#and there’s something about the ugly side of the whole idea of ‘yearning’ that i think about a lot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fragilecapric0rnn · 1 year

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made this playlist for my friend @cheatghost's BEAUTIFULLY wonderful fic show me the place where he inserted the blade. i put a lot of thought into the playlist and was talked into doing an analysis. I will be diving into each part of the fic by going over how and why the songs i chose for each section relate to the themes and events that take place. each part will have it's own post.

here is Part II. After

II. After

Even if it is only 1/4 of the chapter, the After portion is so pivotal to the entire story in setting up what the rest of Steve's arc will look like. It really speaks to Lou's writing capabilities, that a fraction of the chapter, a blip in respect to the rest of the fic, was so compelling and conveyed all of the emotion and heartbreak that is Steve falling apart and self-destructing. So much so that it has its own set of songs that sum up the themes and events of that section. With that, let's dive into the analysis.

Side note: as we move forward, there are songs that I chose more for the vibe and the message within the song relating to the events/characters, so you will notice there is less of me pulling direct lyrics to match up with quotes and more of an analysis of how the song sounds and how the message of the song as a whole relates to the story.

I. Why Didn’t You Stop Me? By Mitski

Will forever be obsessed with the way this song (and other/most Mitski songs) have misleadingly upbeat tempos with the most devastating lyrics. This idea is brought up several times, the idea that Steve could have or should have done something to stop this from happening. As if he alone could have stopped the Suits from taking Eddie away.

The hauntingly optimistic beat paired with the sad lyrics is representative of Steve's mental state. I couldn't help but think of this line from the fic, "And Eddie is lost, now. So, Steve is staying put. If Eddie comes back, he needs to know where to find Steve, needs to know where to look. Steve will be here when he looks." The driving, the staying put, the waiting. He uses driving as a way to isolate himself from the others as he grieves Eddie, and grieves the coulda, shoulda, wouldas, of the entire situation.

… So why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you stop me

As the song comes to a close, I would describe the beat as aggressively upbeat, and representative of Steve in the middle of his descent - when he gets the shit beat out of him. No one is there to stop him at first, it's describe as this sort of primal instinct when he sees Jason and his cronies at the park, how he just stops what he's doing and starts wailing on them. But somebody does stop him. It's Hopper, it's his family.

II. Maybe by The Chantels

Unpopular opinion: oldies should be used in fandom playlists a lot more! You will see several on this playlist, as I push my oldies agenda. To me, there is a certain longing and yearning that oldies convey, whether that be through lyrics or the way vocalists belt those lyrics. This song's lyrics feel very evocative of Steve's downward spiral into despair in the direct aftermath of Eddie's removal from their lives.

Maybe if I pray every night You'll come back to me And maybe if I cry every day You'll come back to stay Oh, maybe

The word maybe feels very much like Steve in this section. His interaction with Locke.

"Steve cries. Loud, ugly hiccups. Big tears roll down his cheeks, land on his split lips with salt that stings. He pulls over and screams, hits his head against the steering wheel once, twice. Clenches his hands around it, lets his nails leave indents in the leather."

The desperation in the song matches the desperation that Steve feels.

III. Buzzcut Season by Lorde

Need to get this out of the way - LOVE that Mike is the one to confront Steve about his self-destruction. It makes the most sense, he is a loud-mouth, he tells it like he sees it, and of course he's going to want to kick Steve in the ass and yell "we're all hurting!"

And I'll never go home again (Place the call, feel it start) Favourite friend (And nothing's wrong, when nothing's true)

His moment with Dustin after this is when we see Steve start to pick up the pieces of himself. Steve starts to realize that even if he's broken, that Eddie took a piece of his soul with him, he has other people in his life that not only rely on him, but want to see him start to heal. Whether or not he wants to heal and move on (as we will see, he doesn't ever really move on), he needs to try. And that trying starts the sharing a hug and a cry with on of his favourite friends.

IV. Cranes in the Sky by Solange

Once again, another song that I would like to copy and paste the entirety of to this post! I think this song is Steve throughout this entire section.

I tried to keep myself busy I ran around circles Think I made myself dizzy

Another word choice that makes me go bonkers. I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried. He tried to fight those guys, he tried to gut information out of Locke, he tried so hard in the aftermath to fix it.

I tried to let go my lover Thought if I was alone then maybe I could recover To write it away or cry it away

He tries to isolate, and that just adds to the hurt. He never allows himself a moment to really cope with any of it. He's not coping, he's trying. The trying is a constant theme that runs throughout the rest of the story, but starts here. In the After.

V. Long Long Time by Linda Ronstadt

The Last of Us intermission - I was listening to the companion podcast of the show and the director talked about how he went out searching for a song that was so full of yearning, longing, and heartbreaking devastation on purpose. And GOD, am I so glad he did, because this song is just so perfect. Similar to Maybe, there is just something about these old songs, the way they are filled with such a sadness. With such longing and yearning, it's like they were built for these stories, that are also filled with longing and yearning and loneliness. Regardless of anyone's TLOU brainrot, this song is just so so beautiful.

A thread that is woven through both the entirety of the fic and most of the songs on the playlist is the theme of loneliness. Loneliness and isolation is how Steve copes. It's what he feels like he needs to do, as he feels like he is the only one who understands the amount of devastation he feels with the loss of Eddie.

Wait for the day you'll go away Knowing that you warned me Of the price I'd have to pay And life's full of flaws Who knows the cause? Living in the memory of a love that never was

That last line is going to a haunt me forever. Because if you think about it, about Steve and Eddie, they never got a chance to explore their love to its full capacity. Their relationship was still in its infancy when Eddie was taken. So, the mournful yearning isn't only for the desire to have him by his side, but for the ache of the love that could have been. The love that was stolen before it could fully bloom.

However, this song was also chosen to represent the tidbit at the end of the chapter, the glimpse into Eddie's side of the story. They're both longing. They're both missing a piece of themselves. They're both going to hurt and miss the other for a long long time.

#another time for good measure: GO READ LOU'S FIC #playlist debrief: smtp #this one made me feel soooooo emotional #and it's only more emotional from here!#buckle in fellas!#steddie playlist #steddie #steddie fic rec #steddie fic #sen listens

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heatwavering · 9 months

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when-harry-met-sally-ification of hangster is genius!!!! i would love to hear more about that if you don't mind sharing!

also - what's on your bradley bradshaw playlist? what's genre do you associate w/ him the most?

oh god. oh you don’t even know man. hangster being harry met sally (1989) is one of those things that only makes sense in my head or with a lot of background context, because if i were to just come out and say “rooster is like sally because he’s a chronic perfectionist and an emotional powder keg that lets everything pile up until the last moment (plus his mom is meg ryan), and hangman’s like harry because he’s an cynical asshole who’s actually gooey on the inside and doesn’t speak before he thinks and chooses to push peoples buttons and yearns more than he lets on” to someone who’s only seen both movies in passing, i’m going to get a lot of blank stares and nervous laughter. "isn't that every romcom couple ever?" yes. but i mean--

BAR. FOR BAR. I have wayyy more examples and comparisons but my computer explodes every time I try to add a picture or god forbid a gif. mostly, the "we've met before and it went terrible both times, but the third time we met it stuck and we managed to finally find equal footing and fall in love," is sooooo special to me. and since when harry met sally is an 80s movie (derogatory) and people bog down on the "men and women can't be friends" thing it gets a lot of flack, but by the end of the movie the whole dynamic shifts and becomes more like "why are we putting such big expectations on a relationship when I just love you. plain and simple. no wishy-washy philosophy applies because we've outgrown it and now know each other as equals." (plus that whole first "idea" is brought up by a cynical twenty-something who changes his entire worldview by the end of the movie bc he's fallen in love. why stick to your guns about an idea that's outdated when (a) people are too complicated to fall into your boxes and (b) uhhh who cares. you're in love. I always thought the change in harry's character is supposed to reverse his previous claim in the beginning of the movie and make fun of it for being kind of elementary. but maybe I'm thinking too hard about it.) I'm definitely glossing over some plot points and nuance and whatever but again, this dynamic is something that came directly out of my mind and basically only applies to how I've sandcastled hangster into what I want to see. plus I watched WHMS at like nine years old and it might've had some debilitating side effects. enjoy with an entire pile of salt.

about music now. I'm one of those people that is the ugly kind of pretentious about character playlists (his ass would NOT listen to hayloft by mother mother, shit like that) but also spends net zero time actually building a playlist that follows a timeline or theme. so I just sort everything into two separate playlists/categories: songs that [insert character] would listen to "canonically" and songs [insert character] is aligned with in my own opinion. sometimes there's overlap!!! and sometimes I'm forcing myself to decide if Bradley listens to third eye blind or is the kind of guy who makes fun of people who listen to third eye blind. I still can't decide. I wasn't alive when he was in high school. and you know you're up a creek without a paddle when American Pie (1999) becomes reliable historical material. anyway here's the best way I can describe the difference in the two:

Bradley's own playlist: teenage boy from SoCal in the late 90s early 2000s. in my mind he was always kinda quiet in school and did partake in band so he could play the piano (yes, in jazz band. if I hear a Whiplash joke I'm airing the room out) and spent a lot of time listening to anything and everything that wasn't uhhh Britney Spears adjacent. but lots of blink-182, foo fighters, Pearl Jam, nirvana. probably some early Coldplay. maybe some of The Killers when he got to college, and Radiohead but in secret and when Maverick wouldn't bully him for listening to so much "sad ass (unspoken: gay) music." and of course he's Goose's son, soooo: Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Jim Croce, Billy Joel, Allman Brother's Band, Hall & Oates, CCR, Eagles, etc. From Maverick (and Ice): U2, Pearl Jam, The Cars, more dad yacht rock, maybe Metallica (??) depends on if you think Maverick would ever mess around with something hair metal adjacent. of course he prays at the alter of Bruce Springsteen like his fathers before him. and his mom filled in everything else: Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Paul Simon, Wham! (George Michael being outed....hoo boy. #1 topic NOT discussed at the Bradshaw-Mitchell-Kazansky dinner table.), George Strait, Hootie & The Blowfish, miscellaneous female country music from the 90s like Faith Hill and Shania Twain. Alison Krauss & Union Station! Alanis Morissette! The Goo Goo Dolls? now I'm just listing things but you get the picture.

my playlist about Bradley: anything about hating your dad or your hometown with lyrics that apply. see photo below and you'll get the vibe.

[also, that ONE specific photo of miles teller in project x is the photo that sailed a thousand fics. i love that photo. i wrote this entire fucking fic around that photo. it’s so bradley nicolas bradshaw to me.]

but overall my biggest examples of songs that apply to him (for me) are Little Giant by Roo Panes, Release by Pearl Jam, and The Long Way Around by the Chicks. Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten bc of how it makes me feel about Maverick and him (sick in the head.) souvenir by boygenius. faith by bon iver. Hot & Heavy by Lucy Dacus and The Steps by HAIM for hangster vibes. too much Taylor Swift and Maggie Rogers that I don't know how to explain without having a published fic. I have a ton more and I want to pick like 10 songs from each section and go into heavier detail, but I should probably put something out before I dig myself a hole pffft.

#writing #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #writing all of this instead of packing for school uuuuhhh #on the bright side i’ve been writing much that usual #and no promises but there’s something cooking. it’s not related to any of this but i wrote about 8k for a one shot and have not stopped #never back down never WHAT?#it’s…sad. very sad. maybe too sad. but when is icemav not

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 4 [SMUT]

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT: fingering, cunnigless, female receiving oral, (loss of virginity kind of), so much sexual tension. And more feelings! Unrequited love... or is it?

Word count: 3300

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Neither you or Javier could sleep that night. At least, not at first. Javier’s bedroom was, although decently sized, pretty empty. You figured he wasn’t the type of guy to keep momentums anyway. His closet was small and you imagined the rainbow array of shirts that were neatly hung up, one-by-one. Staring at the ceiling at two in the morning doing your damn hardest not to think about what happened back at the brothel was proving to be very, very difficult, and you’d do anything to catch a distraction.

Sleeping in his bed though, meant you could seize the perfect opportunity to get to know him better without exactly confronting him. Everything in Javi’s room was brown, an ugly shade of brown too. He clearly didn’t care much for interior design, although you did find it odd that his front room was majorly decked out in nice furniture, and yet every other room in his small apartment felt… empty. Rolling over, you quietly opened the drawer on his nightstand. It was hard to see, being that all the lights were out and it was the middle of the night, but you could just about make out the contents. Half a pack of cigarettes, two lighters, many many condoms (which was strange since Javi almost always insisted that he go bareback whenever you two were intimate), sleeping pills and a passport.

Javier couldn’t sleep either, even though he’d drunkenly fallen asleep on that couch plenty of times. He was thinking of you; not only replaying the fact he said your name while he was fucking Nina, but also the fact that you wanted to kiss him. And honestly? He wanted to kiss you too. Javier balled his hand into a fist as he felt his chest tighten. He seriously wanted to kiss you too.

His thought process halted when he heard you shuffling down the hallway, your hesitant footsteps tip-toeing into the living room and turning on one of the amber colored lamps. Your shy frame was highlighted perfectly in the shadows and Javier simply couldn’t take his eyes off you, strictly in awe of your beauty.

“Javi?” you asked, tiredly rubbing your eyes. You had spotted him lounging on the couch, shirtless with the same crocheted blanket you had slept in, now draped across his lower half.

“Hermosa,” his voice was rich and rasp. “You’re still awake.” the statement came out as an observation, more so than a question.

You fumbled a little with your words before eventually sighing and nodding your head. “Yeah.”

“Is my bed not comfortable enough?” Javier enquired, leaning over to the coffee table and turning on another lamp, now illuminating his side of the room.

You chuckled lightly. “A lot more comfortable than the beds back at the brothel, that’s for sure.” you replied, and Javier nodded knowingly.

“Something on your mind?” Javier prodded further.

Yeah, him.

When you didn’t reply, Javier extended his arm and ushered you over. You sat down next to him, on the edge of his sofa, and remained silent. But the way you could feel his chocolate coloured eyes bore into you was enough to create a cluster of nervous butterflies in the pit of your stomach. He must’ve been up for a while, because the entire atmosphere stunk of tobacco. It wasn’t bad though, it was just… Javi. His honeyed voice interrupted the silence.

“I’m sorry about earlier, about the uh-- the whole kiss thing.” He said, shuffling upwards awkwardly, his hand remaining clutched on the crocheted blanket.

“Pay it no mind,” You replied maybe a little too quickly. You’d rather just forget about the incident, and not come to terms with just how upset his rejection had made you. “It’s um…” you looked up at the ceiling and then back at Javier. “...hard, to stay distracted, when I’m alone. I was fine with Connie and Steve. I was fine with you. But… sleeping alone is hard.”

Javier nodded understandingly. “I know how it feels to need a bed warmer, believe me,”

You came to the sudden conclusion that being a ‘bed warmer’ was all you ever were to Javier, no matter how much more you yearned for. That’s all you’d ever be.

“Although I suppose that’s not exactly what you meant,” Javier continued. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you replied quietly. “I mean guys come to me all the time for that quick release. To feel less lonely. But I’ve never really sought out the same thing, you know?”

