tightened instinctively, forcing himself to relax a second later. It felt... weird, odd, to have something inside of him there, but it was starting to feel better, starting to feel good.

“I don’t know how you let me do this to you,” Buck murmured. “Fuck, Eddie, you’re - you’re so - fuck.”

He slid his hand around the back of Buck’s head, guiding him, licking into his mouth. “Because you’re good to me. That’s how.” So good. Sometimes, Eddie worried, too good.

Buck groaned and twisted his finger in and out, his hips twitching up even though the only had empty air to find. “Christ. Can I...”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Just the one finger wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted more, wanted a bit of a stretch, wanted to feel satisfied.

Buck slid a second finger in, scissoring them, trying to be fucking courteous and get Eddie prepped, like the sweet stupidly thoughtful person he always claimed he wasn’t.

“I’m not gonna break, Buck.” Eddie tugged at Buck’s lip and shoved back against his fingers. “C’mon. I want to actually feel it tomorrow.”

“Motherfucker.” Buck thrust his fingers in with a little harder, twisting them just so, and Eddie’s body lit up like fuckin’ Christmas.

“Shit.” He ground down on Buck’s fingers. “Again, fuck, do that again.”

Buck grinned, doing exactly as he was told, his gaze darting all over Eddie’s face. Fuck. It felt - yeah, that was why Buck squirmed and whimpered all the time when Eddie was fucking him. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew what the prostate was, but knowing about it (and knowing how to use it to turn Buck into a begging wreck) was different from feeling it. His body felt like it was sparking with electricity.

Buck looked like he was seeing a fucking revelation as he fucked Eddie on his fingers, his mouth open in a half-smile, his face flushed like he was the one getting fucked.

“Add a third,” Eddie ordered. Buck was impatient and so sometimes Eddie only prepped him on two, but Buck was also fucking used to this by now and Buck’s cock was... proportionate to the rest of him. Eddie was not going to end up as one of those embarrassing 9-1-1 calls he’d had to go on in his time just because he was a little too eager.

Buck groaned and kissed him frantically, his free hand gripping Eddie’s hip tight enough to bruise. Eddie kept his hand in Buck’s hair, guiding Buck down to his neck, arching up as Buck sucked what was sure to be a viciously large hickey. Fuck, yes. He rolled his hips, his spine feeling like it was melting, hot and warm and nothing but pleasure.

“You’re doing so well,” he growled, tugging lightly on Buck’s hair. “So good for me, so good.”

Buck whined, high in the back of his throat, and Eddie could feel Buck’s cock jerking against his thigh, Buck’s chest heaving against his. Eddie grinned breathlessly. Didn’t matter what position they were in, Buck was a sucker for praise.

“Can I?” Buck asked, his voice raw and rough. “Please, can I - is it okay, are you - can I--”

“Yeah, yeah you can, you did so well for me.” He pushed Buck back onto the bed and braced himself as Buck rolled the condom on. Hmm.

Eddie batted Buck’s hand away, squeezing the base of his cock, and Buck’s entire body jerked. “Fuck.”

“Can’t have you coming too soon.”

“You’re an asshole, did you know that? You’re a complete--ohJesusmotherfucking--” Buck’s sentence changed course as Eddie sank down onto him.

Fuck, okay, that was a stretch. He could see why Buck liked it, though. That feeling of being filled, stretched, felt good. He didn’t understand why someone would want a cock in them for the entirety of an hour-long nap (and that had been a fun adventure, if you replaced ‘fun’ with ‘heart stopping’ and ‘adventure’ with ‘terror’ because Christopher had come home early while they were still napping in bed) the way certain people, namely the guy currently under him, did, but yeah, it felt pretty fucking good.

Eddie focused on breathing, his gaze going unfocused and then snapping back into focus again as he adjusted and relaxed into it. Buck had done a good job - he didn’t feel worried about it being too much or hurting him - but it was still new, still a bit weird around the edges, and he wasn’t going to risk it.

Buck was practically vibrating beneath him by the time Eddie planted his hands on Buck’s chest and pushed himself up, then slowly lowered himself back down. “Stay,” he ordered, and Buck nodded, even as his gaze zeroed in on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Eddie’s body.

Shit, yeah, that was really good. Eddie forced himself to keep it slow and not to push himself too far, too fast. Buck whimpered.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Eddie’s face. “Yeah, knew you’d like that.” He pushed himself up until only the head of Buck’s cock was in him, then pushed himself back down.

Buck’s moan bounced off the bedroom walls. His nails dug into Eddie’s thighs, his flush reaching all the way down to his chest. “I wanna... please, Eddie, I want...”

“I know what you want.” Eddie pushed himself up and then lowered himself back down, a little faster this time. Mmm, yeah, the burn was blurring away and it was all turning into one slick glide. “And you’ll get it, but not yet.”

Buck’s head fell back against the pillow and he pouted shamelessly. “Eddie...”

“If you complain, I’ll stay just like this.” He sank all the way down and then stayed there, his thighs burning, and stroked his cock. “Use you just like this, get myself off. And you won’t get to come at all.”

Buck visibly choked. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Buck swallowed. “I’ll be good.”

Eddie pecked him on the lips. “That’s what I thought. You get to fuck me when I’m good and ready for you to.”

Buck’s fingers flexed around his thighs, but he stayed good and still as Eddie used him, tested out slightly different angles, different speeds, pushing himself until his body was buzzing and his head felt like it was floating slightly outside of him somewhere. God, it felt good, felt powerful, being in control like this, deciding on the pace, using Buck for his pleasure.

He could see Buck biting down on his lip, struggling to keep from begging. God, he really was so good for him.

Eddie dragged his nails down Buck’s chest and Buck arched up, gasping, eyes dark and wide. Hottest fuckin’ man in the world. And he was Eddie’s. “Go on then.” He reached up, cupping Buck’s cheek, dragging his thumb across Buck’s plush mouth. “You’ve been good for me, go ahead, fuck me.”

Buck didn’t have to be told twice. He rolled them over, his hands landing with a soft thump on either side of Eddie’s head, and he practically dove into Eddie, his face tucked into the curve of Eddie’s neck, his hips working frantically.

Oh, fuck, yes, fuck, this - this was fucking good, this was - holy fucking shit. Buck had clearly been paying attention to which angles had made Eddie’s body seize up with pleasure and he was replicating those angles now even as he moaned against Eddie’s hot, sweat-slick skin.

Eddie wrapped his arms around him, dragged his palms up and down Buck’s back, soothing him as much as he was holding on. He loved when Buck got like this, desperate and strung-out, chasing his high and all because of Eddie. He only let Eddie bring him to this point, to this brink, and only with Eddie did he let go. It was a rush like none other.

And this angle was fucking perfect, Jesus Christ. Buck couldn’t come just from his prostate, he needed his cock stroked (and oh, what fun Eddie’d had with that knowledge), but Eddie was starting to suspect - holy fuck, yeah he was - fuck, fuck, fuck--

He seized up a final time as his circuits fried, his nails digging into Buck’s skin, his legs jerking like he’d been hit with a live wire.

Okay, yup, definitely able to come untouched, that was a fun new tidbit.

Buck made a noise like he’d been wounded, shaking hard all over, his thrusts turning erratic. Eddie realized he’d clenched around Buck’s cock as he’d come and he did it again. Buck bit down hard on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Eddie started up a rhythm, even as the feeling of Buck inside him started to feel like too much, like overstimulation. “C’mon, come for me, take what you need. Fuckin’ love you like this, come on, show me how much you like it.”

Buck gave a whimper that turned into a long moan, his hips slapping hard against Eddie as his body went stiff and he came.