“Never?” Javier asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Not even a hook-up?”

You shook your head and scratched the back of your neck. “I uh-- I was a virgin before I moved to Colombia,” you laughed wearily.

Javier’s reaction was priceless. His eyes became apologetic and his jaw loosened. “You haven’t been here long,” he grumbled. “Tell me, have you only slept with the guys from the brothel?”

You looked down at your hands feeling slightly ashamed and nodded your head. Javier’s hand found your chin and he tilted it upwards, forcing your gaze to lock with his.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered.

You furrowed your eyebrows together in bewilderment. “Sorry for what? Working here was my choice.”

“No,” Javi said quickly, placing a hand over your thigh, his dark eyes not diverting from your face once. “I know what the guys are like there,” Javier said, shaking his head. “Hell, I know what I’m like. I had no idea…” Javier paused for a moment before continuing. “Was-- was I your first?”

You smiled at him and shook your head ‘no’, and Javier looked somewhat relieved.

“Tell me cariño, do they make you feel good?”

You thought about the question but practically knew the answer immediately. No. Because sex at the brothel was never for pleasure, it was for rent money. It was to put food on your table and to wear clothes that fit.

“Only you Javi,” you replied softly, your hand finding his as you began to trace circles into his skin. “Only you have made me cum.” you confessed.

It wasn’t necessarily anything he’d done, because you’d only ever given Javier blowjobs and let him put it in you. It was more so the fact you were in his personal company, and you were so deeply attracted to him.

Javier chuckled dryly and shook his head. “That can’t be true hermosa,” he sighed. “I’ve been so selfish with you. If I had known, I would’ve fucked you real good. I would’ve made it good for you. I mean it.”

He sounded mad at himself, even though there was truly no way he could understand your circumstances.

“I can make you feel good. I can… distract you, if that’s really what you need,” he promised. “Just say the word.”

His voice had lowered considerably, and his words alone were enough to create a pool of arousal between your thighs. You were almost scared to think about the wet patch you’d leave on the sofa beneath you as his large hand travelled up your thigh and underneath his shirt that he’d given you to wear.

“Please.” you nodded breathlessly as Javier fiddled with the hem.

“Tell me you want it.” he urged as he tugged at the bottom button.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head harder this time. “I want it, Javi. Please. I want you.”

“Lay back,” Javier ordered, pushing you into the sofa where he had originally been laying.

Your skin flushed with heat as Javier carefully opened your legs and positioned his head in between your soft thighs. “Your cunt looks so sweet,” Javier praised, a throaty moan escaping his lips as he rubbed his thumb between your soft wet folds. “Have you ever let a man taste you before?”

“No,” you squeaked as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed small and tight circles over your bundle of nerves, but his movements were achingly slow. “No man has wanted to.”

Javier huffed. “That’s not true, I promise,” he replied, tapping his thumb over your clit. You gasped longingly, your entire body tensing up. He drew back from you and looked at you, wanting to make sure that you were okay. He could see the way your nipples had hardened and were poking through the shirt he had given you, and it made his cock twitch with excitement underneath the blanket. “Hey pretty girl, relax. I need you to relax.”

You whimpered understandingly and took a deep breath before closing your eyes.

“Look how wet you are.” Javier said, leaning back down and licking his lips. The richness in his voice alone spread through your body like wildfire. He pressed a kiss into your mound, his mustache tickling your skin before lowering his head even further down. The curve of his nose bumped against your clit and you felt yourself clench around nothing, needing him so desperately.

Then, without warning, Javier slid his tongue in between your wet folds, gliding it up and down. Obscene wet sounds filled the room and if you weren’t already seeing stars, you might have even been slightly embarrassed. Your hands, that were once clenched around the curve of a cushion, had instinctively wormed their way into Javier’s chocolate coloured hair.

Once Javier had you spread open, his tongue became more dexterous and began to flick over your clit; up and down, up and down. He was skillful, to say the least. Occasionally though, he’d stop his movements, bringing you down from your high, only to start again. He was teasing you so much, but he was completely right. No man had ever made you feel this good. No man had ever cared about your own pleasure, other than Javier of course. His lips latched onto your sweet spot and he began to suck on it longingly, groaning wantonly against you and pushing vibrations through your core.

“Taste so fucking good, fuck,” Javier cursed, pulling off your cunt with a pop as he regained his breath. “Better than I imagined.”

And just like that… the nervous butterflies came fluttering back. He’d imagined this.

Javier found the way you shivered adorable and it only spurred him on, wanting nothing more than to bring you to the greatest heights of your pleasure. Your perfect sweetness glossed over his lips as he lapped your wetness up like a starved man, and your writhing beneath him didn’t stop once. You tugged on his hair as you felt your climax build up.

Recognising that you were close, Javier, pushed two of his fingers inside of you, scissoring them and stretching you open. Finally you could clench around something. His mouth didn’t stop though, and his tongue became faster and faster as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

Javier curled his fingers and they pushed against your special spot, your body involuntarily arching with pleasure and a long moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?” Javier asked, a wicked smile crossing his lips. “Right there huh? You like that?”

You couldn’t even fathom words, only his name leaving your lips in the form of a chant as he continued his movements. You weren’t going to last, and he knew it too. In fact, Javier was too busy focusing on giving you pleasure, he hadn’t even realised the way his cock was leaking too, desperate for some kind of attention.

It was incredibly erotic, every time you looked down and saw Javier’s fingers get lost inside of you as he ravished your cunt. He was so good at it, you had no doubt he’d done it a million times before. One last thrust of his two fingers sent you into a frenzy as your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you came undone.

You were a heaving, gasping mess, and Javier had left you unlike anyone had ever left you before. As he pulled his hand away from you, your cunt continued to clench around nothing and your thighs were twitching as the pleasure raced through your veins.

Javier’s fingers shone with your wet arousal and he brought them up to your own lips. “Look at the mess you made. Such a delicious mess,” he cooed. “Taste.”

You parted your lips and sucked your arousal from his fingers. “How was that, hm?”

You nodded wordlessly. “Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your eyes feeling heavy with post coital exhaustion. “Let me-- let me return the favour.”

“No sweet girl,” Javier said. “You need to rest.”

The agent pushed your hair out of your face and— fuck, he wanted to kiss you so bad. He wanted to kiss your pretty, swollen lips. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Kissing you might only confirm these feelings he had been trying to push away. “Sleep tight hermosa.”

You mumbled something incoherent before you fell fast asleep, your smile not fading away once. Javier removed his blanket and wrapped it over your body. That was when he realised he’d came too. He hadn’t even done anything… nothing to pleasure himself, but he’d come just from pleasuring you. That had never happened before.

He cursed to himself, reaching for the box of tissues that he kept on the coffee table and wiped himself down. Padding into the kitchen, Javier made you a glass of water and set it down next to you, just in case you woke up thirsty during the night.

He remembered your words. ‘Sleeping alone is hard.’

Javier brought his pillows, duvet and blankets from his bedroom and set them down on the floor so he was laying next to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to wake up alone and be in a panic. He considered just lifting you up and taking you to his own bed, that way he wouldn’t have to take the floor, but he just didn’t want to risk waking you.

Javier barely slept that night, his mind active and his thoughts racing a million times an hour. Did he regret what just happened? No, absolutely not. He’d do it a million times over. But that didn’t make it right. Sure, he’d slept with his informants many times but you were different. He already had a past relationship with you, he already knew you. And he felt like he had some kind of responsibility for you. Romantic relationships never ended well for Javier, so he could only hope that whatever you and him had going on, would remain strictly sexual. No feelings. There was no need for feelings. No time for relationships in the middle of this mess.

———

Javier really didn’t want to wake you, but he had to go to work, and he wasn’t willing to leave you home alone. Besides, you were his informant. And the DEA needed information.

When you woke up, you were fine, much to both yours and Javier’s surprise. The bliss from the night before still hadn’t escaped your memory, and had set you on course for a pretty good day ahead. Javier couldn’t really cook (minus paella), and so you both swallowed down some dry toast and you finished your glass of water.

Javier got a phone call just before the both of you were about to leave. It was brief, and ended just as you threw over one of his denim jackets that he’d loaned you. “DEA sent a couple of guys over to your place to pick up your possessions. You’ll be able to get changed once we arrive at the office.”

You nod your head gratefully, but then stop as Javier heads out the front door. “Wait, I didn’t give anyone my key.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Javier replied. “They will have found another way in.”

You weren’t sure how much you liked the idea of a bunch of strange cops breaking into your tiny apartment but nonetheless, you were just glad to have fresh and clean clothes. Not that you minded living in Javier’s pale yellow button down, but if you were going to be visiting DEA offices and God knows where else, you at least wanted to be dressed appropriately.

Javier told you to wait in the car while he nipped inside to grab your clothes. He handed the duffel bag to you through the car window and waited for you to get changed so the both of you could walk into the office together.

His office was bigger than you imagined, and spacious too. Despite it being pretty early in the morning, all the desks were filled and it seemed like the agents were hard at work.

“This is Luisa,” Javier pointed at the receptionist. “This is where we clock in and out of work. If we ever go out on impulse stake-outs or find the need to follow a lead, we gotta sign our name. It’s dumb, really.”

“Only Agent Peña never signs his name. Neither does Agent Murphy. Both of ‘em are as bad as each other.” Luisa laughed.

Javier rolled his eyes. “Pipe down Luisa,” he replied jokingly, his eyes darting to her hands. “Is that a new nail colour? Hmph, suits you.” he charmed before whisking you to the next station.

“There is Messina’s office,” Javier pointed through a narrow hallway towards an opaque glass door at the very end. “She thinks she runs the place but she’s only just transferred here.”

“Here is where I work,” Javier sighed, tapping his finger on a desk which was stacked high with paperwork. The tapping had clearly alerted the blonde haired man, who you remembered from yesterday. “And this is my partner Steve, sleeping on duty.” Javier tsked and Steve’s tired frown only deepened.

“Olivia been keepin’ us up all night,'' Steve groaned before standing up and shaking your hand. “Nice to see you here,” he said politely. “Has Javier given you a tour of the place?”

You nodded and smiled, already not hating the environment.

“Yeah. Everyone seems nice.”

You must’ve spoken too soon because in that very moment, none other than CIA Agent Bill Stechner came waltzing over, his lips curled into a smug grin.

“Well well well,” he observed, looking you up and down with judgement in his blue eyes. “What do we have here?”

Before you could reply, the man turned to Javier. “Peña, you know we don’t usually allow whores to wander the office.”

You flinched at his comment, your eyes narrowing at the unwarranted attack. Javier though, saw red, his own eyes darting up to look at Bill.

“She’s my informant.” Javier snapped back, trying his damn hardest to keep it together.

“I know who she is,” Bill seethed.

“Get the fuck outta here, Bill.” Steve sighed, standing up, his chair scraping against the floor.

Bill raised both of his hands defensively, almost as if he had done nothing wrong, and laughed darkly. With an innocent shrug of his shoulders he walked away and left you standing there, speechless.

Javier didn’t say a word, only pinched the bridge of his nose and got his head stuck straight into some paperwork.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna fuck with the CIA guys. They’re assholes.” Steve informed, his eyes glancing back over to Bill who was now sitting at his own desk. It was like the confrontation had never even happened.

“Noted.” you gulped.

“Take a seat, grab a coffee. Make yourself at home.” Steve told you.

Home. I guess this was where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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PIFTL taglist in replies! Let me know if you wish to be added to either taglist Xx

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javi pena #narcos

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pm-my-hubbies · 3 years

Text

Who Are You Talking To | C.E

Summary: Reader is fed up with Chris not spending time with her on her week-long break.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning(s): None!

A/N: I accidentally shared this through my personal account! I apologize for any confusion if I tagged you the first time!

Chris was ecstatic when I informed him of the dates for my Fall Break.

He planned out everything we would do together. From planting a blanket in the middle of a park for a lovely picnic to strolling through farms for a pumpkin to carve and sit on our porch. He did all of that.

Yet he’s one strike away from me slapping the shit out of him. He’s been blowing me off every second and I’m due to return for work in two days. We hadn’t done any of what he promised we would accomplish together weeks ago. Instead, he handled work business downstairs for the first part of the day and followed that up with indulging in his own hobbies. I wasn’t a part of any of it.

To add on to it, his Zoom sessions weren’t successful and that prompted him to radiate negativity. Dinner time consisted of him giving me short answers or grunts and through it all, I remained optimistic. I figured being positive and not calling him out on his behavior right then would flip a switch in him to acknowledge how he was acting towards me but nothing happened.

My feet connected with the cold wooden flooring, goosebumps rising on the parts of my body that were exposed because of the tank top and pajama shorts I wore. The clock read 11:54 p.m. I’m praying Chris let Dodger out for the last time this evening.

The volume of the television in the living room increased the closer I dragged my feet to where I presumed he would be resting. Turning the corner, Dodger was the first one I spotted as he slept soundly on his stuffed animal right by the entrance to the room. Chris, on the other hand, watched CNN on blast as if he was an old man struggling to hear; his arms were folded across his chest while he laid on his side and blankly stared at the bright screen.

I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of my week spent at home. “Chris.” I called in a firm voice that was loud enough for Dodger to only blink his eyes open and instantly travel back to Dreamland.

My boyfriend only shifted his gaze to look at me. “Hm?”

“Did you let Dodge out one last time?”

“Mm-mm.”

Breathe Y/N, breathe. I let out a soft sigh as I bent down to gently shake the canine awake. “Dodger, honey. Let’s go outside.” I knew from Chris’ response he wouldn’t be letting our dog out anytime soon. The man would probably drag himself down the hall to bed as the sun rose for a new day.

Dodger simply obeyed my soft command by standing and putting on a show of dramatically stretching. As we made our way towards the back door right behind my miserable boyfriend, I made sure to cut my brown eyes at his lounging figure and hoped he could feel my glare.

Once again, my skin tingled as the cool night air caressed my legs and arms. To keep myself warm, I folded my limbs across my chest, rocking on the balls of my feet. My eyes managed to follow Dodger’s sniffing silhouette in the darkness but as soon as he began the squat for a number two, I looked away.

By now, Chris had shut off the loud tv. Finally.

“I thought you said we would be hanging out for my Fall Break?” I questioned with my back facing him as I kept my eyes on the dog.

“What?”

“I thought you wanted to hang out with me for my break. Week-long, might I add.”

“We are.”

“No we’re not, Chris. And you know it.” I sighed as I moved to slide the door closed but ceased my movement to leave an opening for Dodger in case he finished early. With my hands on my hips, I rotated around to stare down Chris. “You’ve spent every single day downstairs taking care of business with A Starting Point and work, which I have no problem with. It’s what you do afterwards that bothers me. Barely talking to me or not at all and then you sit down here to do whatever. I was trying to be positive and give you your space but now—”

“But now your little feelings are hurt, right?” he snapped. “You’re hurt because I can’t devote 100% of my attention to you on your little break? News flash: everything isn’t about you, Y/N. So, stop your whining and actually think about what I’m going through.”