“Good,” Eddie praised, petting him. “Good, good boy. You did so well.”

Buck managed to roll to the side a little, nuzzling Eddie like an oversized cat. “You feel so good.”

“Glad to hear it. From all that begging I thought you absolutely hated it.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Buck tied off the condom and threw it in the trash, curling right back up against Eddie again. “How much time we got?”

Eddie glanced at the bedside clock. “Another half an hour.”

“Mmm. Nap...” Buck was already half-asleep.

Eddie stroked his fingertips over the curve of Buck’s shoulder. God, Buck was so good, no matter what Eddie wanted or asked of him.

He only hoped he was just as good in return.

Hathor & Sekhmet

Hathor: About to slap myself so you'll feel it Hathor: wherever you are ain't where you should be Sekhmet: what im sleep Sekhmet: 😴😴😴 Hathor: wake up 👊🏽 Hathor: you asked me to meet you, remember? Sekhmet: I think that's tomorrow Sekhmet: I said Wednesday, right Hathor: That's today Hathor: you blackout past Tuesday? Sekhmet: You're joking Sekhmet: well then, that means I've got a deadline I gotta meet and not a whole lot of time for brunch dates Hathor: you're joking Hathor: I cancelled on a fine boy for you Sekhmet: it's so early you got time to hit it back Sekhmet: I know I didn't tell you I'd meet you at the crack of dawn Hathor: you didn't and you're late af still Sekhmet: chill sis, I'll make it up to you Hathor: yeah Hathor: anyone else'd be offended you don't ever want to have a sober conversation Hathor: but I'll see you in the club Sekhmet: girl, chill 😂 Sekhmet: how fine was he that you're all kinds of vexed with me Sekhmet: don't even care how I'm gonna make it up to you, oh my days 🥴🍆🧠 for real Hathor: he's got prospects, I'm not saying any more than that if you're not coming out 👅 Hathor: I'll care how you're gonna make it up when you next show up for real Sekhmet: ugh! living up to your name 🐮 Sekhmet: bitch I'm busy 😏 the juggle is real Hathor: you know I don't say that shit lightly except once in a blue moon, however fine a lad be looking Hathor: but if you don't wanna hear it Sekhmet: is he 🧑🏾🧑🏿 Hathor: 🥛 Hathor: nobody is more surprised than me Sekhmet: 👏🙌 yay Sekhmet: I told you, white boys are the best Sekhmet: they treat us like 👸 Hathor: It's his Irish accent tricking me Hathor: I gotta take a trip back and cure myself Sekhmet: awh, you're homesick, precious Sekhmet: now it makes sense why you wanna tie me down Hathor: can barely understand him he's from so far north, more likely that Sekhmet: throwback 📟 📠 📺 📻 Hathor: get the psych dept to pull their shrink shit on me about it Sekhmet: You wanna be just like Vee, sorted Sekhmet: take my PhD now 💁 Hathor: be more disrespectful! first you stand me up and then put that out there Sekhmet: 🤭 you've got a ways to go, even if you're rolling mad extra today Hathor: I didn't ask 👼🏽💘 to 🎯 me up in the 🍑 Hathor: got my own things I'm busy with Sekhmet: love is magic 💖 Sekhmet: don't be complaining in my inbox when I'm tragically single Hathor: I've been serving and swerving him for long enough I thought I'd succeeded, there's the complaint Sekhmet: 🙄 you can't ❌ feelings bitch Hathor: white boys are a different animal, I ❌ the fear of Sekhmet: 😍😍😍 Hathor: I'm not here to be treated like a 👸🏽 if that's one step away from being called 'exotic' Hathor: there's nothing sexy about a power imbalance Sekhmet: most girls would disagree, babe Sekhmet: why do you wanna be run of the mill every day when we been #blessed with this 🔥 Sekhmet: all black guys wanna chat about is my light-skin privilege and their black man struggles, I can't 🥱 Hathor: fetishization like that ain't foreplay I'm interested in Hathor: 👑 me for other reasons than my melanin Sekhmet: insecurities SNAPPED, I'm sure he likes you for more than your skin, you crazy Hathor: he likes me for how I pour measures rn Sekhmet: racial Sekhmet: that's why everyone likes you 💃💃💃 Hathor: on account of being a poor student not Northern Irish, don't be biting the hand that feeds your blackouts Sekhmet: my white boys always pay Hathor: #blessed innit Sekhmet: 👸😇 tings Hathor: which white boy you with ignoring your deadline then? Sekhmet: whoever it is they've gone to work Sekhmet: but they left a 💳 with their cute note so I know I'm in a good postcode still 🙏 Hathor: so come meet me and spare mine, that's the right thing to do Sekhmet: just 'cos it's good doesn't mean I'm not lost still, damn Sekhmet: hold on and let me get dressed and get my bearings Hathor: if your phone ain't drained I can use it to get your bearings while you serve a look Sekhmet: who doesn't have a charger in their hoe 👜 PLEASE Hathor: you didn't know what day it was, can't blame me for 👶🏽ing Sekhmet: where would I be without you 😘 Sekhmet: mum hasn't phoned me in ages actually, it's so rude Sekhmet: I missed the last few but still Hathor: I hit her with your highlights, creatively Hathor: like how I won't mention a white boy making me feel like a baby 🐮 that can't walk Sekhmet: 😶😶 Sekhmet: dad would 😥 Hathor: and she'll 🙌🏽 harder than you've done Sekhmet: facts are facts Sekhmet: look at her dad, Vee's... Hathor: cliches are tired and stereotypes are damaging Sekhmet: @ your white boy with the 👋 then booboo Sekhmet: I think dad's in town working today, you wanna come for dinner with us? 🥂 Hathor: he's not mine to command in or out 👅 Hathor: yeah 🍾 will help Sekhmet: I'll teach you Hathor: those twin stereotypes are damaging too, like Sekhmet: oh hush, I only tried to 💋 you ONE time and we were like babies and that boy was the first great love of my life Sekhmet: anyway, you're like hot but not my types type these days, you know Hathor: that boy was trash Hathor: you levelled up fast though Sekhmet: awh, don't be rude, I have fond memories Hathor: I have loads of him trying to ask me out at the same time Sekhmet: oh yeah Sekhmet: I forgot that happened Sekhmet: his hair was gorgeous though Hathor: it was Sekhmet: good times Sekhmet: my new guy, not this one, the actual one, looks like old school Leo, I SWEAR Hathor: Yeah? Sekhmet: like Leo and a bit of River and Ryan Philippe in Cruel Intentions Sekhmet: 🥰🥰🥰 Hathor: love of your life material Sekhmet: definitely Sekhmet: he's a trader in the city and his apartment is 😱😱😱 Hathor: what's the age range this time? Sekhmet: he's only 26, it's mad how successful he is already Hathor: he sounds like the full 🎟 Hathor: any catch? Sekhmet: only technically Hathor: technically he's a 🤖? Sekhmet: ha, he totally has the stamina of one Sekhmet: he can keep up with me, almost 😉 Hathor: 👌🏽 he's perfect Hathor: fucking hell Sekhmet: no need to be jealous when you're 🥰 yourself Sekhmet: what does he look like? Hathor: Tall enough Hathor: more like a 🥊 than a 👼🏻 Sekhmet: you really do wanna do great grandpa Sekhmet: jk, he sounds so you Hathor: he does work for the main brewery that supplies us, maybe I do Hathor: Jesus Christ Sekhmet: 😂😬 processing that Sekhmet: not really though, every boy I've ever dated has been like dad, it's unavoidable tbh 💁 Hathor: in our postcode nobody's trying very hard to be anything else Hathor: 💰💳💎🍾 Sekhmet: why would they? Hathor: they wouldn't and they aren't, it'd be terrifying for any of those boys to step out Sekhmet: 🙄 you aren't going to throw yourself down a ladder when you're at the top, babe Hathor: wouldn't kill them to give other people a hand up though, they just act like it Sekhmet: 🥱 when's your deadline? Hathor: my work's done Sekhmet: then button it, loser Sekhmet: you wanna eat out on this nice rich boy's 💳 Hathor: ETA of 15 on getting to you Hathor: you best 🚿 Sekhmet: way ahead of you 🛀 Sekhmet: door's unlocked, our breakfast will hopefully be on the table when you get here Sekhmet: love ubereats Hathor: 🙌🏽 Sekhmet: you can bring it through, the view in this bathroom is immense Sekhmet: thought getting the driver to bring it to the tub was unlikely Hathor: he probably would but it's unlikely I'd recover from walking in on it Sekhmet: 😘 Sekhmet: do fuck with an asian boy Hathor: you don't know he will be Hathor: might not even be a lad Hathor: but if it is, guarantee they'll send the most unexpected one Sekhmet: it usually is, your stereotypes be damned Hathor: what are you gonna bet? Sekhmet: the Belgian 🧇s Hathor: you're on Sekhmet: sometimes you shock me with how green you are, Hath Hathor: back to putting disrespect on me, what a nice truce while it lasted, like Sekhmet: I mean, you know I can see the driver on my app, babe Sekhmet: no points for guessing where Hassan is from Sekhmet: you can have the 🧇s anyway Hathor: you know I can read your thoughts, the playing field is level Hathor: and anyway I like green, that's my boy's eye colour Sekhmet: been gazing into them longingly across the bar have we🤭 Hathor: maybe Sekhmet: so cute Sekhmet: hope this one doesn't have a fiancee Sekhmet: or a maid who thinks we've broken in Hathor: if he does he better break that eye contact with me Sekhmet: I meant Mr Black Card, don't worry Sekhmet: he's a student, yeah? he won't be Hathor: he's only got a year on us, I don't predict an engagement Sekhmet: yeah, doubt it Hathor: outside of our family people aren't usually that extra Sekhmet: some of the asian internationals are but they usually cheat if their intended ain't here yet so Hathor: Yeah Sekhmet: what even does an engagement mean anyway Sekhmet: not much, right Hathor: a flash 💍 Hathor: what's my course teaching me if I don't know the statistics on how often a wedding follows? Hathor: shows how outdated it is Sekhmet: he gives me that anyway Hathor: I'd take a phone number and be happy with it for now Hathor: but it's probably the party and that whole flex too, right? Sekhmet: the dress Sekhmet: but it's irrelevant if it doesn't happen, like you said Hathor: 🎁🎁 even if it doesn't if people bring them for the engagement as well, but you're not going short of any Sekhmet: right Sekhmet: 😥 if you need a wedding for attention Hathor: Jay's birth mum QUAKING Sekhmet: omg I bet that's EXACTLY what his fiancee is like Hathor: does he ever speak about her? Sekhmet: obviously not Sekhmet: but she must never come up from wherever they're from because I'm like ALWAYS over so Hathor: maybe she doesn't know about this place Hathor: old school Sekhmet: Who knows Sekhmet: can't be my problem Hathor: Yours is the day you've missed, like Hathor: what's the assignment? Sekhmet: design some sportswear line Sekhmet: got to get the sketches in by 5, but all I ordered for me was a shit ton of coffee, it'll be fine Hathor: more productive if I stay or go? Sekhmet: you've already missed your date, you may as well stay Hathor: okay Hathor: am the sportier one Sekhmet: how are you 😂 Hathor: ⚽⛹🏽🚴🏽🥊 Hathor: why dad loves me more than you Sekhmet: now I know you're talking nonsense 😏 Hathor: True, he loves Vee and she never gets off her chaise Sekhmet: and she doesn't even love him back Hathor: poor dad Sekhmet: yeah Hathor: what time's dinner with him? Sekhmet: I'll ask him when he wants to go Hathor: about to come up, so whatever you were planning for Hassan, this is me Sekhmet: regrettably noted