This would’ve shattered a younger version of myself. But after years of reflection, I realized I was always given the opportunity to fight back instead of wallowing in my tears.

First, I glanced to my left. Then to my right. No sign of life. I grimaced at my boyfriend. “You must not be talking to me.” I indicated with a point towards my chest. “You must be talking to this goddamn wall.” I sassed, jabbing my thumb to the wall behind me.

Suddenly, for the first time in the year Chris and I have been together, his eyes were size of saucers as it dawned on him what he’d done. And how I responded.

Tonight, was his first time taking his anger out on me. Yes, we’ve had our arguments, but those moments were different. This happened to be the time where the world was against Chris and rather than rely on me to comfort him (as I usually would), he was victimizing himself. He probably expected my body to rack with sobs at the harshness of his words, but I was through with that shit tonight.

“Since you wanna pull a Karen on me, your ass can sleep on the couch tonight.” I punished him. In that moment, I felt the softness brushing against my legs. Dodger was finally in. I pulled the door closed all the way this time and locked it. “Come on Dodger, your dad is being an asshat. You can sleep with me.”

Chris was frozen in his spot as the both of us moved past him. I made sure to give him a little bump on the way with my shoulder.

While waiting for Dodger to grasp his animal in his mouth, I observed him throw Chris a quick glance as if telling him that he fucked up. Funnily enough, our dog was the first to exit the scene and hold his head high as he trekked to the bedroom.

“I’m locking that fucking door tonight. Don’t even try it. You made your bed, now lay in it.” I dictated.

~*~

Surprisingly, I slept like a baby. Maybe it’s because I finally said something to Chris about his behavior lately. The previous nights, he would slumber away while I laid awake wondering if we would even spend time together before I headed back to work. Calling him out felt right.

I took care of my morning routine before unlocking the bedroom door and calling for Dodger to wake up. What I didn’t expect on the other side was the tray we roll out for sick days to be standing in front of the door.

Dodger was planning on being difficult as he hadn’t moved from his spot. This gave me ample time to study the tray with a covered meal placed on top and a horizontally folded card with my name scribbled on it.

“You were right last night. I have been distant throughout your break and I’m sorry for ruining the plans I promised. It’s a short amount of time left with you but we’re going to get started early. Eat the breakfast I made for you and then freshen up by putting on your favorite dress. Meet me at the car by 11.”

I chuckled at the message but decided to follow his set of instructions, nonetheless.

~*~

As promised, Chris drove us to the pumpkin patch further away from where we lived for more privacy and intimate time together. We spent the whole ride discussing last night’s events and catching up on the conversations we were meant to have throughout my week in our house. When he parked the car, he suggested we snap as many couple selfies but made sure to emphasize the idea of him taking pictures of me.

“They’re for my phone.” He lied through his teeth as I raised a brow at his idea.

The truth: Chris yearned to share pictures of me on his Instagram. At least half of his feed consisted of me, Dodger, or nature and rarely ever himself. I worried he would lose followers for never updating them on how he was doing but he dismissed my worries with a kiss to my forehead and a, “It’ll be fine, who cares?”

For a while, we explored the farm with our hands linked and eyes moving about at the pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t until we’d reach the halfway point did I realize we didn’t have an exact clue as to which type of pumpkin we were searching for.

“I was thinking one of those big, tall pumpkins.” Chris answered after I asked him what our goal was.

“The ones that look like an orange squash?”

“Yeah.”

“Why…?”

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted one.” He shrugged. His face held a gentle look of content.

“Well, if a squash-lookin’ pumpkin is what my big baby wants, then a squash-lookin’ pumpkin is what he shall get.”

Chris released my hand to wrap it around my waist and pull me closer to him. I felt my cheeks heat up as he placed a kiss to the crown of my head. After all this time together, he still managed to have me acting like a schoolgirl that somehow caught the attention of her longtime crush.

“Thank you baby.” He answered. “I know I already said this twice; through the note and in the car. But, I’m truly sorry for how I acted last night and the days before that. I was stupid in bottling everything up and not confiding in you like I normally do. Doesn’t justify any of what I said last night but I figured you had a lot on your plate and didn’t want to bother you with my own.”

I paused my walking to glance up at him with what I hoped was love in my eyes. “Chris, you could never bother me. As a couple, we talk to each other. Even if we’ve got problems of our own at the same time? I want you to come to me and I come to you so we can figure things out.” I stood on my toes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw due to his towering figure. “I love you and accept your apology.

“I love you too.”

“You better. Because my ass wouldn’t be helping you find that ugly pumpkin to make you happy.”

“Hey!” he pouted before I shut him up with a kiss.

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @daddyslittlecaptain @tantricevans @liquorlaughslove @nina-skyee @pinkgirlinablueworld @norababora @bakarilennox @rubyy98

#chris evans #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x woc reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader

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thotsforvillainrights · 3 years

Note

Could I may' ask how would Yandere Setsuno, Overhaul, Mimic and Chronostasis react when their darling is (the first time) drunk and flirting with them? Have a beautiful♥️

(Okay so I wanted to experiment with this one and add a lot more speaking in it. I kinda wanted to write it out in a different way just a bit, so please hang in there and I hope I haven’t bothered you by doing this lol)

~Yandere Toya/Kai/Joi/Hari and their “first time” drunk S/O~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

~Setsuno~

He watched you stumbling around and began to wonder if this was a bad idea or not. When you brought up to him that you had never went to a bar or club and the fact that you never got drunk but you wanted to, he took it upon himself to show you these things. After all, how could he deny his one true love’s wishes? He took it upon himself to bring you out for a fun night, and he even took the role as DD so you could get shit faced if you wanted...which is exactly what you did:

Y/N: “I’m absolutely havinnng a great tiiiiiime Toya. I’m absolutely haaaaa...oh who is that??? Imma just, pshhhhh hahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!”

Toya: “Aw geez. I knew this was a shitty idea. now I gotta handle this later.”

He spoke to himself as he glared at the way you basically threw yourself on another man/woman/person. It’s not your fault. You’re absolutely plastered so he would excuse your bad behavior as he usually did. However...that passerby wouldn’t be so lucky. Luckily for him you finally turned your attention to him and you didn’t leave his side the whole night. He’s more thankful to you flirting with him than anyone else in the room, he just wishes you were better at it. The amount of times you drunkenly poked him in the eye as you tried to romantically move his hair from his face was ridiculous. He could only laugh at it though!

~Overhaul~

You’re aggravating as shit but you’re his after all. So then why are you once again behaving like a child? Is it because you can get away with more than other people could since you knew he has his head up your ass? The answer is yes. He’s obsessed with you and puts up with a lot more than he would do for anyone other than you. You like to take advantage of this by doing whatever you can to annoy him. As long as you don’t talk/look/or interact with anyone else then you should be in the clear with him. That’s why you were now off your ass wasted just because you got into the old liquor cabinet and tasted a few sips of sake...a few too many:

Kai: “Y/N what the absolute hell are you in here...What the F U C K?????”

Y/N: “Chisakiiiiii! You’ve arrived finally! I cannot wait to tell you about the day I, hic...hurrrrrrrrghrhhhgh!!!

Overhaul felt his hives bubble up in no time when you literally vomited all over one of the couches in his office. “Not doing this right now. I not doing this at all.” He quickly turned on his heels and headed out of the office, ordering Toya to lead you to the room and Nemoto to clean up that mess. Once you were in the room, he stripped you down and bathed you gently. It was something akin to the way he gently treated you back when he first kidnapped you and you finally began to fall into his arms instead of running from them. The moment was almost romantic had it not been for the way you endlessly flirted with him (lewdly I might add). He sighed and continued working little foamy bubbles on your upper back with the sponge while you spewed nonsense all in the name of love. When you finally went to sleep that night, he sighed in relief.

~Mimic~

He had no problems at all with you. Actually it was so easy to get you in his arms for the first time that he couldn’t really be considered too much of a yandere I suppose. His tendencies always show their ugly head when too many people are near. That’s why taking you to a club for the first time was a total mistake when he noticed all the eyes you were getting.

Joi: “Hey fuck off you cocksplat! And what the hell are you looking over there bitch! And you! Yeah you buddy, keep your eyes off my woman/man/partner or else I’ll fucking maim yah!”

Y/N: “Pshhhh, you’re so funny mimmy! Turn into a plushie for me again, hahahaha!!!”

You simply sit in his lap at the bar while he’s roasting and threatening everyone that passes and catches eye with you. Perhaps that’s translated into being overprotective, but the yandere comes in when you realize when he’ll gladly murder everyone in there upon your command. He seemed to be in an awful mood all night even when the two of you made it home. He isolated himself in the living room while you were in the bedroom. He didn’t want to scare you away with his anger. He wouldn’t react very well if you tried to run away. Lucky for him, you drunkenly plopped your happy little ass on the living room carpet and began flirting with him. How could he stay angry when you were saying the stupidest pick-up lines in history? He shook his head and chuckled before pulling you into his lap.

~Chronostasis~

Oh what joy. He didn’t take you to a club to get drunk so he didn’t have to deal with blowing some stranger’s brains out in a back alleyway for paying too much attention to you. He simply had to deal with you’re weirdness within the confines of your own home. It all started with him buying you a first bottle of wine. It quickly escalated from that point on, and now you were making googly eyes at him from the foot of the bed while he tried to hear the TV over your loud ass talking. He’d be annoyed but he was too busy trying not to laugh at you. Laughing would only encourage it.

Y/N: “Hari why don’t you and I go catch a pri...what was...A PRIVATE FLIGHT somewhere and lemme give you a big smooch on the fucking w...a big kiss on the wayyyyyy.”

Hari: “...”

Y/N: “Are you from Tennessee because it must’ve hurt when you fell from heavennn. Hallelujah”

Hari: “...”

Y/N: “Please choke me.”

Hari: “...Pshhh HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD, Y/N SHUT UP ALREADY!”

He’s doubled over laughing but his heart is full right now. Who would ever thought he’d actually end up with you? After all the stalking, heartache, and yearning? He didn’t deserve you in drunkenness or sobriety, yet here you were.

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRNMJH7vHL7APNobUykhK4w?view_as=subscriber

#setsuno toya #kai chisaki #Joi Irinaka #Hari Kurono #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shie hassaikai #yakuza

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spicysoftsweet · 4 years

Text

Why Not Her? (Illumi x Reader)

A/N: Buckle up, this is long as fuck and dramatic as HELL. Please read @hisokapegger‘s fic for the first part, and consider this the other perspective. If one of us is feeling up to it, we’re gonna write some more perspectives.

To the tune of Jolene by Dolly Parton here ~

Part one by @hisokapegger here

TW: pregnancy

---

To love is to trust.

You had done the unthinkable by choosing to love and to trust what to others was despicable. You had made the leap and been rewarded for it with the love of Illumi Zoldyck.

Your relationship would be strong and lasting; you were sure of it. Prior to coming to the sprawling mansion he had grown up in, he had already paved a way for you after all. With enough convincing (or rather, over a year of quiet arguments and louder fights that you thankfully weren’t privy to), his parents had begrudgingly accepted the idea of you.

And today was the day you would finally be presented as his fiancee.

He had chosen you yourself. There was nothing to fear, as long as he was with you. You reminded yourself of this as you held his hand while he led you into the manor.

You kept your smile on as you navigated through, following just a few steps behind but still linked. What you needed to do was look charming, even if you were afraid - first impressions were paramount to people as elitist as Illumi’s family. You had to channel grace, even if the butterflies in your stomach would barely settle the further you went.

And you did so well, exuding charm and inner peace to everyone you met - that is, until you met eyes with her.

Illumi introduced the beautiful, sylphlike creature as one of his most trusted butlers. She smiled at the praise, and the moment you took in the soft features painted on pale skin with a hint of olive, something inside of you trembled for just a moment.

“This is Kali. She’s been with me ever since I was a child,” he explained, with fondness.

You nodded, trying to ease the thump in your heart, keeping your smile genuine.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kali.”

You were being truthful. You sensed intrinsically she was sweet and kind, and you knew you would end up liking her the longer you spent time together. She would be your personal butler from then on, anyway. You decided to ignore the nagging sense of impending doom that knocked at your subconscious, shoving it into the deepest recesses of your mind.

As Illumi took you away to move on, you turned back to sneak a look at Kali once more.

And then you saw it; you wished you hadn’t seen it: her eyes shining with sadness for just for a split second before she noticed you and looked away.

----

As you had anticipated, you and Kali became fast friends. You knew Illumi loved you and that his feelings hadn’t changed by the way he spoke excitedly about your upcoming future together, took the time to fill up your quarters with the things you liked, and indulged you in soft kisses and touches when you were alone together.

But the thought that you were assuming a space that didn’t belong to you, and not in a way as innocuous as sitting in someone else’s seat, continued to linger in the back of your mind.

It festered every time Illumi came by to see you while you were exchanging stories with Kali when you failed to see a difference in the way he looked at you both. It reared its ugly head whenever she teased him in your presence, or whenever she gave you a tidbit about his favorite things. There was a twinkle to her eye whenever she spoke about him, and while you loved her, you started to hate it.

But jealousy was such an unbecoming emotion, wasn’t it?

Illumi loved you, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

---

“I want Kali to make one of the wedding cakes.” Illumi stated, voice as light and inconsequential as usual, as you sat side by side in one of the many gazebos on the field.

“Oh?” You asked, looking up from the catalog of flower arrangements you were perusing, despite the fact that you knew his mother would override any decisions you made anyway (you had decided you would let her win the battle over flowers so that you could win the war, after all).

“There’s a recipe only she knows,” he continued. “It’s been my favorite since I was a kid. She’s aware and has agreed.”

“That sounds lovely, Illumi.”

It truly did, and that was the worst part.

---

Your wedding came and went, and it was every bit as beautiful as you imagined. You remained in Illumi��s arms after consummating your union, and somehow, shockingly, he fell asleep first. Or maybe he was just closing his eyes - yes, that was the more rational explanation. You snuggled closer into his neck, and wrapped your arms even tighter around him.

Still flushed, you whispered a breathy, “I love you.”

And to your terror, the little green monster that had spared you for the past few days came back in full force.

But so does Kali! It screamed from the parts you thought you had locked away, and your heart started to race.

Illumi didn’t open his eyes, but he pressed his lips to your forehead in a small, quiet motion before pressing you even closer to him, likely sensing your unrest.

What you needed to hear him say was those three words back.

But alas, those three words never came, and the little green monster grew just a little bit stronger that night.

---

You could have your choice of men, but I can never love again

He’s the only one for me, [Kali]

---

It didn’t take very long for you to become heavy with child, and for whatever reason, pregnancy was particularly hard on you. The fatigue, back pain and constant nausea would have been manageable if it weren’t the fact that your ankles swelling was nothing compared to the swelling in your face, and you were unsure if the stretch marks that coursed over your belly would ever fade. Just looking at yourself in the mirror some days would ruin your morning.

Kali remained lithe and beautiful as always, graciously by your side to help you with the most menial tasks. Taking your hand to help you get to the bathroom or to take a daily walk around the manor to prevent blood clots from sitting around, keeping you company while Illumi was away; you were in need of constant assistance, and she was always there for you.