Headcanon: Deku, the Serial Shipper

Contains- Mentions of sexual activities, established relationship - Bakudeku; Crack pairings- TodoIna, JiroMomo, UraTsuyu, UraTenya, DenkiSero, Kirimina, platonic Kiribaku etc.

(Beware- Long post)

Jesus Christ, I just had this HC and now I gotta spill, otherwise I won't be able to sleep tonight. Here's another annoying Long Post for y'all)

Deku, as a Pro Hero and Katsuki's Duo Partner, has a pretty hectic life since the media are crazy bloodhounds, the villains are a pain in the ass, interacting with fans becomes exhausting at times, and the critics are demons wailing for his blood.

Yeah, very hectic. And on top of that, there's very little time to relax. Most of the days he sneaks some solace in the gym, if he can buy more time he likes to read and immerse himself in his notebooks and research. Fighting Katsuki to blow some steam is a last resort to shed off weeks of frustration and only reserved for off-days or desperate times - because something like that inevitably devolves into gratuitous rough sex or worse, day-long fuck-a-thon. Not that Deku doesn't enjoy it, he simply doesn't have the time to indulge and he knows Kacchan doesn't either, so they try to keep their hands off each other unless the occassion begs for much-needed violent release.

But sometimes, you just want instant relief. Sometimes Deku just wants to kick back and relax like a normal person, go on the internet, without everyone hounding him for a piece of his mind.

So he does.

Under Anonymity.

Et viola @allmight9000 comes alive on several media platforms including Tumblr and Twitter. At first, Deku masquerades around as a hardcore All Might fan fighting anyone who dares to diss the retired Symbol of Peace . But since his retirement, his popularity has gone cold, not many heated debates take place around him anymore and as sad as this makes Deku, he decides to discover new venues.

Now, Deku knows there's this dark void of fanfiction lurking on the net and there's no escape from it should he ever set foot into it. He is also aware of the dark things that beckon him from the sewers like Pennywise the Dancing Clown (eg. All Might/Endeavour, Hawks/Endeavour, All Might Bowl, All Might/ Hero Harem, All Might/Midnight, All Might/Aizawa/Present Mic and so on), things he should rightfully keep a safe distance from. But this is fucking Deku we are talking about- ofcourse he dares to dip his foot into the murk of fanfiction.

For science, he thinks, and takes the plunge.

It all goes downhill from there.

One day, Katsuki comes back from his shift to find Deku face-planted into the sofa, he hasn't eaten lunch, hasn't bathed and is claiming trauma, repeatedly insisting that he has sinned and he is going to hell for it, then he shakily holds up a 367k word fic of Villain Might/Endeavour. Katsuki has to slap him back to his senses. Later that night, Deku calls up Toshinori and asks him for forgiveness, when Toshinori asks him worriedly, 'For what?', Deku assures him he DOES NOT wanna know.

After obsessively going through various tropes and completing every Enemies to Lovers / Mutual Pining / Unrequited Love fic there is (and there is a lot, Deku hates himself every day for it), waiting torturous weeks for dead authors to rise from the ashes for a teeny tiny update, Deku finally gives up his small lake of unfulfilling All Might ships (because frankly it's hard to find a fic that suits his tastes and convincingly fleshes out a love story around a man who has pointedly avoided romance for the better part of his LIFE or a find a fic which is COMPLETE) and sets out into the sea of Ships.

Bad Idea.

Very VERY Bad Idea.