She was an angel, and your best friend.

One evening as you ate dinner, just the two of you, you let out a sigh.

Kali smiled in response, attempting to reassure you. “Pregnancy seems difficult, but you wear it well,” she mused, pouring chamomile tea for the two of you to enjoy.

You gave out a dramatic snort as you took a sip. “I’ll never look the same again, and I’m pretty sure this whole story about a “pregnancy glow” is fake,” you huffed as you set the teacup down.

“But Illumi’s so happy, he talks about it all the time!” Kali exclaimed cheerfully, setting down her own cup. “Just yesterday, he was talking about baby names you had discussed, and settling on a few. It was quite funny to watch actually.”

A knot formed in your stomach. The last time you spoken to or seen Illumi was multiple days ago...

“Was he home yesterday?” You blurted out, then were embarrassed to even have to ask your friend about your own husband’s whereabouts.

She furrowed her brow as she looked at you in confusion. “Yeah, of course, he was just here for a couple of hours, but...”

He didn’t come see you? What she left unsaid was enough to set you on edge, but you couldn’t be mad at her, only at yourself.

Who could love you anyway, the way you were now?

It took you a moment to get up on your own, but you had to stand and make your way from the table. Turning away from her so that she couldn’t see the bitter tears that were ready to fall from your face.

“__, are you alright?”

“Mmhmm,” You choked out and nodded, your voice regrettably higher than usual. You bit your lip.

“I think I’m going to bed early tonight.”

You could hear the chair shift back as she rose.

“Okay,” she said, in a soft, compassionate voice. You heard her light footsteps make their way to the door, pause for a moment, and finally the door closed shut behind you.

And at the sound of the closed door, as if on cue, your tears began to fall.

---

Your smile is like a breath of spring

Your voice is soft like summer rain

And I cannot compete with you

[Kali]

---

You spent the rest of your pregnancy on bedrest, before producing a beautiful, dark-haired little girl. Skin to skin contact was brief before Illumi took the baby in his arms, inspected it, and with the smallest smile of pleasure, handed it to Kali.

You watched as Kali cooed at your new child, standing next to your still pleased-appearing husband, the picture of a perfect family. Even their features complemented each other; it was like a knife twisting in your chest.

Kikyo gave you a quick look over before running over to them to pick up her new grandchild. For a split second, you wondered if you had imagined a look between pity and understanding, hidden beneath her visor.

The nightmare of being overlooked.

---

And I can easily understand

How you could easily take my man

But you don't know what he means to me

[Kali]

---

It took you not too long after that to grow bitter. Maybe it was postpartum depression, maybe it was a year of feeling inadequate, maybe it was the fact that you knew your friend was more deserving than you.

But either way, you withdrew. From Illumi, from Kali, from everyone. It wasn’t hard to do so. You did what you were there for. You’d produced a child to appease your husband and your grandparents.

How you yearned for freedom...

The freedom that Kali had to love without the responsibility. If only you could switch places.

“___, please eat-”

“I’m not hungry,” you replied, before she could even finish. Kali pulled the plate of food back to her.

“Illumi is upset with me that you’re not eating.”

“Are you worried about Illumi or me?” You quipped, then covered your own mouth, shocked at what had come out.

“...”

Kali was speechless, but the look on her face betrayed a layer of guilt that you couldn’t tolerate. You were right. It was less about you than about Illumi.

You knew she cared about you too, and yet…

“I know you love him,” you choked out. Kali said nothing, her beautiful eyes still on you, as you began to cry.

“I know you wish he had chosen you instead of me, and honestly, I wish he had.”

----

I had to have this talk with you

My happiness depends on you

And whatever you decide to do

[Kali]

---

The next morning, you decided you would seek some professional help. You didn’t know how much of this was depression vs. postpartum baby blues, but something had to be done. Kali did not deserve your anger at all.

You didn’t see Kali that morning.

When you finally spoke up your concern of your whereabouts to Illumi, hoping not to avoid any trouble, his face was impassive as usual.

“She asked if she could leave.”

The butlers didn’t just have the option to leave… Or did they?

“I didn’t know they could quit,” you questioned, suspiciously.

“They usually can’t. But in this case, there was an exception.” He said. With that, he turned fully to face you, and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. It had been a long time since you’d kissed, since you’d withdrawn from him in your depression, and you missed it. But it felt wrong.

You withdrew again from his touch.

“What did she say? What was the exception?” You demanded to know.

“She told me she loved me, and that you knew the entire time,” he said, simply. Your stomach did a backflip.

“Normally the punishment is immediate death, but I know how much you care about her. And she was good to you.” He continued, taking your hands in his. You pulled away slowly, staring straight through him. He didn’t insist on it.

“Where is she now?”

“Off the manor, most likely.”

You started to walk towards the gate, and he held on to your arm.

“Where are you going?”

A panic started to rise in you.

“Bring her back! I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong!” Tears started to stream down your cheeks again, as the realization set in that such a petty feeling such as jealousy had managed to turn you into a villain.

“She wanted to leave.”

“She loves you!” You protested.

“So?”

So? It was such an aggressively simple sentence. You looked up at him in shock, enough that it gave you pause.

“What do you mean so? Why me? Why not her when she’s perfect?”

“She’s not you.”

Your hand almost flew to his face from the sheer level of rage, the urge to defend her feelings coursing through you, but your palm stopped right at the side of his face. Instead, you sank to the floor, and sobbed for Kali, and for yourself.

---

[Kali, Kali, Kali, Kali~]

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

#illumi x reader #illumi #song fic #response fic #hunter x hunter #angst #sadness #i'm sad #illumi zoldyck x reader #illumi zoldyck

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madeofvenus · 3 years

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I can’t be open with my mother and that breaks me in so many ways. I always miss my mom. I hate the reality of never being able to have a connection with her. I see so many girls who talk about being able to tell their mothers everything, like a best friend. My mom once told me she wasn’t my friend, she Isn’t meant to be my friend. Just my mother. That hurt me in a way no little girl should ever feel. I remember how I would look at her after she told me that, I tried convincing myself that my whole life is an illusion or maybe a dream— that I’ll wake up to my real mother holding me in a bracing hug.

My mom has always been hard on me. So I never suspect her to melt into a puddle of a sea when I try confiding in her. I never have, and never can. I wish I could hug her and laugh with her. But any atmosphere around her feels thick and dry, and I feel like I’m hyperventilating in agony as I try to escape any room where her and I are alone together.

I miss the bond we used to have, the way my heart would shatter every morning as a child when she wasn’t there to see me go to school or even on weekend mornings. She worked, a lot. She provided for me and my sister. My brothers lived with my dad 6 hours away from us so most of my childhood was never pieced with theirs. That made my relationship with my brothers very hard to stitch. I wish all the time I had brothers who cared for me or could be nice to me without it being forced just cause were siblings. I sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like if all us siblings lives together. Would it have been more fun? Would I have had an opportunity to grow a closer bond with my brothers that is now too late to create?

I always felt shackled to the idea of a close family since my family is huge. I’m talking 30+ cousins on just one side of the family. But as a kid you see everything so perfect, you never like to see the ugly, but only the ideal value of what things are meant to be, even when they clearly aren’t true. Family to me meant everything as a kid, but now I wish I could drain the blood out of my body to avoid having it connect to the people I know. Disgusting and wicked people. Selfish for things to be their own way and I no longer have even a close relative to be open with. They all happen to treat everyone like aliens, wanting to be better than the rest. It’s all just a contest, and now I look at every face and twist with a sour taste in my mouth.

Being molested/raped by someone in my family, I never told anyone in my family. Not even my own parents. I always fear they won’t believe me. I never mentioned it as a kid and kept a close relationship with this man cause as a kid I felt like I couldn’t hate him— he always bought me stuff and took me places. I felt like as a kid I had to be obedient towards a higher position in my family. Especially him when he took care of me. He was funny and always told me he was a dad figure for me since my biological father was never around. It always made me feel special and loved, even though I knew what he did to me at times, I still tried loving him. I was only seven when it started and I was eight when it started making me sick— but I didn’t know what it was or what was happening. I knew about sexual activities at such a young age and I sit here now and feel absolutely disgusted in myself. I feel dirty. No child should ever know what “sex” is at such a young age. No kid should have hands roaming their bodies inappropriately. No kid should be showed pornography and sex magazines when they have no idea what it is. I felt so much things on my body at the age of seven and it makes me feel so fucking disgusting that I knew these sensations when my own body hadn’t even transformed. Why me? Why didn’t I have anyone there to stop this? Why was I so manipulated to thinking this was pure of him to do just cause we were family? He made me watch porn, made me watch what it was for women to give oral pleasure to a man. He wanted me to learn so that I can be experienced sooner than others. I wonder now today if he wanted me to learn so that I can use it upon him. And that just makes me want to throw up.

I don’t want a family. Never want to create or form one of my own. And if I do— I’ll make sure there are some people they never meet. I don’t even want my family knowing when I get married or have kids, that’s if I ever do have either or. I’m not deserving of having a person love me or wanting to create a family laced with my blood. I cant do it. I cant put someone in shoes where they have to be attached to my ghosts and I can’t even imagine having children. What if they go through something like I did? I don’t know what I’d do. This world is full of shit and it’s absolutely sickening. I cant put kids in a place where they can’t fight for themselves, not even words.

There’s still a little girl in me wishing she could’ve just had a normal childhood, and she feels trapped in a body that was forced to be developed too early. I’m clawing my insides in a yearning cry. And I’m stuck forever. Which is why I can never change anything.

I’m scared and I’m swollen. I’m fucking tired as well.

(2021)

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fandom-monium · 3 years

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In Your Eyes - Episode 1

Soulmates - Heterochromatic Eyes AU: In which the soulmate system isn’t everything it seems and Shouto could be the only one who sees it.

Tags/Warnings: soulmate AU, friends to enemies to friends to lovers trope, Shouto Todoroki x GenderNeutral!Reader

AN: Fuck you, Tumblr, for glitching out my entire masterlist and every piece of work I’ve made over the years. Here’s the reupload. I hope the new gen enjoys this, and if you’re an old reader who liked my works in the past, I hope you enjoy the nostalgia?

A soulmate is a person who is ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. Your other half, the person that completed you, made you better, and understood you like no one else. It’s rare to find your soulmate. There’s billions of people in this world, so what’s the possibility you’d find yours?

The chances are you won’t. Although, it’s not impossible. There’s people who have had significant others even without finding their fated other half, but the yearning to find their soulmate has never faded.

Centuries ago, the gods were fed up by the pain put on mankind often caused by futile searches. One god and/or goddess (because we don’t discriminate) in particular decided to deal with the problem.

Thus, heterochromatic eyes became the solution. At birth, people receive two different colored eyes, the right yours and the other your soulmate’s. Upon meeting your soulmate’s eyes for the first time, your soulmate eye will return so that your eyes will match. The god made this system to assist mankind with finding their soulmate. To find true love. To find happiness.

However, that was a matter of opinion.

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t know about soulmates till he is 5. His mother is in the midst of comforting him again after a rather intense training session with his father. His small, beaten body curls at his mother’s lap. He sobs in pain and fear, tears staining her pants. She doesn’t mind. She’s more focused on trying to comfort her youngest son. Shouto’s mother presses her lips together, trying to contain her own tears, trying to be strong for him.

“I hate him, Mommy,” Shouto hiccups. It wracks his whole body. “I don’t want to be like him.”

It’s not unusual for his mother and him to end up like this, Shouto at his mother’s lap and her comforting him. It’s become a routine since he started training. But this time seems to last longer than most. The same comfort routine doesn’t work. He still cries and he hugs his mother close, burying his face into her stomach.

Shouto’s mother doesn’t know what to do but tries to stay calm. She pats his back softly, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. How else can she comfort her child?

Then she gets an idea.

“Shouto, have I ever told you about soulmates?” Shouto’s mother asks gently. She’s afraid a single word might shatter the boy.

For a second, Shouto pauses, his arms still wrapped around her waist. She takes it as a sign to continue.

“Do you know what soulmates are?”

He shakes his head into her stomach.

“Well, come out and I’ll tell you.”

And it works. Miraculously, Shouto stops crying and the tears are left forgotten. Instead he watches his mother, mesmerized as she tells him how their world works, of soulmates and how they would bring each other happiness, and fairy tales involving searches for soulmates, fights about soulmates, and other interesting tales.

The idea of happiness gives Shouto hope. He doesn’t notice as his mother gives him a strained smile.

After all, they are just fairy tales, and only fairy tales have a happy ending.

……..

Todoroki Shouto is 6 when he realizes he might not have a soulmate. It happens late at night when he wakes up to go to the bathroom. Once he finishes washing his hands, Shouto stares into his eyes on the bathroom mirror. He smiles tiredly. He’s still hopeful that he’ll one day meet his soulmate. Then he remembers his mother’s words.

“People are born with heterochromatic eyes, that means different colored eyes. The right eye’s their own eye color and the other their soulmate’s. And when they meet their soulmate’s eyes for the first time, their soulmate eyes will switch so that they become the same color.” His eyes widen in shock and his smile drops.

Between training with his father and being with his mother, he never took the time to notice his eyes. They aren’t different colors. They are the same.

At this, he rushes out of the bathroom to search for his mother. Why are his eyes the same color? Did he meet his soulmate already? Or did his mother make a mistake?

Shouto finds his mother in the kitchen. She’s talking on the phone, and he waits at the door to see if she’ll end the call. Her voice trembles as she speaks, “Mom, I know it’s not right, but I can’t do it anymore. They’re like him more and more everyday. And Shouto,” This catches his attention. “His left side, sometimes I look at him and hate what I see.”

What?

His mother’s figure shakes, closer to her breaking point. “I can’t raise him anymore. I shouldn’t raise him.”

“Mommy?” Shouto calls out.

His mother jolts in surprise before turning to him, her eyes dilated.

She’s not the same is his last thought, and he realizes his mistake.

Then everything burns, and Shouto doesn’t get the chance to ask about his eyes.

……..

Todoroki Shouto is forced to grow up when he concludes that soulmates are a hindrance. A pain. Up till the young age of 6, he only knew that soulmates were supposed to make each other happy. That’s what his mother tells him. He believes her.

Shouto was so focused on imagining his soulmate that he never thought to ask. If Father was her soulmate, why wasn’t she happy with him?

It isn’t until his mother is taken away when he realizes how broken the soulmate system is. Shouto despises it. Loathes it. He hates it almost as much as he hates his father. He remembers his mother every time he reminds himself why. He thinks about people like his mother who are stuck with people like his father, thinks about people who don’t want their soulmate, and people who choose someone else over their soulmate.

Shouto thinks about how there’s no choice. How happiness is not guaranteed.

Shouto knows that it doesn’t apply to everyone. There are many people who happily live with their soulmate. But he can’t help feeling jealous for those who are lucky enough to be matched with good people. People who can make each other happy.

……..