(We know it, he knows it. Katsuki is the only one who is blessedly oblivious because he chooses not to wade into Deku's mental shit and compromise his own sanity.)

Strangely, Deku has come to take an odd satisfaction of returning to fan mentality of shipping two people without restraints (rarely more than two)-it's simple, senseless, easy. It gives his head a break from all the overanalyzing it does and gives him a small dose of endorphins when he cant work out, eat out or fuck out the frustration. He was adverse to it first, since these are strangers trying to ship two random people (people he is friends with), and it was unsettling to find so many people shipping them when they've BARELY had any interaction in canon real life! What's the premise of shipping them at all? He just didn't find any allure to it back then. So he kept his reads under fluff and under mature ratings because he feels uncomfortable reading smut about his friends.

But Deku had a 'Oh my God they were ROOMMATES' moment when Jirou and Momo announce that they are dating to the U.A. Alumni, that too after reading a really fluffy Creati/Earphone Jack fic which accurately referenced their public sightings together and spun it into plot-points quite masterfully. ( the author did a real good job on it) And the most horrifying thing about the fic, Deku finds, is the fact that NO ONE, not even the AUTHOR knows how correct they were in their estimates! No one except Deku.

That realization shakes the foundations of Deku's beliefs and morality as he wonders how many fics out there , sfw or smut, requited or unrequited love, enemies to lovers or lovers to strangers, fluff or smut have come so so close to the truth, been so damn close - like an alternate course of their love-story? and WHY IS NO ONE GIVING IT MORE KUDOS?

This is how Deku ends up being the most irredeemable Shipper of the universe- with a mission in hand:

To curate proof of all valid ships and to supply aforesaid proof of it to the world (as subtly as he can of course, so as to not compromise his own identity or the privacy of the Shipped.)

He begins to scour through the net for paparazzi photos, indulges in gossip, pries out information of who is dating whom from his Hero contacts, authenticates it, creates folders and subfolders of photographic 'proof' (they are just teasers really) and whenever anyone writes a fic that comes anywhere close to the real thing he makes sure to tag them in his tumblr/twitter post with photos which basically pour gasoline over their fiery passion to continue dreaming and writing fics around those Ships. Like:

You wrote a fic of Fluffy Iron Fist x Real Steel? Here you go- an obscure pic of them leaving her apartment together

Uravity x Ingenium and Uravity x Froppy? A love triangle that could possibly end in heartbreak?!! Damn, sistah, who knows? (She's confused too, imho) So here you go- Uravity getting tipsy with Froppy and Uravity snuggling to Ingenium under the rain.

One-shot of Chargebolt x Cellophane getting frisky in an alley? Honey, I gotchu. Here's a pic of them arriving at a villain scene together with dishevelled clothes.

All Might x Endeavour Slow Burn? My dear friend- here's a picture of the Symbol of peace roasting marshmallows with Shouto on flaming Endeavour merch. Please don't make me block you.

All Might x Midnight? Here's a pic of my mom, me and my Dad AllMight. Midnight, Who binch?

Celsius (Shouto) x Gale Force Stripper AU? Oh, hey, look I'm totally that one lucky guy who was in the right place at the right time, okay? I dont know these guys personally, OKAY? Not. At. All. But I have some Opinions™ about your fic? and pics to support it. Just wanna show you that maybe...i mean...MAAYYYYYYBEEEE...the stripper is Galeforce, not Celsius? Yeah? Don't worry though, You're doing good. Love the slow build, keep up the good work!

Deku becomes a sensational fic-writer-enabler and often gives inspiration to writers who are looking to write for a new fandom. Deku's got their backs.

He sinks so deep into this Shipping business that one day Katsuki catches wind of it. It was becoming painful to keep ignoring Deku's descent into madness. Katsuki was okay with it as long as the nerd did his job well and fucked him even better (which Katsuki will never admit to enjoying, even at gun point. Pull the trigger, you coward). So, yeah, Katsuki could have accepted all of Deku's weird stalkerish behaviours (even if they weren't fixated on him all the time anymore and the 'Kacchan, sugoi!' comments had plummeted drastically....who needs the shitnerd to validate his worth, right?! Right...it didn't make him pissed AT ALL. because admitting that would mean he enjoyed it, WHICH HE DID NOT, MIND YOU)

What Katsuki couldn't accept was Deku accidentally using his official Hero twitter handle to post a very platonic (but in the eyes of rabid fans- borderline homoerotic) pictures of him and Eijirou and posted it as #Ground_Riot. The fucking flood of Zeku-haters and pro-GroundRioters had the comments section on FIRE. The post goes VIRAL.

Deku, fucking DEKU, the man who is secretly ENGAGED to him, is promoting GroundRiot like NO ONE's business and HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE DID WRONG.

Katsuki finds Deku happily puttering around their shared apartment completely oblivious to the PR hell that has been licking at his heels. He immediately attacks Deku's account and is completely gobsmacked. Lo and fucking behold- every fifth picture in his blog is fucking GROUND RIOT.

Not just that, apparently, THIS MAN, his fucking FIANCE, is not only a renowned peacemaker in inane Ship wars, but is hailed as a Soothsayer of Ships for always correctly prophecizing "Ships that will Sail into the fucking Sunset', he is basically some minor god in the Hero fandom who is extorting excitement out of fic writers and fans alike so that 'the crime of incomplete fics' can be eradicated once and for all. And Deku's fucking commited to it.

(perhaps more commited to Ground Riot than his own betrothal because there isn't A SINGLE POST of ZEKU on his blog)

There's even a post where he answers an ask from anonymous. The question: "Are you also anti-Zeku? I have never seen you post anything related to that ship. Is it because you think it won't Sail?" And Deku answers shortly how he isn't explicitly Anti-Zeku, but doesn't like the idea of reading fanfics of that ship. He clearly witholds his opinion if the ship will sail or not. Katsuki also finds the chat which started all this shit.

Chat-

Hey! @allmight9000. I wanted to write a GroundRiot fic? Could you give me some inspiration?

Aww, sure! It's my favourite Ship tbh. I love GroundRiot. I have a whole gigabyte of inspirations in my laptop. I'll send you some when I get back home, okay?

Yup!!! I am actually a hardcore Zeku fan. But recently my friends got me into Ground Riot and I am addicted!! But Zeku will always have a special place in my heart <3

I see. :)

Do you wanna try it out? I know you mentioned you don't like it. But I know some REALLY good fics.

No thank you ^_^ I make it a point to not read those fics. I just can't visualize it working, you know?

Oh...np. Each to their own. But I really hope one day you try reading some if you can?

I don't think so ...😅...uh...but..Any preferences for your inspiration though? or genre youre interested in?

Fluffff!!

Haha, okay! Look out for the new post on my twitter!

YASSS!! Love ya!

You too!

Katsuki sees red, he's about to flip his shit when he decides to give Deku one LAST fucking chance to explain WHY THE FUCK is he promoting Ground Riot when he should be shipping Zeku and demands of him if he really wants their Fucking Ship To Sail Or Not.

Deku gets defensive and says of course he does. Katsuki asks why he has been trying to push him onto Eijirou all this time if he wasnt serious about it. Deku doesnt want to answer. Then Katsuki gets fruatrated and asks WHY the fuck didnt he post Zeku.

"Because I don't want to support it"

"We are literally fucking engaged, you moron. What the FUCK do you mean you don't support it?!"

"I support Us, Kacchan! I just don't wanna support Zeku-shippers! Those two things are different!"

"WHy dont you wanna support them?! tHere is No Difference!"