Todoroki Shouto is 10 when he accepts that he doesn’t have a soulmate. Since his mother was taken, he doesn’t think about soulmates a lot. He’s endured 4-5 years of training with his father. Forgotten what it feels like to be comforted by a mother. His brothers and especially his sister, Fuyumi, do what they can for him, but it’s not the same. Because of his father, Shouto is mostly separated from them. His father went so far as to put him in a different, more prestigious school in order to achieve his goal.

In his darkest times when only silence is there for him, Shouto tries to distract himself. Whether with training or something else productive to keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t care. He can’t stand doing nothing. He dislikes when he daydreams. He’s afraid it might give him false hope. But sometimes he stares in the mirror and finds himself wondering about his soulmate. What would it be like to meet them? Would they think his scar is ugly? Maybe-

Then Shouto looks at his eyes and remembers. They’re not heterochromatic. Not like his brothers’ or sister’s or everyone else in the world. They’re the same color. But strangely, his eyes aren’t the same color as his parents. Not a warm gray like his mother’s or a cold blue like his father’s. That part leaves him curious. None of his closest relatives have (eye color) eyes either as far as he knows.

When his brothers are out (if they’re around, they’ll tease him till he freezes them) and it’s only his sister at home, Shouto finally asks about his eyes and what they mean.

“Why are they the same color?”

Fuyumi’s eyes widen and she nearly drops the dish she’s washing. “What?”

“Why are my eyes the same color? Shouto asks again, a bit impatiently. He’s wanted a reasonable answer since he was younger. Fuyumi is smart. He figures she could at least give him one.

“I didn’t think you even cared about soulmates,” Fuyumi stops what she’s doing, turning to give him her full attention. “Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s clear that I haven’t met my soulmate, yet my eyes are both (eye color). M-” Shouto catches himself before he continues. “-I was told that everyone is born with heterochromatic eyes till they meet their soulmate. So… why?”

For a moment, Fuyumi stares at him in surprise. She’s never seen Shouto show interest in anything else except maybe training or studying. She asks, “Shouto, what do you know about soulmates?”

Shouto blinks, more impatient now that she’s answered his question with a question. “I know that everyone is born with heterochromatic eyes till they meet their soulmate, and when you meet them your eye color switches so they become the same,” he states robotically. He doesn’t add that they supposedly bring each other happiness.

He knows that’s not true.

“Well, not exactly. Not everyone is born with heterochromatic eyes,” Fuyumi answers. “It’s true that most are born with them, but there are the rare few who aren’t. I don’t know much, but I’ve heard that those who aren’t born with heterochromatic eyes don’t have soulmates. In my opinion, I think it’s a sign. A sign that they aren’t tied down by the soulmate system, by the gods, or the universe. A sign they’re free to make their own choice.”

Shouto says nothing. Then he thanks his older sister for her answer and leaves silently, contemplating.

Shouto doesn’t worry about his eyes after that. He used to when he was younger. He would fret about not having a soulmate. Now he feels slightly relieved.

He isn’t tied down to someone he might not even like.

……..

Todoroki Shouto is now 16 and has long forgotten about soulmates. Well, not entirely. He knows they exist and knows the soulmate system is broken, but he stops caring. Enduring 10-11 years of training with his father, Shouto is completely focused on rebelling against him and surpassing All Might. Nothing more, nothing less.

When he first becomes acquainted with his classmates, one of the first questions he gets is, why are your eyes the same color? Or, you met your soulmate already? His classmates aren’t the first to ask this personal question. Many others have asked. He gives the same answer every time.

“I don’t have one.”

The reaction varies depending on the person, but he’s used to it. People like Yaoyorozu Momo and Kirishima Eijiro politely apologize for prying. People like Uraraka Ochako and Midoriya Izuku nod in understanding, minding their own business. Then people like Bakugou Katsuki and Minoru Mineta have the audacity to laugh in his face because even they have soulmates.

(Shouto pities whoever’s stuck with them. He wonders how their soulmates could tolerate those two.)

Shouto isn’t mad or anything. His expression remains neutral, unfazed. None of that bothers him. Not anymore. Most are naturally curious and polite about it. He shouldn’t be angry at them. But when he sees the pity in their eyes, it makes him want to give frostbite and third degree burns as a reply instead.

He doesn’t need pity. He doesn’t need a soulmate. He’s done just fine on his own.

However, the topic of soulmates is popular. Unavoidable. Other Yuuei students, mostly girls for some reason, come up and ask him if he’s met his soulmate because of his eyes. He gives them the same answer.

“I don’t have one,” he replies.

“I don’t have one,” he clenches his fist.

“I don’t have one,” he says through gritted teeth.

Shouto gets tired of it and eventually stops answering the question. He hopes someone would spread a rumor or something for him.

Shouto sits at the lunch table eating his cold Soba with his friends. The word soulmate pops up again and he sighs, blocking out the conversation. Why is everyone so obsessed with soulmates? Can’t they see that the soulmate system wasn’t everything to life? He glances at his friends. They chatter amongst themselves as they talk about their soulmates and such. Then he looks away and focuses on eating his Soba.

They don’t mean to exclude him from the conversation. He knows that. They’re just trying to spare his feelings.

Shouto is surrounded by his friends and classmates, but he can’t help feel lonely.

……..

Todoroki Shouto is still 16 when he finally encounters his soulmate. He doesn’t know it but he does. It’s just before the Hero License Acquisition Exam. Class 1-A arrives at the national stadium in Takoba where they’ll be taking the exam, the atmosphere thick with teenage anxiety. It’s clear the students are nervous, but it fades into resolve as Aizawa finishes giving them a pep talk.

“Awesome. c'mon everybody, let’s go hatch into chicks!” Kirishima cheers, “Let’s hit out of the park like always!”

His loud, ecstatic voice catches the attention of others.

“Say it with me now, Plus…” No one notices the broad figure coming up behind him. “Ultra!”

“ULTRA!”

Everyone flinches in surprise before they turn to see a tall boy with a buzz cut standing behind Kirishima. The boy grins widely, adorning a school uniform and a signature cap.

Seeing his face, Shouto feels a spark of recognition but doesn’t react. He assumes he’ll remember him at some point.

“Don’t go crashing the circles of outsiders without invitation, Inasa,” a boy behind Inasa scolds.

“Ah, you’re right, please accept-” Inasa leans back “-my sincerest-” and throws himself forward. His skulls meets the ground with a crack. “-apologies!”

This guy is doing the lowest bow Shouto has ever seen. He doesn’t like it. It reminds him of Iida and Kirishima combined.

The chatter among the surrounding students increase as they realize that the students before Yuuei are Shiketsu Academy freshman.

“I’ve always wanted to say it at least once! ‘Plus Ultra’! I love Yuuei Academy! ” Inasa exclaims politely, standing again. “It’s such a pleasure, the highest honor, to be able to compete against Yuuei!”

“Ah, you’re bleeding,” a Shiketsu girl notes as the scrapes on his forehead well with blood, trickling down his face.

“Let’s go,” The boy who scolded Inasa begins walking to the stadium entrance. They follow without complaint.

Shouto hears from Midoriya that Inasa had the top qualification for the recommended spots, but he stops listening. Instead, he watches Inasa, his back turned to them now. Why does his face seem so familiar? He can’t remember and it annoys him.

Then someone walks up to Inasa in the same uniform as the rest of Shiketsu Academy.

Something about you pulls at Shouto’s heartstrings almost painfully. His eyes widen, pupils dilating.

Walking up to Inasa, your voice is calm as you begin to scold him. “Inasa, you should be more careful. I get you’re hot-blooded and all, but you need to chill. You get hurt over the littlest things.” You sigh, pulling out bandages and antiseptic from your bag. You begin to tend to his wounds before reaching the stadium.

“Sorry, (Last Name)-san. I’ll try to be more careful,” Inasa promises. He pats your head, grinning wider.

You swat his hand away and frown. “Don’t try. You will be more careful and stop being so extra all the time. Seriously, I can’t keep patching you up for dumb things like bowing.”

Your eyes don’t meet. Hell, you didn’t even look at him, but the way his heart pounds like a drum says it all. Heat creeps up his neck slowly. His heartstrings feel like they’re being pulled and he almost groans as his chest aches, but it’s unlike any time he’s been injured. It’s more urgent.

Shouto decides he doesn’t like you.

So, I decided to try my hand at the downside of the soulmate system (because I’m tired of the bright side). Hope you enjoy the first episode of my soulmate au.

Splitting it into a few parts, not gonna be long though. May become a mini series?

Episode 2 available in Masterlist

Got any requests or suggestions? Ask box is open.

#shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #bnha #my writing #soulmate alternate universe #soulmate au

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neverendingstories00 · 4 years

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Past The Point Of No Return (Ch.3)

Summary: Safin takes you on a tour of your new home and offers an interesting proposition.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: n/a

A/n: Guys, sometime needs to take my labtop away. Safin is 100% going to be the death of me. I cannot stop thinking about this pyscho man PLEASE rearrange my guts. Anyways, school is starting for me tomorrow (today since i’m posting this at like 2:30am). I’ll try and get Ch.4 out asap since that’s where the drama is gonna rise. Also, thank you for all the support and comments! I’m gonna respond to them all tomorrow, I promise. I love ya’ll and enjoy the story!! ❣️❣️

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Three days had gone by. You refused to leave your room after Safin’s temper tantrum. Three days in isolation weren’t the worst thing in the world even if you had no idea where you were. The room Safin had given you was elegant and bigger than your old flat. It was like if Japanese Zen had met modern times. A living room with endless books and plants connected to a bedroom and large bathroom. You felt like you were in a fancy hotel. Inside of the bathroom was a freestanding club that outlook a rock garden. Of course, you had tried to break the glass or crawl out one of the closet vents, but everything had been locked shut. At one point, you had felt the room had been made just for you (which it probably had been). Safin must have had a lot of time on his hands to be able to construct it. The books that were on the shelves were the same books you owned a home, the candles were all lavender and cherry blossom, and even the small amount of clothes he had offered and gotten your sizing in were accurate to your taste. It was oddly amiable, but alarming that he knew so much about you.

As you finished making your Feng Shi bed, you heard a gentle knock at the door. With years in the military, you had recognized footstep patterns. Safin had light but quick footsteps, his boots always making a clicking noise.

“Good morning Y/n.” He says, his cold accented voice slightly muffled behind the door. “I wanted to come and apologize for my uncivilized manner a few nights ago. I didn’t realize that you would be in such a sensitive state. I believe adjusting to new surroundings can be quite difficult. The way I acted certainly didn’t help with that. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t even want to respond. If you could survive on your own in the wilderness for a month, then you could survive in a lavish bedroom in the middle of god no’s where until-

Oh right. There weren’t coming.

“It truly bothers me that you feel the need to isolate yourself in that room.” Safin. Instead of sounding condescending, he seemed genuine and even beseeching. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink.”

“I’m fine, thank you though.” You coldy reply, seeing it as a facade. Safin was an anarchist, insane and cruel. “You’re a solid actor though, I’ll give you that.”

Safin sighs but doesn’t give in to anger or defeat. “For what I did to you, you have every right to upset at me. I’m upset at myself. I’m sorry for scaring you into isolation, my dear. It was not my intention.”

You refuse to respond, crossing your arms as you hear him let out a loud sigh. Safin looks at the nearest object to throw in frustration but stops himself for her.

“Y/n, I need you to understand that under no circumstance, that I will ever hurt you. You are a resident, not a prisoner. I want to show you my..” He freezes. It’s not a home, it’s a lair. But for y/n’s sake, it was there home. “I mean, our home. It will be short, and I will get you something to eat. After that, I will not bother you if you accompany me for just one hour.”

Two sides of you were battling with each other. The younger and more stubborn part of you wants to say a snarky remark and tell him to kindly fuck off. But the wiser and more calm side of you says that your starving and need to get out. You don’t sympathize with his actions and hate him more than anything in the world. The man threatened to hurt your friends and family if you didn’t obey his commands. But If he was going to hurt you, then why hasn’t he killed you yet? What was the point of keeping you there, knowing that you could possibly kill him with anything? Safin has stalked your whole life, from your clothing sizes to your military history.

You freeze as your fingers fiddle with each other. Letting the villain win always bothered you. But he offered you food and freedom for an hour. He had better kept to his promise. Looking at the door, you break the silence. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

He responds, “Take your time.”

Walking over the closet, you look at the outfits organized by monotone colors. Everything seemed the same as you searched for something that wasn’t oversized on you. Eventually, you came down to wearing a black turtleneck, light grayish blue kimono jacket, and olive peg pants with black boots. The clothes were oddly comfortable and looked more expensive than your shitty flat. You hated wearing tight and revealing clothes, so it was doable. Looking in the mirror before you leave, you see your eyes. They’re tired from crying and sleepless nights. Your body had no energy as your stomach rumbled and throat thirsted for water. The last person you wanted to see was Safin, but you truly had no choice.

Opening the door, you see him standing in front of it with a straight posture and hands behind his back. A subtle smile appeared on his face, seeing you walk out.

“You look lovely, y/n.” He compliments as you walk side by side. He thought you could pull anything off and still looking amazing. You looked at him and nod, a silent response of “thank you”.

As you walk down the hallway, Safin noticed y/n limping more than walking. He made sure Serrano and his men had there asses yelled at. They had done everything they weren’t supposed to do; treat you like an animal, hurt, and embarrass her. No wonder y/n hated him, he thought she was going to be a prisoner or some toy for Safin to fiddle around with. As much as Safin yearned for her beauty, he saw her talent and intelligence. She would be useful in many ways.

In an attempt to be a gentleman, he held his arm out for her for support. Y/n, being the woman she was, silently and polarity declined this offer. Safin found it darling that she was so stubborn, refusing the help of others even if she needed it. Seeing you limp and silently groan made Safin’s stone cold heart drop. He wouldn’t be a gentleman if he didn’t help this sweet, little y/n. In a devilish move, Safin tucked his arm under her hand, linking them both. Her clutched fist dangled in his tight hold, wanting to resist. Seeing her [y/s/c] burn up, Safin softly smiled at her. She eventually gave him as her fist unclenched, softly leaning onto him.

The hallways were long and large, lit by hidden lights. From what you could tell, it seemed like an abandoned Russian military site that had been reconstructed by Safin. It was all concrete and void of any color or life. The Architecture was Raw, brutalist, extraordinary. Taking you up a dark hallway, Safin showed you a bright hallway, full of mustard yellow art. Leading you under a dark tunnel, it revealed a large, empty room. In the middle of the room was a large low black table with cushions, and that was it. On the sides were rock gardens full of shrubs and bamboo. You could hear a running river disconnect the gardens from the concrete gray floor. A few guards stared at you for linking arms with Safin. Seeing them whisper made you look down. Safin had noticed and looked at the men, who had fear in there eyes as they stood straight.

Safin explained that his room was where he and Serrano (or other co-workers in his words) would discuss their ordeals. He saw the light in y/n’s slowly disappear, seeing her thoughts run to something else. There wasn’t really much to show considering that Safin was the only man who inhabited the submarine pen. The soldiers and Serrano resided on another part of the island. He didn’t want to bore y/n but wanted to make sure she was adjusted with her new home.

“Are you enjoying everything, my dear?” He asked, Y/n looked up and nodded in response. She looked exhausted and upset, trying to hide it. Her once glowy [y/s/c] skin was turning lifeless and grey. Safin could see that you were miserable and depressed. He knew being trapped in the submarine pen wasn’t ideal, he had been doing it for years and was ever so alone. Having the company of a woman was something he desired more than anything. Over the years his man had brought him women, but they refused to lay with because of his scars. Safin hated seeing the once joyful and bright light he saw in you.

No words came out of your mouth. You once again nod in response, forcing a faked and sad smile. Safin heart breaks seeing you so silent and upset. His grasp tightens on your arm, to squeeze some reassurance into your dying soul.

“My dear, please speak to me.” He gently cooed, looking into her [y/e/c] orbs.

“I’m fine, just please continue…” You sigh in frustration.

Not knowing what to say, Safin simply continues. It had been years since he had touched or even been close to a woman. Having you here with him was a dream come true. He hated having you sleep all by yourself that was in the opposite quarters of him. All he could imagine was y/n’s soft cries into her pillow from giving up on life. He knew what would hopefully cheer you up. Walking up a spiral staircase, Safin opened the door for you to exit. Upon exiting, you were greeted with a beautiful view. Safin allowed you to walk to the edge to admire the breathtaking view. Not one cloud was in the bright, blue sky. The top of the submarine pen was covered in the island’s rich plants. You truly were in the middle of nowhere, you could have been in the Medaterrian or off the coast of Africa. The Island was so beautiful on the outside, yet so depressing and ugly on the inside. The sun shined onto your skin as you felt the gentle breeze through your hair.

You stand on the edge, seeing that the only island in the distance was you. You were surrounded by miles of water, along with the world’s most feared Anarchist. “It’s so..”

“Breathtaking.” He breathed, standing right behind you. You turn around, somewhat scared by how close he was. Your [y/e/c] met with his milky orbs. His face was grey and dark, his sleek black hair, and dark navy clothes were so dark except for his eyes. He had an usual and exotic face. But his eyes were beautiful and mesmerizing. “Just like you, my dear.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. What had been a nice moment turned into Safin trying to subtly flirt, or so that’s what you thought. “Can you please call me y/n?”

A small frown appeared on Safin’s arms. He’s confused about why you don’t enjoy his attention. “Why not, my sweet?”

“Because I’m not your partner,” You clarify. The way those words rolled over his lips made you squirm and your cheeks burn.

“Whatever you say, my little dove.” He smiles, holding you close. A disgusted “ugh” escapes from your mouth. The time you had outside makes you feel somewhat better. Feeling the sun and wind against your skin felt so normal in your little fucked up world.

Safin tried to pull you closer to him, but you pull away. Even if he was trying to be a “gentlemen’, he was still an anarchist who wanted to kill millions and overthrow the government. All you knew was that you weren’t going to fall in love with him, ever. You shrug him off, looking away from him.

“How did you find this place?” You ask to break the silence.

“Me and Serrano discovered this place when I had left Spectre,” He explains, looking around the gardens before back at y/n. “It was an abandoned communist Submarine Pen. Nobody inhabited it, so I simply took it as my own. I was based in Okinawa before I denounced, so I took slight inspiration from the gardens.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Denounced Spectre?”

“One of my targets resurfaced, a young woman. A woman who I spared...who I loved,” Safin stated, “I had let them go and let them live a comfortable life. She promised herself to me, but loved another man...and birthed his child when she was mine. Spectre wanted her alive, I wanted her and her whole family dead. When they didn’t let me kill all of them, I killed every agent I could. All of them.”

Chills had been sent down your spine. When Safin didn’t get his way, he used violence. You never knew Spectre’s downfall, but all along it had been his man. No wonder Bond was able to take them down; it was all because Safin had practically murdered half of them in a rage since he couldn’t kill his ex-lover’s family. Your thoughts began to race. If you didn’t do as Safin pleased, would he truly kill you? Who could have ever loved someone such as Safin? Too many questions came to your mind.

“So, that’s what you do.” You noted, raising your eyebrows. “Kidnap women and force them to fall in love with you?”

Safin’s face scrunches up with anger, “No, she was different. She was a whore. I never hurt her. I spoiled her and loved her. She betrayed me. But you...” He looks at you with his expressions softening. “Are different. Out of all the women I have encountered, you y/n...are different.”

“That’s all you men come up?” You snort, staring right into his eyes. “Say that were different and then only use us for our bodies? You’re different, Safin. If you don’t get what you please, you act out. You use violence and kill.”

Safin looked at y/n, seeing the smirk on her face. She knew how obsessed he was with her, the anarchist obsessed with the cyrptographer. Safin had no intention of killing you and couldn’t bring himself to kill the woman he was madly in love with. Instead of becoming upset, he saw through you. All y/n was doing was poking the bear, refusing to give into Safin. Safin knew her antics all too well.

“Your hands are not clean either, y/n,” He debated. “Three hundred and thirteen men is a large kill count for such a young woman…”

In your short time in the military, you had achieved one of the highest kill counts in your ranking. Everyone knew you as the girl who never missed. From surviving alone in Serbia and crawling out of building rubble in Iraq, you were respected and feared. But that had been in the past when you still were young and had sanity. Now you were older, wiser, and even more broken. The military had changed your life drastically.

Safin truly knew how to dig under your skin and make you upset. He wanted to see you weak and feel stronger. You refused to let him. A small voice in your head kept telling you, “ Don't play his game. Play yours.”

“ Safin, you’re the most accomplished stalker I’ve ever met” You chuckle. He’s oddly smiling like nothing was wrong.

“A beautiful bird cannot freely fly in a cage.” The anarchist response, a small smile on his face. He relinked your arms as you walked back inside of the submarine pen.

Safin saw y/n, once acting up again. Seeing her make small “hmphs” and look away softly made Safin chuckle. He kept telling himself that with time, she would fall in love with him. Y/n was a young and stubborn woman who didn’t go down without a fight. Once Safin had her, he wasn’t going to let her go. Y/n was all Safin’s now. All the anarchist ever desired was to have company in his lonely lair. Not only someone to love but someone he could talk to and even work with. Y/n was the woman of his dreams who he had yearned for. She had to fall in love with him. She didn’t have another choice.

Safin let her slide away but still kept their arms linked. A part of him wanted to carry her to there next location, but he knew that she would probably punch him. In his spare time, Safin spent hours preparing the submarine pen for Y/n’s arrival. The bedroom was designed to fulfill her needs, but that wasn’t the only place that was meant for her.

“Close your eyes,” He says as you arrive at a large door.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow, immediately protesting. “Your going to trap me in a room where I cannot escape, aren’t you?”

“You are a guest, not a prisoner.” Safin reminded. You roll your eyes, deciding to go alone. Closing your eyes, Safin’s opens the door and leads you in. Taking small steps into the room, you can bear water running and birds chirping. A light that wasn’t artificial was projecting onto your skin. Opening your eyes, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

You were inside of a large glass atrium that had an open ceiling, showing the sun and cherry blossom tears. Their sakura petals fell into the garden, a few landing on your clothes and hair. Like all of the other gardens in the submarine pen, it was inspired after a Japanese Zen Garden but with color. There were Cherries, Bamboo, Camellias, Lavender, and a range of other flowers. Out of all of the places in your cold and unwelcoming home, this place had shined the brightest. It brought a true smile onto your face. Letting go of Safin, you walk down into the shrubs and are greeted with a small pond and a chabudai with a teapot and two cups.

“Would you like to have some tea?” Safin offers. You turn around and nod, a smile still on his face. Your not smiling at him, but the beauty of the garden. Before, the flat you had lived in was too small to host a garden (you also lived in the heart of Chelsea). As a substitute, your garden was a bunch of homemade terrariums and flowers. It felt like ethereal heaven.

The two of you sit down in the garden. Safin loves to see you so memorized with all of the plants. He had been in your apartment a few times when you weren’t there. He didn’t know how you managed to live in such a contained space. He had noticed all of the flowers and candles you had kept around and tried to replicate it best. He wasn’t doing something for himself, but his y/n.

“ Your smile is like the flowers in the spring.” He compliments. You look at him as you admire the diverse range of flowers that surround you. “It’s divine.”

“Oh..” You say as you feel your cheeks burn. This man was not going to stop until he got what he wanted. Safin went from kidnapping you to giving you a beautiful garden, along with subtle flirting. You weren’t really into dating much and never were hit on, even if you were a young woman. “Um, thank you..?”

He pours you a cup of Chai tea, and the two of you sit there, drinking in silence. Safin refuses to take his eyes off of you, admiring your every breath you take. Seeing you look at the flowers, fiddle with the cup, and small strands of hair fall into your face as you push them behind your ear. Everything about you was so magical to Safin. No matter what, Safin was going to make y/n fall in love with him. The two of you had enjoyed your tea in peace. Out of all of the madness, being in the gardens brought you peace.

Safin had let you enjoy the moment until he asked the question that he had been pondering about. “Do you love me?”

You nearly spit your tea out. Safin had been subtly flirting with you, but hearing him say the world love made you nearly choke. His face looked surprised, waiting for an answer. You had barely been around this man for a week, and he was already claiming he loved then. Then again, he did stalk you.

“I..um..no?” You spit, furrowing your thick eyebrows. The question had caught you completely off-guard.

Safin smiles, nodding at the response. Although upset at your answer, he knows that you will eventually have to give into him. Safin always got what he wanted, no matter the cost. “Fair enough, you will come around with time.”

The younger and more stubborn part of you would have loved to throw the tea into his hideous face and beat him. But it wasn’t so simple. Safin was a dangerous and mysterious man. The reason Europe was probably going to go into a civil war was because of him. M16 was probably going to have it’s a downfall because his blood became tainted on your hands. Not only were your friends were at risk, but so was your family. Safin had made a threat that if you didn’t comply, then he would...hurt them for you to love you. You couldn’t love a man that would hurt your family and drag them into your mess.

So you did the selfless act. You, a young woman, sacrificed yourself to Safin so your family could be safe from him. You would comply but at a price. No matter the cost, you wouldn’t give Safin exactly what he wanted.

Y/n was giving him the silent treatment again. Her face scrunched up as she looked away, annoyed.

“More like a thousand years.”

“Listen to me, my dear. I will strike a deal. Every night, I will ask you at dinner if you love me. Tell me no as much as you want. I don’t care how long it takes for you to come to your senses.” Safin proposes his plan. He sees y/n’s sudden interest with his “idea.”

“And when I do?”

“The next day will be your wedding day.”

Your jaw almost drops to the ground. Safin was an insane man; you already knew that. He was delusional enough to think that you were going to love him, but marry? That was a whole other level.

“You told Q in Athens you wanted to fall in love before you married, so I have given you however long you need.” He reassures. “But I know it will happen.”

You look at him with pure hate in your eyes. Words could barely process in your mind. You clench your teacup so tightly that you don’t even care if it begins to burn your palms. Safin had a smile on his face. He stood up and walked over to you, helping you up.

“I can get up myself, thank you very much,” You grumble as you walk ahead of him. Safin catches up and walks right beside you, seeing your anger. He pulls you closer than he did last time, tightly holding onto you. He knew that you weren’t going to protest if your family and friends were on the line. As you walk back to the bedroom, you feel relieved since being with Safin is emotionally exhausting. You mentally declare that he is one of the most insane men you had ever come across.

He stops in front of the door. A pissy “goodbye” leaves your mouth before Safin takes your hand, spinning you around. Your faces are even closer now. He smells like an expensive cologne with his haunting, big green eyes. The scars on his face aren’t burns, but horrid cuts that mutated his whole face. His hands were cold and rough from all of the scars. Safin doesn’t speak at all and just looks at your face in a creepy manner.

You feel his fingers brush against your skin as he puts a camellia behind your hair. Safin backs away, a smile on his face as he adores you. Out of all of the gloom in his life, y/n was ever so bright. She had been caught off guard when he placed the flower in her hair. His beautiful bride to be.

“I thought it would go well with your hair,’ He purrs as his fingers stroke it. “Anything would look lovely on you.”

Holding back at eye-roll, a soft sigh escapes your lips. “Thanks…”

“I hope you enjoyed our time together. The garden is for you and only you. Feel free to wander as you please. After all, this is our home now.” He slowly backs away, seeing your eyes watch him disappear down the fall. “I will be pack to pick you up for dinner at seven. Goodbye, my sweet y/n.”

Once he disappeared, you retreat back to your room and slam the door. You see yourself in the mirror with a bright flower in your hair. The hair you had combed had been touched by Safin, making you cringe. As much as you hated him, this new place was your home. This would be your life from now on, whether you liked it or not. Your family and friends’ lives were on the line. It wasn’t such a horrible life. The submarine pen was void of all life but lavish. If being in love with Safin meant your mother and sister would be safe, then so it be. You couldn’t believe you, a simple cryptographer, was the Anarchist’s, true love. Sighing in the mirror, you ask yourself a question that will never be answered.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

#rami malek x reader #safin x reader #safin #rami malek #no time to die #james bond #my writing

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borkthemork · 4 years

Text

Untouchable - An SU Fic

Summary: Steven gets reassurance after being haunted by a nightmare of his transformation.

A piece of an art trade with @Bellsnwhistles on Discord.

Word Count: 3,717.

Reblogs are appreciated!

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There were certain concepts that were hard to describe when it came to Steven Universe’s life. He struggled from his restless nights and the drowning anxiety, but it couldn’t compare to the daunting apprehension in being submerged in the deep and metaphorical when he became, for one day, the monster on the Beach City coast. The day where Steven felt nothing but the suspense of seawater, where the grasp of the physical was nothing but a dream, and the idea of being grounded became untouchable — untouchable in the worst sense of the word.

Steven felt it back when he was sixteen on the day he transformed. He felt the instability in support, how his nerves withered at the seams with each tactless decision and wary comeuppance. It was hard for him to think about those memories now as something tangible or real; in fact, he always thought of it as a dream. The memories and how it all led up to his transformation were so clogged in emotion that it couldn’t have been a physical event. The whole ordeal was a turbulent ocean, but something that couldn’t have been real. There had to be a misunderstanding, a shift in his family’s paradigms at the recollection of the event. When he asked for details, however, he was brought to the reality that his creature form was real. The monster on the Beach City coast, the one who’s reptilian head punctured the side of the temple front and ravaged waves at his loved ones, was him. Everything he had done was all him. But the discussions didn’t feel real even when he pondered over them. He didn’t feel pain in his jaw or the restraint of water against his purple-leathered wrists. There had to be a mistaken perception. The prospect of being out of control was too terrifying to describe.

Yet his therapy sessions made it clear to him that his monster form ruptured from the back of his spine. His loved ones saw it with their own eyes. They had the logic down-pat from seeing it happen right in front of them, and throughout all the reassurances he still felt pathetic, weak. He blamed it on the dark nights, the temptations of bad thoughts when his mind felt empty, and the feeling that always came back whenever he thought about his brief moment of hysteria.