"There is! I am not obligated to do anything for you. But if I admit to shipping Zeku out loud to the shippers, then I'm obligated to post pictures of us and I know that if I start posting that then my blog will literally be a flood of just Us all over!!"

"What is WRONG with that?!!"

"WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ENGAGED IN SECRET! NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW! you said it yourself! That you don't like the useless yapping of reporters about your love-life where it isn't their business!"

"YEAH? WELL FUCK THAT!"

And Katsuki whips out his phone, takes a selfie of french kissing the hell out of Deku and immediately posts in on his twitter. Deku has hardly reeled back from that intense kiss when he realizes what Katsuki has done and he practically explodes in shame.

"Kacchan!! Our secret!"

"Your fucking fault, Deku. If I have to deal with the shitty extras at all, it better be for the right Ship, you dumbass. I'll punt you straight to China if I hear Ground Riot from your mouth ever again...capiche?"

"But I like Ground Riot...It's a valid ship, Kacchan. You cant diss on it just like that. It has wonderful scope, and the fluff in this ship is AMAZING. I think I have a soft spot for Uke!GZ and Soft!GZ now... and it is a really mutually productive ship unlike- hrmff!", Katsuki shuts him up with a smack to his mouth and sheds his shirt.

"Shut your mouth and strip, shitnerd. I'll fuck the Ground Riot out of you. Also, let's make this fucking clear that if you mention ANYTHING that goes anywhere near Eijirou's dick,ass, balls or mouth", Katsuki shivers, "then I'll wreck your dick, ass, balls and mouth. Remember that. Now STRIP"

"But what about platonically? That's a solid ship, right? Right, Kacchan? Also It doesn't mention Eijirou's- fuck!!!"

Deku gets wrecked thoroughly.

(Let's observe one moment of silence for his Shipping ass 🙏)

(r.i.p. Deku)

Katsuki later asks him why Deku doesn't read Zeku fics either, cause pretending to not like it to weasel out of obligation is fine, but it doesn't explain why he refuses fo read any either.

"A fic, especially the ones that I like, always are these perfect little stories which always have a happy ending. Can't help it, I'm weak to it, Kacchan- it's why I read fics at all, you know? For the rush of happiness and feels! It's always written with the intention that it will be perfect! And it is. But it doesn't come close to the real thing. There can be fics out there that come really close to what we really have though - but I refuse to accept that any fic could be better than the imperfectly perfect things I have with you, Kacchan. No matter what anyone insists, what I have with you is perfect to me. You are perfect to me. And that's all that matters."

Katsuki calls him an incorrigible sap and turns away to hide a violent flush that turns him red like a stop sign.

Omake:

Katsuki's #Zeku goes Viral too. But at this point no one understands what is going on or WHY. Because GZ appears to be a Zeku shipper when Deku is a GroundRiot shipper. Confusion abounds. Zac Efron memes agonize over Both ships, Captain America Japan Civil War Memes make a comeback. And for some reason, Deku keeps posting Ground Riot afterwards too and everytime he does, the next day he is seen limping.

"Did you have a hardtime with Zero-san at training yesterday?"

Before Deku can answer the one who asks him that, Eijirou comes up, winks and answers in his stead, "Very hard", and runs away to Mina's side before Deku has a shame-filled meltdown.

(The Ground Riot thing stops only when Mina and Eijirou get finally married.)

I just binged all your Terror fics and I lovelovelove the aweome mirroring of Sophia catching Francis going down on James in one and James catching him going down on Sophia in another and I'm just imaining some point later where francis gets to be the one to watch to complete the trilogy.

Okay, I forgot this was an ask and not a kinkmeme prompt, so I just spent like fifteen minutes in dreamwidth, all, “but where IS it???” 😂Anyway, hope you enjoy this threeway in three ways! I got experimental.

larking (R, 2648 words)james

If Francis went to town for more than a day or two at a time, James and Sophia often found themselves rather at loose ends. For so long, the majority of their energies had been diverted towards drawing Francis into some game or another. Thus, when it was time for diversions to end and the practicalities of the house to begin, neither she nor he enjoyed settling down to such responsibilities. James disliked it because he – by his own admission – lacked the patience and sense to do it half as well as Francis, whilst Sophia had been tasked with the administration of a house for many years while living with her aunt, and had merely tired of the role.

And so it was that one summer day, as they were reviewing the household budget for the next few months, Sophia put her pencil aside and turned to James, her mouth a moue of excitement and her eyes flashing bright. “James, I would not object to a round or two of larking, if you are so inclined.”

He glanced over, intrigued. “Rather oblique for such a common request, my dear.”

“Oh! So you are amenable. Then I should like to sit on your face.”

Although James could not have been accused of heedlessness in his past dalliances with ladies, he found that today, and with this particular lady, refusing such a striking picture was quite beyond him.

“Ah. Well, yes. Let’s––” distractedly, he extended his hand to her, as gallant as if they were preparing to sweep out onto the dance floor. “Lead the way.”

“On the sofa.” She took his hand, and rose from her seat. Although her additional bulk made walking rather slow, she was as graceful as a ballerina as she swept her housecoat from her shoulders and discarded it into the floor. “Lie on your back. I shall kneel over you.”

James made quick work of her laces and stays, so she was bared nearly entirely to his eyes, save for her breeches. “Wherever my lady commands.”

“Your lady is rather ungainly as of late.” With a smirk, Sophia gestured to the taut slope of her stomach, now as round as a ripe melon. “And she is currently being kicked in the ribs by an unfeeling tenant, so she has ample need for relaxation.”

James began to roll up his shirtsleeves. “That can be arranged.”

Sophia merely laughed. “You would not believe how distempered I have been without.”

He sat down onto the sofa and promptly lay backwards; slowly, she kicked a leg over his chest, leaving the other foot planted on the floor.

James raised an eyebrow at her assertion as she walked, in a rather bow-legged fashion, up to the level of his neck. “I do live here, you know.”

“You do.”

“And I understand how much Francis worries,” he added, as she guided herself into position above his head, now a bit unsteady, given that her belly hid his face from view. “About all of it.”

Sophia let out a snort. “Well, we cannot help that. The man would worry e’en on the golden streets of Heaven.”

James’s eyes had fixed on a loose thread on one of the cushions, but the conjured image made him laugh again, and turn his attention back to the task at hand. As Sophia reached down to loosen her bloomers, James stayed her hand. His thumb swept up and across the slight divot in her wrist, where her heart hammered in time with his.

“Allow me to lead now,” he murmured, which coaxed a soft laugh out of her, and caused her to relax. “I assure you, I am every inch the gentleman.”

“Country gentleman, perhaps,” she countered, but he was already palming her beautiful backside in both hands, fingers sliding beneath pale ruffles and worn cotton to tease her most secret places. When his thumb brushed fully along her little button, she squeaked, and her hand dug into his shoulder as she whispered, “Oh, god.”

He hummed in pleasure and increased his ministrations, chasing after her with his mouth and tongue, one hand blindly teasing at her belly and the other occupied between her legs.

Normally, James could draw her out at their leisure, and build such excitement to a calculated frenzy at the most opportune moments. But on this afternoon, when the air was humid with desire and her shaking thighs were pressed insistently against his face and her free hand kept tightening around his forearm, he knew she would not last. Her happy moans and sighs soon became loud and full-throated.

“Jesus Christ, James, ‘m going to – I’ll – oh!”

The last exclamation pitched as high as a gleeful scream. His fingers got slicker and his cock jumped noticeably in his trousers, but James was heedless now; he was going to make her swear the way Francis did when he was too far gone, hear all those sinful words drip from her lips and hoard them in the night like molten jewels.