Panic. Drowning. Lungs burned and writhed and useless. His mind at the incident was active in the blanket of darkness that enveloped him. Like a soul vacant of a corpse, kept secret in a location it couldn’t distinguish and was too afraid to explore, there were bound stimuli that haunted his mind and body. Where the weight bore on him like a planet upon his lungs, the fear was an overload, a bog, a decrepit hook to the heart. He couldn’t breathe nor say a word, and it left him apprehensive, languid. Blood rushed up to nowhere. Thoughts poured like drippings at his feet. The numbness was a gradient, a trepidation — and when he swept himself into the nameless current of buzz and hum, Steven could only notice one clear thing: that he had nowhere to go but where he stood. And where he stood was nowhere.

The exhaustion he felt in the aftermath was like glass shattered upon a surface. There was relief in being held, to hear the ocean and see his best friend smiling upon him with gleaming eyes. Tears and heat were beaten through the silent clamor as the world grounded itself into something recognizable. He wasn’t lost in the sweep of anything. The pivotal surface he came to was fleshed and solid, an artificial cluster of muscle with muscle. And when he cried a waterfall, a mess of snot and salt, he believed that he was safe, that it was okay to let go and release the waterworks that yearned for longly catharsis. It was ugly, relieving, a thin veil of what was to come later, and he wished for the feeling to remove itself through the horrible wrench of his lungs.

The healing process started off small. There were twilights where he would be restless on the balcony, lost on what to do and where to go. His family had paid attention to him and brought the needed responsibility to the table, but the guilt wrestled with him. There were nights where, amidst the purple-yellow horizon, Steven would be on his bed, a prepared juice glass on his table, and he didn’t want to move. He would sleep for hours; there were countless moments where he watched the light through his windows appear and fade in the blink of an eye. Time wasn’t of the essence when you were afraid to go outside. But he took the chance to better himself when the opportunities arose. He listened to different strategies from his family and it all came down to the conclusion that he had to go seek professional help.

Priyanka, after some discussion and heated argument with his dad, was selected to be his general practitioner and had scheduled an appointment in a few days. Documents were assigned, written by him and his guardians, and the first sessions of therapy were planned two days a week. The days passed by in an instant for him, but it felt too long, too ceaseless to bear. Sometimes it disgusted him that he was supposedly making progress when it felt like he didn’t show progress at all. What was he supposed to do knowing that they were wasting time that would be better spent on better causes? Like healing people, bringing the corrupted back from the sea of numerous bubbles in the core of the Temple. They kept going, however, and with each session, he found himself in the bathroom mirror with shadows and red lines under his eyes. Tissues were discarded in the trash bin. The couch was dug into from anxiety, habits of fear. His therapist continued the questions, gave him time to spew each mangled string of thought that seeped out from his brain. It pained him to feel so out of touch, but there was comfort in being told that it was alright, that it was okay to feel angry, impatient. Because he was a human, she told him — humans trip, fall, cry, laugh, and get angry over what’s important to them. Humans were allowed to show their pain, to see their trauma as important because it is.

And with that revelation, it began to get better, a little better. Walks through Beach City made him less anxious. Medication kept stringent thoughts under a net, made them mellow out and become white noise in the background, allowed him to walk without the feeling of being bogged. Steven started to do more assignments. He kept his hand on Connie’s when she walked beside him during date nights. Steven wrote down words in his journal over self-affirmation, lines of rationale, lies that were supposed to be truths; that things will be okay, that no matter how turbulent the waves became he’ll be standing somewhere with a smile in the end. And he was important, a priority. He deserved no pain. He didn’t deserve to oblige past grievances from family drama. He allowed beliefs to pass through without fighting them, accepting the concept that he was important, worthy of love. It started to become manageable, sustainable.

The years passed, and things traversed from the mythical to the believable. Steven felt the betterment, the relaxed inhales and exhales from his chest, and when he suggested one day to go on a journey of self-discovery, he was allowed to start planning. There were days where he posted messages to his management app on what should be done. He discussed it with his father, his best friend, and everyone else who was brought in on the idea. Memories seemed long ago when he attempted to recall every face and expression on the beaches he went to or the hugs he garnered from his wife or his new friends from the cities. It felt odd to find independence and boundaries, when years earlier he feared dying alone.

And to think he still had horrible terrors like right now, when he jolted up from bed in sudden fight. That his heart pounded against his chest in rapid-fire — where the lack of control spiraled and left him trembling below the sheets. And the tick of the clock reminded him of the inky void, the restless surges through his bodiless soul. He felt clammy and stiff, ready to keel. Heat pricked at his eyes when he tried to focus on the darkness, to verify that his surroundings weren’t the mortifying stillness but the dim outline of his master bedroom.

It was hard to feel reassurance from Connie, even though she called his name in worry. It was hard to hold her when he trembled under an unknown pressure. But he could feel her there even with his attempts to calm himself down. Her fingers pressed him towards her as if her body conjured a protective bubble around them. She brought him back from whatever hell he clambered out of and allowed him to sob into her shoulder like a child reassured by his mother. In the hush between them, he rested upon her chest without a thought, paying no attention to the click of their lamp — it had gotten hard to see, anyway. They allowed themselves to rest in the comfort of another, listening in at the symphony of their own home. Outside, the winter season beat against the windows and howled at the walls, a soft environment compared to the violent nothingness that held him down prior.

Minutes passed by before Steven pulled away from her. The snot from his nose was everywhere and he winced at the sight of it.

“Ah geez, let me get a tissue.”

Connie smiled at him. “I can handle a bit of snot on me, honey.”

“But it’s gross,” he said.

She nodded. “Alright, go get ‘em.”

Steven propped himself up and stumbled into the bathroom. He didn’t remember how he even got the damp tissues when he came back, but it eased him with relief to focus on something other than the ache of his body. They cleaned the mess up and discarded them at the bin, leaving Connie to embrace him again when he came back.

“Feeling a bit better now?”

“A lil.”

Connie gazed at him. It wasn’t judgemental, which was good. He worried for a lifetime on being judged, and his wife wasn’t the kind to do such a thing.

She pressed his head against her shoulder. “C’mere.”

Warmth was a companion, a gift in times such as this, and it felt amazing to be loved even when his skin crawled and his mind flashed to the inky-dark abyss. He let out a shaky breath.

“You’re going to be okay, Biscuit.”

Connie embraced him, kept him wrapped in heat like a cup of cocoa. His fingers were numb; pressure was the only thing he could feel from them as they bunched up into the back of her collar, savoring the embrace.

Steven had difficulty in relaxing. The presence of the other, however, kept reminding him of his breathing exercises, and his thoughts slowed down now that he was given the ability to live and let live. No one was going to hurt him, he reminded himself. No one wanted to hurt him. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone. And he, himself, didn’t plan to move in the act of violence. These words were a mantra, something Steven had to get behind, even if the man felt witless.

Steven groaned and pressed his face more into his wife. “I feel like shit, Berry.”

“How shitty?” Connie mumbled.

“More shitty than that pie we ate at the drive-thru.”

She snorted. “That’s a lot of shitty.”

His giggle was scratchy. “Yeah, not a good reference. It’s a lot worse, actually.”

Connie frowned at that more. “You want to talk about it, hun?”

The world seemed to go stiff and breathless with how they kept themselves together. Steven believed it was a miracle that he even calmed down to begin with, especially with his mind swamped and murky. Fear gripped his heart in a vice, left him to think countlessly of what he could do and what he can do, but Connie being near him was the tether in a sea of opposed anxieties. There was nobody else to look at him at this moment but her, and it was weird to hear himself babble to her. It should’ve felt painful, tragic for himself to listen to, but his previous developments, his countless attempts at getting better, made it hurt less as he spilled his heart out in the quiet.

The words poured out like garbage. It felt putrid, unsustainable, yet needed. Each claim — of being scared, of being terrified of the past, of the hellish landscape he could only feel rather than see — was crucial and Steven knew this. She knew this. Connie didn’t deserve a lover who shook and rambled to himself about stuff he should’ve dealt with back at sixteen, but the rationale in his mind told him that it was worth it. That he deserved to be held rather than left to fend for himself. So he kept going, until the next line spilled over.

“I’m scared that I’ll hurt you. That I’ll make the mistake of closing my eyes and the next moment you’re gone because of something that I did.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I can’t control the feeling or the form. I don’t know if I even could...and that’s terrifying to think about. That I could lose everything and everyone if one relapse was worse than the rest.”

Steven looked at her and watched the way she listened, how keen she was in being silent even when he knew wholeheartedly that she had something to say, something to tell him. He wished to be like her sometimes. Connie always had a hint of a plan on her whenever things went awry. She was the kind to bring up outlines and strategies when diplomacy got tough. But something about her right now left him stunned, observant to her countenance. Her expression was careful and diligent, hesitant on uttering a word.

“How long have these thoughts been going?”

“Getting more frequent this year. I thought therapy would take care of it but,” he sighed. “It didn’t.”

“Ah.”

She clicked her tongue.

“We’ll need to write this down for our sessions then.” Her words were methodical, careful in the way they were handled. Connie knew times like these needed a level-headed voice, but Steven didn’t know if he wanted one right now. “This sounds like something that needs to be talked about a lot more in a professional scenario.”

“I know.” Steven sighed. She looked determined to help him, but there was discomfort in having her plan in advance when he still felt disquieted. “But what if therapy won’t work? It’s still hard to think about certain things like Jasper, my mom, and everything else. I could hurt people if it goes too far.”

She was warm against him. Her pajamas smelled of lavender and eased him with its familiar scent even when she pulled away from him. Connie kept that stern bridge between her brows. There was a fire in her eyes, the same one that considered every factor, every trajectory, like it was an obstacle to be tackled.

“But you won’t do that, Steven. Therapy might be a long-term process, but it’s better than not mending the problem at all.”

Steven bit his lip. There was a resistance in his chest. He didn’t know how distinct it was from the pound of his heart, but it grew with her words. “But Connie…”

“Hm?” She looked at him. The flash of methodology was gone. What replaced it was worry, the same concern people would show him when something went amiss in his presence. No, no it wasn’t like that. Her face looked more careful than anything. “Are you okay?”

He exhaled. “I’m not fine.”

Connie flinched. Of course she did. She must’ve known it was the wrong thing to say; to say something so blatant like that by impulse made guilt. And guilt was human as any other emotion she had.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay, Berry.” He gave her a tiny smile and held her hands tightly in his. His fists overwhelmed her hands, his palms leaving her warm from the contact. “I just don’t want to plan right now.”

He brushed a thumb against her knuckles. “I’d rather talk about this. Talk about it in the now than later.”

The worry lines on Connie’s face lessened. She squeezed him in return, the fire in her eyes now a low burn, hopeful and open. “Okay. Then let’s talk.”

Steven nodded. His voice rose a little. “I could use another hug right now.”

“Come here, big guy.”

He brought himself forward and she was happy to hold him in her comfort. Connie’s arms were strong, muscled from years of training and exercise even after the end of Era Two; he wanted her to sweep him into the lovely quiet just like this, to have her keep him safe, away from the thoughts in his mind.

“I love you so much.” Steven’s words were muffled against her chest, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the reciprocation, the relief in her presence.

“I love you too, hun.” He felt her heartbeat more. “I really do.”

“I’m just scared that I’ll hurt you..”

“But you won’t,” she whispered. “You won’t hurt anyone because you are trying, and trying is better than not trying at all.”

“You don’t know that.” His voice shook, left trembling against her shoulder. “We don’t know how far I’ll go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you won’t, Biscuit.”

Her fingers brushed the locks of his hair, made him sigh into the growing tranquility of their room. There was the tick of the clock, how it resonated and made him tired even with the anxiety, the fear. But over time the lingering emotions that drenched him from his nightmares started to go away, little by little, and the wind outside became less of a fiend and more of a companion, a balm to the wound.

“When your breakdown happened, I knew that you didn’t want to hurt us.”

He heard recounts of him as he bashed the cliff walls with his head, the ever-present fact that he pushed people back, splintered the front of the beach house when he blacked out.

“I had to alert the citizens to flee the town, but I kept an eye on you. And I'll be serious with you, nobody had gotten hurt by you.”

Steven listened to the scratch of the windows, the hollow tap of the wind. He wondered if Connie was hearing it too.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure." She winced. "You were trying to isolate yourself more than hurt anyone."

Steven took in tiny breaths against her collar. "Oh."

"Yeah." She leaned into him.

There was something relaxing about being in each other’s arms through the snowfall. It reminded him of moments when the cold became docile, fleeting, and in that silence came a silent recognition of the other, a vulnerability never spoken but acted upon. There wasn’t anyone to tell them what was wrong or what should be improved or whether things would get better. There wasn’t any factor that made them feel unwanted or scathed. They could go about this at their own pace, and that’s fine. It left him content, happy even.

“It’s still hard to think that everything I’d done was right or wrong or anything in between,” he admitted finally. “I ask myself if I missed anything — that someone had never forgiven me for my actions — but…”

Steven stopped there. It was hard to admit one’s self as human; it was harder to admit to one’s self that you didn’t deserve misery for being human.

“I’m just glad that I could focus on the beginning steps.”

Connie pressed a kiss to his forehead, soft and loving. “You’re farther ahead than you realize.”

Steven hummed.

“I am.”

“And it takes years, Biscuit.” She mumbled something illegible to herself. “If I had a penny for every relapse I had this year...we’d get twenty pennies.”

Connie frowned at that.

“But that’s still a lot,” she admitted.

Connie was stubborn and loyal. She always was. It was hard sometimes to remember how vulnerable she could be when he was trying hard to change for the better, but when the moments happened — when the two screwed up, when both of them argued and panicked in the plight of repressed feelings — he made it his mission to be there for her just like how she did the same for him. She was human. It took years of her fighting the same battles as him to admit that therapy was something she needed too. But even with the couples therapy and their own specific methods of coping, he hesitated on asking to hug her. He had sessions where his therapist told him that it was okay to bring comfort in his life, through the relapses and the helplessness, the uncertainty that still shone through the most vulnerable of nights. When he couldn’t keep up with the self-awareness and the mind unraveled from past tribulation, he sought after the comfort and pushed it away at the same time. In that struggle came Steven’s want to fight, and here, in his reluctance, he brought himself to a smile.

“And my relapses are...fourteen pennies.”

He couldn’t help but giggle.

“That’s still a lot of pennies!”

And the two of them started to laugh together. There was a comic enjoyment in how far they’d come, how much distance they trekked even with the destination of recovery still miles away. But even then it took years for them to admit that something was amiss, that emotions were scarred and adjusted from the earlier days of their youth. That they weren’t untouchable, but fluid in heart and mind, human like any other.

#steven universe #su #suf #steven universe future #connverse #fanfic

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ganymedesclock · 4 years

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A Sincere Thought About Final Pam

So this thought just hit me like a ton of bricks while I was waking up this morning, so bear with me, folks.

Final Pam- and the monster factory episode where they create and start playing her- was actually I believe, my first in-depth exposure to the Mcelroy brothers. And I specifically recall being hesitant going in. “So three male comedy personalities... are going to deliberately set out to create an ugly woman character, and then play her, and the point of this is they are trying very hard to make her strange and ugly.”