“Fuck,” whispered Sophia, as James’s fingers curled forward, hitting the spot that could bring her incredible pleasure. “Fuck, James, God almighty, I – I – oh, don’t stop.”

He sucked that little button into his mouth, now, timing the delicate movement with each gentle thrust of his fingers till her hips bucked above him, and a deep gasp tore from her throat.

“Harder.”

James could hardly think through the haze in his head, but he obeyed her command. His cock pulsed in desperation against the seam of his trousers, though he could not touch it, and Sophia was panting and rutting against his mouth and –

“Watch him,” she was groaning now, voice strung out and pitchy, “ah! Watch – goddamn, oh, Francis, look how much we need it, don’t stop watching, don’t – hm – James!”

Groaning, he worked her through the second one, till she pulled away and stumbled backwards. His own need now became too much to bear, and he choked out a desperate noise as she perched across his waist. “Oh, god, Sophia. Please.”

“I would have Francis see you this way,” she whispered, caressing his slick jaw and mouth with the pad of her thumb as she ground down against him. James moaned at the thought of it, nearly going over the edge as she kept talking. “You look so beautiful, so – can you not tell how much he enjoyed it?”

Whipping his head right, James met Francis’s blown-wide gaze. The shiver tripped up his spine and lodged somewhere in his throat as he came.

##

sophia

It was always so dreadful when Francis was gone for more than a day or two at a time, Sophia thought as she put down her pen. Not because she and James were not well matched in their own right – they got on quite well, really – but because Francis’s absence left the poor man so forlorn. Given everything, it was difficult for him to go more than a few days without seeing Francis. He was not used to the waiting.

Between the quickening of the creature in her belly, who seemed to believe he was in some sort of regimental march upon her innards, and the plaintively despondent expression on James’s face, something had to be done.

So she caught James’s eye with a smile, hoping to entice him by catching him off guard. “I should like to sit on your face.”

He went very still, face twitching slightly, and then got to his feet. His mouth had fallen open. “Ah. Well, yes. Let’s––lead the way.”

As they got into position, she could not help musing aloud. It had been several weeks since the three of them had enjoyed any intimacies together, not least because she had been sicking up at the slightest provocation. Francis worried about her condition, too; she suspected that was why he had not initiated any of their usual games, and perhaps why he had jumped at the chance to go to London.

“I understand how much Francis worries,” James said now, as she slowly guided herself down.

Which explained why James had held back, also. Sophia just snorted. She was not fragile as all that. “The man would worry e’en on the golden streets of Heaven.”

Despite the ache in her lower back and breasts, it took no time at all for her to be swept away by e’en the slightest touch. James seemed equally affected by her ardor, and was soon caressing her the way she had so craved.

“Jesus Christ, James,” she hissed, marveling at how she had even begun to sound like Francis at times even as James’s sure mouth and fingers sent a shock through her entire body. “Oh!”

She had screamed, she was reasonably sure, but nothing else mattered save chasing the building pleasure between her legs––except for the moment she raised her head, still clutching the arm of the sofa in both hands, and saw Francis in the open doorway.

The wave that pulsed through her body threatened to topple her, and so she tightened her grip on the sofa, rasping, “Harder.”

Francis mouthed the word with her, perhaps without even knowing it; his face flushed red and his hand drifted to his trousers and Sophia wanted him to see every bit of this, go over the edge with them after so many weeks without. She was not sure if Francis had ever seen James in this particular position by day; the sight clearly affected him, though he might not admit it aloud.

Thus, she would say it. “Watch him.”

Watch us. How much we have missed you.

Francis wasted no time. His eyes went soft and unfocused as he touched himself through his trousers, sharp eyes roving over every inch of her body, her skin singing as he lingered on each feature. Below her, James was groaning and panting and using his tongue to full effect––oh!

“Goddamn,” she hissed, knowing how much the boys loved hearing her swear; Francis particularly. “Look how much we need it, Francis, don’t stop watching––don’t––James!”

Every muscle in her body contracted at once, she arched her back as the crescendo of delight swept her away. When it was over, and she had some semblance of control again, she quickly moved down James’s body. Poor man was shaking, now.

“Oh, god,” he whispered, as Sophia traced over his mouth and chin with the pad of her thumb. “Sophia.”

“I would have Francis see you like this,” she said, grinding down against him. James made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “He would delight in that––you look so beautiful––can you not tell how much he enjoys it?”

She tipped her head left, indicating James should follow her gaze; when he saw Francis leaning against his favorite chair with one hand on his cock, eager and ready, James shuddered apart beneath her, with Francis following close behind.

##

francis

Exiting the carriage in the heat of the spring afternoon, Francis sighed and stretched. He was always glad to leave London, but never more so than after spending several days away.

“D’you need a hand up to the door?” asked the porter, who seemed ready to jump down at a second’s notice.

Instead of taking him up on this rather practical offer, Francis bristled, and got down to one knee to pick up his overnight case, which had already been unloaded. “Not necessary, thank you.”

“Oh, all right, then,” huffed the porter, and the carriage drove off, Francis glaring after it till it was barely a speck of dust on the main road.

Glaring at his overnight case, which he had still not picked up thanks to the now-obvious ache in his lower back, Francis took a deep breath, stood to his full height very carefully, and walked the remaining quarter-mile or so up the drive, intending to fling open the door, walk into the sitting room, and demand someone younger and prettier (James) should fetch this article for him. The perfect jape. Sophia would giggle, James would grin, they would kiss him hello, and he would be able to rest and be at his leisure as soon as possible.

This plan went awry by the time he reached the front door, when a little scream echoed through the air, and all went silent.

Forgetting his intended jape, Francis tore off his coat and rushed through the house, and he did not stop until he burst into the sitting room, where – where –

“Harder,” gasped Sophia, as her febrile eyes locked to his. She was half-naked and dewy with pleasure, canting against James’s jaw in the most perfect rhythm as he sucked and licked and thrust his fingers into her – James, who was groaning and sweating and hard as iron in his expensive trousers, twitching visibly against the fabric as Sophia babbled.

“Watch,” she huffed, holding Francis’s shocked gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, her half-bare body a riot of color, blooming pink and red and peach. “Ah, goddamn! Oh, Francis, look how much we need it, need you, don’stop watching him – don’t – hm –” he could see the visible shudder pass through her body just as she pitched forward and stiffened, shrieking, “James!”

Fucking hell.

Francis forgot about the soreness in his lower back, and the earlier shock at hearing Sophia scream; he reached between his legs as if in a fever dream and stroked himself through his linens, pulling and rubbing and tugging until he felt the familiar jerk behind his navel. Almost there.

Poor James had yet to reach his end, and so Sophia carefully dismounted and made her way back down his body, till the bottom of her swollen belly brushed the tip of his straining cock.

“Oh, god, Sophia.” James squirmed and thrust up, his face contorted in ecstatic agony. “Please.”

“I would have Francis watch you next,” she whispered, cupping James’s face in one hand. “You look so beautiful – so – can you not see how much he enjoys it?”

Gasping, James’s eyes flew to Francis’s; the second he saw him, he bucked up hard, hands digging into Sophia’s bloomers as she gently rocked back and forth atop him.

Francis’s climax overtook him like a freight train. By the time he came back to himself, he was laughing, soft and raw and helpless, now slumped in a sitting position on the ground.

Meanwhile, Sophia got up, stretched, and promptly sat down again on the arm of the sofa, grinning at the two of them as if she were the proudest woman in the world.

Francis just shook his head, still laughing. “Almost let the porter bring my case up to the door.”

“Oh. Well.” James let out a breathy giggle, swiped at his face with the top of his sleeve. “He’d’ve had questions, then.”

“Yes, he bloody well would have done.” Francis fixed his trousers, got up from the floor, and winced as his back twinged anew. But he held out his arms to Sophia all the same as he crossed over, so she could kiss him. “As do I. Hello.”

Releasing Sophia, who patted his chest with a hand, then tottered off to the head with a satisfied noise, Francis went to James’s side, and raised the back of James’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “And hello to you, too.”

“‘Lo. ‘M sleepy,” sighed James.

“You can nap better in bed,” Francis told his Second sternly. “As can you.” He turned a pretend glare on Sophia, who just smirked as she peeked back through the doorway. “Seems we all need our rest, hm?”

“Mmm hm.” Fitzjames was dozing already.

Francis prodded him with the toe of one boot. “Come on. Up you get. I didn’t spend six days in London to be left alone by a layabout.”

“Come to bed, James,” Sophia added.

Dazed and content, they retired to the bedroom.

1,2,4,5,6,7,10,11,12,14,15,17,20,21,23,24,25,30,31,32,33,34,36,37,41,43,45,46,48,49,51,52,54,55,56,57,58,60,61. I literally just realized what the bottom text said just now. I'm too lazy to pick two plus it's super late and i want sleep right about now so either you pick two, or answer this ridiculous amount of questions (why so manyyy) and in return I'll do the same. lol good luck

oh mah GAW, dude xD Ok, here we GO

1. Are you good at apologizing? Depends. If I know I was the one who was wrong, yeah, I can apologize pretty easily, but if I really think I’m right or am just feeling really prideful, I’m horrible at apologizing. It’s never just “I’m sorry, I was wrong.” I always have to remind them of my good points lol 2. Do you prefer your looks or personality? Neither? Personality, if I have to pick. I like to think I can be a pleasant person to be around. 4. What are you most confident about yourself? My hair lol 5. Name a few songs that reminds you of someone, and who it remind you of. Ooohhh goodness. Anything Fall Out Boy-related = Susanne all the way. Also Panic! at the Disco, specifically the “Fever” album. FOB’s “American Beauty/American Psycho” album reminds me of a few of my friends. That stupid “Do You Like Waffles” song always reminds me of my brother. 6. What is your favourite colour combination? Uuuuuhhhhhh I never really thought about it lol I like burgundy with other shades of red and some shades of pink? I’m crocheting a bomb-looking blanket right now that’s like a combo of sea and space-inspired colors.7. Define your “aesthetic”. Nonexistent? I’ve never consciously thought about it. I guess like shades of blue and flowers and word art and flannels? Idk, man, I just go for whatever I’m feeling.10. What are some of your biggest pet peeves? People who don’t use their blinkers. People who are rude. People who don’t smile when you make eye-contact. People who cut me off in traffic. People who hover in traffic. People who make fun of other people for things they can’t control. Just people doing sucky things, tbh. 11. What’s something that automatically turns you off of other people? Conceit. Cockiness. Arrogance. REALLY strong personalities, like those people who are SUPER opinionated about EVERYTHING and try to turn EVERYONE to their side about EVERYTHING and try to control other people and every aspect of their lives. Also people who try to be grammar police, regardless of their knowledge level. 12. What song always makes you sad/emotional? “The Little Girl” by John Michael Montgomery. ugh. RIP me. 14. How are you with moving on? Absolutely horrible. I’m emotionally spent, currently, because of that exact issue lol15. What’s a philosophy you agree with, but fail to live by? Oh so many. Forgive and forget is a big one.17. What’s something positive happening in your life right now? I have friends again? Like, now that my mental health isn’t in a pit, I’m actually able to connect and have meaningful relationships with other people again, and that’s really cool. 20. Are you a good person? Nah, not inherently, anyway. Goodness is a choice that I can’t stick to on my own; I’m too selfish for that. Phil. 4:13, friends.21. How could you become a better person? Following Christ closely and being more selfless. 23. Have you ever been in love? If so, with how many people? Naaahh I’ve never been close enough with anyone to “be in love.” I love people, like a lot and really deeply, but not romantically.24. Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in annoying at first sight ;) But seriously, it depends on what “love at first sight” means, really. I think two people can click really well the first time they interact, but I don’t think you really love a person until you really know them. 25. Which social science interests you more; psychology (how the mind effects a person), sociology (how society affects a people) or anthropology (learning about culture)? Why? PSYCHOLOGY ALL THE WAY, though the other two are close. I just. The brain is SO freaking cool, and I’m always interesting to learn why the heck mine acts the way it does lol There’s so much to learn, and it’s all so complex and just fascinating. Human nature is fascinating.30. How do you usually get people to be interested in terms of romantic relationships? And platonic relationships? Romantic: I don’t lol #foreveralone Platonic: Humor, 10000000%31. What’s your favourite song to sing a long to? Ooooooooohhh depends on what my voice is doing lol but usually anything from “Prince of Egypt” or “Part the Waters/I Need Thee” by Selah32. What’s some “embarrassing” music you listen to? Every once in a blue moon, I’ll throwback to Big Time Rush lol33. What are you most snobby/pretentious about? So much, honestly lol I can’t think of any one thing off  the top of my head….My writing, maybe?34. How do you express sad emotions? And happy emotions? Tears and babbling. Also tears and babbling.36. How do you feel about phone calls? Depends on who it’s with. Doctor? Nope. Dentist? Nope. School? Absolutely not. Friend? Yes, let’s talk forEVER. 37. How do you feel about texting? Fine? I prefer phone or video calls, tbh, because I like to be able to hear your tone of voice/read your body language41. What’s something you love that you never do anymore? Why don’t you do it? Play piano. I’m not patient enough to practice anymore. 43. If there were no limits; who and what would you be? Everything. (idek man lol)45. Describe your fashion sense. The clearance racks  and Target and Kohl’s,  and thrift stores46. Do you have stage fright? Oh absolutely. It’s gotten a lot better because #teacherintraining, and I literally had to stand in front of 30 17-year-olds every day for 6 weeks. Also, I lead worship in a small class at church, so I’m better than I used to be, but I still get pretty bad stage fright. My hands shake really bad any time I talk in front of people, even in a casual class setting. 48. Are you more of an open or closed person? Closed if I don’t know you. More open if I do, but still generally pretty closed.49. What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you? And the best? Probably the depressed periods in my life when I felt really far from God and the people I care about. The best is salvation via Jesus Christ, aka the reason I made it through those dog days. 51. What are your top three places you’d like to travel and why? UUuuuhhhhh tbh I’ve never flown or anything, and travelling has always seemed like a weird, out of reach concept for me. Ummmmmmmmm I guess Italy, Spain, and England? Because there’d be a lot of cool stuff to see? lol52. What’s something you thought would be really scary/bad, but was actually fine when it happened/you did it? SO MANY THINGSSS umm probably riding roller coasters in Disney World. It was still petrifying, and I couldn’t stand up after because I was so scared, but like it wasn’t AS bad as I thought hahaha 54. Can you sleep facing someone? Yup55. Do you ever get in slumps? If so; how often, and how long do they usually last for? Um absolutely. I depends, anywhere from a day to weeks. 56. Do you like being alone? Yeah, but if I’m alone for too long, I get really depressed.57. Are you social? Selectively58. How do you feel about parties? Mmmm depends on what kind lol I prefer the “social gathering” type parties. No dancing or alcohol for this chick. 60. What question(s) do you love to ask people? Anything that gives me insight into who they are, be it spiritual stuff or just about how their day has (really) been. 61. What question(s) do you love being asked? Same kind of stuff, anything that leads to good conversations and stories. 

I DID IT WOO

delicate; b.barnes

chapter one - “to wakanda”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1,564

summary: reader works for what used to be shield as a highly skilled neuropsychologist. after the events in vienna involving the sokovia accords and a bombing, she gets an interesting request from friend and coworker sharon carter...a request involving none other than steve rogers and james barnes.

[A/N:] not my photo

warnings: brief & indirect mentions of abuse

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

"I don't know Sharon. Are you sure I'm really the right person for this? I'm not, like, an Avengers level tech. Are you sure they don't want a genius or someone like Stark to do it?"

"Well, Stark is pretty busy right now, and honestly, no one knows psych like you. Not who I've met anyway."

"That is so not true. I'm willing to bet there's tons of other people you guys got somewhere who are ten times what I am."

"Agent (Y/L/N), in case you missed it, SHIELD isn't what it used to be. Sure we have old agents who aren't formally 'SHIELD agents,' anymore, but we don't have the expendability we used to. You're our best bet at the moment."

"Damn. I'm your best bet. I'm sorry," she almost chuckled, but then she thought for a brief moment. "Are you sure this is completely necessary? I mean, I saw the photo on the news. The quality's poor at best, and..."

She leaned in, discretely, and whispered.

"...not to seem like a conspiracy theorist commie or anything, but it kinda seems like people are jumping to conclusions here. Are we even sure it was Barnes who set off the bomb?"

Sharon looked around them, cautiously. No one seemed to be listening, but she scanned the room like her life as she knew it was hanging in the balance. She weighed her words in her head, making sure she picked the right ones, then formulated a response appropriate.

"Regardless of if it was him or not, Barnes still escaped. and before that, Ste-we'd been looking for him for almost two years. This analysis is necessary," Sharon brought her voice down even lower. "At least that's what I keep being told. Of course I'd like there to be more solid proof, but I'm not in charge here. He's gone, and they want to be able to find him and 'sort things out.'"

"'Sort things out,'" (Y/N) repeated, questioning the genuineness of whomever told Sharon that. "Unless they have hard evidence that it was him who set off the bomb in Vienna, shouldn't they leave that to uh...Captain America?"

She wondered how Barnes was able to escape in the first place. She saw the containment module he was in; there's no way he could've gotten out without a fight. ...But maybe it wasn't a fight. Perhaps it was a trigger word induced rage. (Y/N) understood a basic layout of the "Winter Soldier." SHIELD would've kept any information they had classified. However, after the fiasco in Washington, d.c. with Hydra and the whole releasing of all files predicament, she was able, with Sharon's help, to put together a simple outline. With that being said, he couldn't have broken out without going Winter Soldier mode. But doesn't someone need the trigger words for that?

“That's what a reasonable person would think, but once again, I'm not in charge," Sharon shrugged. "Things would probably be going a lot smoother if I was, but you can't have everything."

(Y/N) cracked a smile. Sharon was a friend, and a good one too. They'd known each other since before SHIELD was shattered in 2014. In fact, Sharon helped train her.

The only thing was: Sharon was a higher ranking agent and often withheld certain information from (Y/N). It frustrated her. This was where their personal boundaries got in the way of their professional ones.

She could tell there was something Sharon wasn't telling her, but she wasn't about to compromise either of their positions by pushing for information she wasn't supposed to know. Hell, maybe even Sharon knows something she isn't supposed to. Or maybe she knows something that Everett Ross wouldn't like. What if she was keeping something from him? Defying him? What if she was working with Steve Rogers? Now that would be interesting.

(Y/N) was used to secrets around her all the time. She knew Sharon had her fair share, and trying to figure them out wouldn't really get her anywhere.

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll get on this then. Thanks, Agent Carter," she teased in late response to Sharon's 'Agent (Y/N).’

Sharon offered a quick smile before walking off to attend to other business.

- - -

Pain. That was all it was. In every sense of the word. As she strenously made her way through the densely packed file of one James Buchanan Barnes, pain was all she could see. All she could read. It leaked out of the page and seeped into her skin like poison.

It was horrific what they did to him. She knew he had his memory wiped, had someone pull him out and stick someone else in. But it was more than just that. They took his past, his memories, his thoughts; and they ripped them from his mind, leaving an empty space to mold into their own. It was after this when Hydra, in every way they could, dehumanized him, made him less than. He was striped of his freedom, his control, his choice, his humanity, of everything that made him him. They beat and bruised and broke it out this empty human shell until he was nothing but a shadow of faded morality and consciousness.

But hell, she couldn't look away. She was glued to the aftershock of this horrible wreckage. All the years of studying Psychology and Neuroscience couldn't have possibly prepared her for the absolute horror that was his past, his abuse, his torture. It was heinous. Frankly, she questioned how he was still alive. How he still had the will and the drive to be alive. How do you live after that?

"Fuck," she breathed after eons of silence.

She seemed to lose her sense of time whilst she was immersed in the harrowing nightmare of Hydra's cruelty. 'Cruelty' doesn't even come close to doing it justice. When she came to, her desk looked like a bomb went off. Papers were bursting out of manilla folders, littering the linoleum surface with classified files and secret information. She leaned back in her chair, and gave herself a minute to debrief.

(Y/N) almost felt guilty, like she things she looked at were so vile, so violating that she didn't have the right to see them. Sure, she had read and analyzed all sorts of trauma and psychological profiles. But he was different. Something about James Barnes was different. It tangled her mind the fact that a person could endure all that. She could only imagine the effect that would have on the human brain. The possibilities are endless. Suddenly bombing the UN didn't seem so far fetched.

- - -

"Jesus Christ," (Y/N) murmured, staring at her office floor as Sharon finished explaining to her what happened at the Leipzig Halle Airport.

She sat mostly in silence as she pondered over the information just fed to her. Apparently Tony Stark gathered a 'team' to try and intercept Captain America - sorry - Steve Rogers and his (supposed) fugitive friend. It was chaos.

"What is this? Fuckin' Avengers Fight Night?" she wondered aloud. "How many people did you say were there?"

"Twelve total," Sharon clarified. "Five with Stark and five with Steve."

The psychologist shook her head, dumbfounded. "How did it end?"

"Steve and Barnes got out, but everyone else with them were captured and sent to the Raft."

"The Raft?!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "That's for, like, super humans! Not people like Sam Wilson or Clint Barton!"

"You're telling me."

Sharon seemed in agreement with everything she was saying. However, there was something she couldn't quite place. Like she was holding back. But holding back what?

"So what of Rogers and Barnes?" (Y/N) pushed.

Sharon got up and closed the office door before returning to her seat, leaning in, and lowering her voice. This secretive woman, god damn it.

"Well... That's what I came to talk to you about."

Oh boy. She didn't have a semblance of a single idea of what to expect. Apparently Sharon noticed.

"We're the only ones that know this. They're fine..." the agent trailed off, "They're in Wakanda, but they need a little help."

"Are you leaving?!" (Y/N) all but yelled before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth and uncovering it only to whisper, "Do you and Rogers have a thing or something? Cause' I don't know how else you would know all of this when I'm sure that no one else does considering he's now an enemy of several governments!"

"My relations with Steve Rogers are not the focus here." She could've sworn Sharon flushed. "But we have been in contact; I'm one of the few people he can trust right now, and I don't plan on letting him down anytime soon."

They totally have a thing.

"Noted," said (Y/N) with a nod, "but why are you telling me this? Does he want the profile analysis or something? I don't see how he would need it if he's known Barnes for however long."

"Not exactly..." Sharon fidgeted with her hands. "We need you to go to Wakanda.”