I kind of had my teeth half-grit in this, wondering how mean the jokes would be, about halfway through the character creation.

And then something happened.

They fell in love with their character.

When the subject was Pam being weird and grotesque and breaking the sliders, they were very enthusiastic about that. But just that- they were enthusiastic in a largely positive sense. Some of the choices they made- maxing out the muscle slider- they were just plain stoked about! “She’s like a human punch!”

And the character that emerged from it, even though she was designed as a parody, is someone who has captivated people’s hearts, who has a genuinely wonderful amount of personality and flair. I find myself thinking about Final Pam a lot, especially her dolled-up later look with the sunglasses, dress, and axe.

And if I’m honest. I think that this is a very important skill of the Mcelroy brothers as character creators- they will start with something silly. Something ridiculous. A wizard named “taco taco” (not spelled that way, of course). But they will then sincerely emotionally commit to the experience of being this person.

Pam’s face and body are not curses laid against her to depict her as someone who can’t be loved, only funny to laugh at- they are acts of defiance that brought together her character in total rebellion of how the game whose system spawned her wanted her to look. So the experience of Pam is not to be a mockery-worthy pariah who’s either unaware of it or scorned by it- but of telling the gods themselves or as close to it, to fuck off, because you look fantastic.

This actually changed the way I play video games. No joke. Before this point, I don’t think I ever really had that much fun with character creation sliders. In the Sims, in Skyrim, I agonized over them- but didn’t enjoy it. My characters had to be pretty. If I accidentally chose an option that made them look bad, I got frustrated. And because they had to be the narrowest imaginable standard of pretty, I never had fun.

But Pam looked like fun. Being Pam looked like fun, and creating Pam looked like fun.

The next time I fired up skyrim and stared at that character creator? I made a decision.

I tried to make a zombie, in a character creator that is designed, well, for living people. Experimented with options and overlays, how to add a very pale, drawn, sickly appearance, to suggest a character who is in early stages of decay- or a stage of embalming- in which they can pass, walking around, for the flesh of the living. Jutting facial bones, cavernous sunken cheeks, a bald head.

She was not pretty. I loved her. I had a lot of fun being her.

Now, I am not quite on the level of the Mcelroy brothers, though I may strive to get there. My heart has been somewhat closed to loving my own creations. I yearn for them to be taken seriously- they must be. They are too close to myself, and on a level, I am terrified of seeming like a joke to people. This may be part of the particular path I’ve tread through experiencing the world as a neurodivergent person- being autistic and adhd, it has felt in the past like my hard-won badge of maturity will be revoked in any context where I do not viciously fight to defend it. I fear becoming merely a comic relief character in someone else’s lives.

But ‘prettiness’ haunted me, both in video games, and in my art. I am also someone who was raised as a girl, and unfortunately, to many people, “pretty” is the best thing a girl can be, and they might superficially decry “an obsession with beauty”- but if you’re not pretty, it becomes harder to be taken seriously. For someone like me, whose features and body are passable for societal norms, I had an advantage I felt afraid of losing.

And as someone who tends to feel more like a guy than like a girl, that adds a whole other layer onto it: guys are also held to standards of looking good, but rather than just being assumed “vapid” if you’re too caught up in your looks, that’s a matter of suspect and scandal. Beautiful men- sparkle sparkle- are treated as suspect, more fragile, more stupid than others, or outrageous, scandalous, a joke.

Taken as a girl, I can be seen as not really concerned with my looks enough (I’m sure the beauty industry would personally love to sell me concealer and foundation to wear everyday rather than a single thing of mascara I fiddle with on rare occasions when I think it might be fun, and even people who aren’t makeup salesmen, probably rightly, think I don’t moisturize enough); but taken as a guy, if I ever passed enough as a cis article to be seen by others at first glance as a man, I’d probably pass off as far too concerned on it.

The thing about Pam, though, is she is undeniable. Pam looks however well she damn pleases. She sets her own standards, and by her standards, she’s rocking it. The experience of being Pam is an impassioned rejection of the standards of beauty, the narrative she’s ostensibly positioned in as a character, and, in fact, the raw laws of her universe- that is, those of the game. HA HA, WRITERS, YOU DECIDE WHAT IS IMPORTANT? NO. PAM DECIDES WHAT IS IMPORTANT. ROACHIE AND METAL HUSBAND ARE IMPORTANT.

Pam is vivacious, enthusiastic, a sheer force of chaos- and she is not even sorry for the slightest second, about her face, about her body, about her volume, about anything. Pam will never be measured as a failure woman, because Pam only measures herself as Pam. And she is the only Pam. The ideal Pam. The Final Pam. There is no failure state for being Pam.

While total chaotic disregard of other people also has a dark side... I think I personally have lived most of my life on the other side of the problem: not really wanting to make a fuss.

So watching that episode of Monster Factory, and coming into contact with Final Pam as a character made me realize that my own anxieties, my assumption that there is a failure state for being me, was a shadow that I cast over my character creation process. I made characters who were inoffensive, pretty, desirable, even as I challenged the idea with them being gross, or intense, or fearsome- they could have eyeballs growing out of their throats, just not too large of a nose. When I was given the toy of a character creator, I didn’t truly play with it. I carefully arranged them into inoffensive model features, and then tried to make up for it by having them rampage with a sledgehammer (but even then, only so much rampaging)

But people who are truly beautiful have always pushed the envelope of what was acceptable. Facial moles are ugly and disfiguring- oh, wait, no they’re not, Marilyn Monroe has one and it’s all the rage. If someone has the charisma to push themselves out into the public eye despite all of the setbacks and barriers, we are forced to acknowledge them.

I needed Pam. I needed to make characters who were not apologetic for being themselves, an “I’m sorry” baked into the elevation of their cheekbones.

I haven’t broken a character creator yet. But I do know that nowadays I’m having a lot more fun.

#writing ruminations #character design #readmore

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monroetalks · 3 years

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A Last Long Talk With A Lonely Girl: article by Richard Meryman on LIFE

Only a few weeks before her death Marilyn Monroe talked at length to LIFE Associate Editor Richard Meryman about the effects of fame on her life. Her story was published in the August 3 issue. Here he recalls what Marilyn was like as she talked to him.

If Marilyn Monroe was glad to see you, her "hello" will sound in your mind all of your life - the breathless warmth of the emphasis on the "lo", her well-deep eyes turned up toward you and her face radiantly crinkled in a wonderfully girlish smile.

I first experienced this when, after two get-acquainted meetings in New York, I came in the late afternoon several weeks ago to her Brentwood, Calif. home to begin a series of conversations on fame. Expecting one of the famous waits for Marilyn, I sat on the soft wall-to-wall carpet of the living room and began struggling to set up my tape recorder. Suddenly, I became aware of a pair of brilliant yellow slacks upright beside me. In the slacks was Marilyn, silently watching me with a solicitous grin, very straight and slender with delicately narrow shoulders. She seemed shorter than I remembered and she looked spectacular in a loose-fitting blouse. I stood up and we greeted and she said,"Do you want my tape recorder? I bought one to play the poems of a friend of mine."

Before starting what was to be no less than a six-hour talk, she wanted to show me her house which she had personally searched out and bought. Describing it earlier she exclaimed, "...and it has walls." She had refused LIFE any pictures of it, saying, "I don't want everybody to see exactly where I live, what my sofa or my fireplace looks like. Do you know the book Everyman? Well, I want to stay just in the fantasy of Everyman."

It was a small, three-bedroom house built in Mexican style, the first home entirely her own she had ever had. She exulted in it. On a special trip to Mexico she had carefully searched in roadside stands and shops and even factories to find just the right things to put in it. The large items had not arrived - nor was she ever to see them installed. As she led me through the rooms, bare and makeshift as though someone lived there only temporarily, she described with loving excitement each couch and table and dresser, where it would go and what was special about it. The few small Mexican things - a tin candelabra, folding stools ingeniously carved from single pieces of wood, a leather-covered coffee table, tiles on the kitchen walls - revealed her impetuous, charming taste. Separate from the house, attached to her two-car garage, was a large room being converted to an apartment which would be, she explained, "a place for any friends of mine who are in some kind of trouble, you know, and maybe they'll want to live here where they won't be bothered till things are OK for them."

Back in the house I remarked on the profusion of flowers outside. Her face grew bright and she said, "I don't know why but I've always been able to make anything grow." She went on: "When I was married to Mr. Miller, we celebrated Hanukkah and I felt, well, we should also have a Christmas tree. But I couldn't stand the idea of going out and chopping off a Christmas tree."

In the living room, seated on a nondescript chair and sofa, we went on talking-after Marilyn poured herself a glass of champagne. At each question she paused thoughtfully. "I'm trying to find the nailhead, not just strike the blow," she said. Then a deep breath and out her thoughts would tumble, breathless words falling over breathless words. Once she said, "One way basically to handle fame is with honesty and I mean it and the other way to handle it when something happens-as things have happened recently, and I've had other things happen to me, suddenly, my goodness, the things they try to do to you, it's hard to take - I handle with silence."

Her inflections came as surprising twists and every emotion was in full bravura, acted out with exuberant gestures. Across her face flashed anger, wistfullness, bravado, tenderness, ruefulness, high humor and deep sadness. And each idea usually ended in a startling turn of thought, with her laugh rising to a delightful squeak. "I think I have always had a little humor," said Marilyn. "I guess sometimes people just sort of questioned, 'does she know what she's saying,' and sometimes you do all of a sudden think about something else and you didn't mean to say it exactly. I'm pointing at me. I don't digest things with my mind. If I did, the whole thing wouldn't work. Then I'd just be kind of an intellectual and that I'm not interested in."

At this point I began to see that Marilyn did nothing by halves. Of her millions of fans she said, "The least I can is give them the best they can get from me. What's the good of drawing in the next breath if all you do is let it out and draw in another?" I could also see how important it was to her to feel that the person she talked to "understood."

Understanding apparently meant being very sympathetic, taking her side in everything, recognizing the nuances of her meanings and valuing all that she valued, especially small things. When I showed genuine enthusiasm for her house, she said, "Good, anybody who likes my house, I'm sure I'll get along with."

But I had the constant, uneasy feeling that my status with her was precarious, that if I grew the least bit careless, she might suddenly decide the I, like many others she felt had let her down, did not understand. Once I slangily asked her how she "cranked up" to do a scene. I was instantly confronted by queenly outrage: "I don't crank anything. I'm not a Model T. I think that's kind of disrespectful to refer to it that way."

But I could not feel impatient with her impatience. It was all so understandable as she talked about the people who wrote columns and stories about her: "They go around and ask mostly your enemies. Friends always say, 'Let's check and see if this is all right with her.'" And then she added wistfully: "You know, most people really don't know me." There was grief in her eyes when she described how she had once found her stepson Bobby Miller hiding a magazine containing a lurid article about her, and how Joe DiMaggio Jr. used to be taunted at school because of her.

"You know, ha, ha, your stepmother is Marilyn Monroe, ha, ha, ha. All that kind of stuff." And there was yearning in her voice as she returned over and over again to "kids, and older people and workingmen" as a source of warmth in her life, as the unthreatening people who treated her naturally, whom she could meet spontaneously. I felt a rush of protectiveness for her; a wish - perhaps the sort that was the root of the public's tenderness for Marilyn - to keep her from anything ugly and hurtful.

Before I left late that night, she asked to be sent a transcript of the interview. "I often wake up in the night," she explained, "and I like to have something to think about."

When I arrived the next afternoon for a second session she immediately asked to postpone our talk. She was tired out, she said, from negotiations with 20th Century Fox over resumption of Something's Got To Give. But she hospitably offered me a drink and we chatted. She was obviously upset. But there was no hint of morose despair. She was electric with indignation and began talking angrily about how studios treat their stars. Then she paused, said she needed something to help overcome her tiredness and got a glass of champagne. I asked if she had ever wished that she were tougher. She answered, "Yes - but I don't think it would be very feminine to be tough. Guess I'll settle for the way I am."

We were interrupted when her doctor arrived. Marilyn bounded out to the kitchen, returned with a little ampule, and holding it up to me said, "No kidding, they're making me take liver shots. Here, I'll prove it to you." By then she was willing to talk on, and it was nearly midnight when Marilyn jumped up and announced she was going to throw a steak on the grill. She came back to say there was no steak and no food at all. Before I left one of the last things she said was, "With fame, you know, you can read about yourself, somebody else's ideas about you, but what's important is how you feel about yourself - for survival and living day to day with what comes up."

Over the weekend Marilyn was scheduled to pose for pictures so I suggested we eat breakfast before her noon appointment. She agreed and I arrived on Saturday at 10. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. No answer. But through the window I could see a man sitting in her little glassed-in porch, reading a magazine with the bored patience of somebody who had been there a long time. I waited and rang for about 10 minutes, then went away for an hour. At 11 my ring was answered by Marilyn's housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, who took me to wait in a guest room just off a tiny hall from Marilyn's bedroom. At noon Mrs. Murray took a tray of breakfast in to her. Shortly afterward Marilyn came out and said hello.

I then became a witness to the fabled process of Marilyn preparing for an appointment - and being four hours late for it. The patient gentleman was her hairdresser, Mr. Kenneth. While he worked on her and she sat under the dryer I could hear uproarious laughter. Then, in her curlers, she made little barefooted errands about the house and in and out of her room, phone calls, visits to me to ask if I was comfortable, all busy bustling, getting nothing done. There was none of the fearful moping and preening in front of mirrors I had heard so much about. She was entirely cheerful and utterly disorganized. I could not help feeling that what some people blamed on stagefright might partly be her endless debt to time. The necessary mechanics of daily living were beyond her grasp; she always started out behind and never caught up.

Finally she was almost ready and she came tripingly into the room where I sat. She wore high heels, orange slacks, a brassiere, and held an orange blouse carelessly across her bosom. "Do I look like a pumpkin in this outfit?" she asked. She looked wonderful. "You'll set the fashion industry ahead 10 years." I said. She was very pleased and answered, "You think so? Good!"

Two days later I called Marilyn for another appointment to talk over the final draft of her story. She said, "Come anytime, like, you know, for breakfast." There was in her voice a note which I had come to recognize - an appealing eagerness to please. I came again at 10 and once again she slept till noon. Finally we sat down together on a tiny sofa. She was barefooted, wearing a robe, and had not yet washed off last night's mascara. Her delicate hair was in a sleep-tumbled whirl. But she had made me feel this was a compliment. "Friends," she had said, "accept you the way you are." As was usual, her face was very pale. She held the manuscript high in front of her eyes and carefully read it aloud, listening to every phrase to be sure it sounded exactly like her.

She kept the manuscript and I returned for it late that afternoon. On the steps of the house she showed me changes she had penciled in, all of them small. She asked me to take out a remark about quietly giving money to needy individuals. And then we said goodbye. As I walked away she suddenly called after me, "Hey, thanks." I turned to look back and there she stood, very still and strangely forlorn. I thought then of her reaction earlier when I had asked if many friends had called up to rally round when she was fired by Fox. There was silence, and sitting very straight, eyes wide and hurt, she had answered with a tiny, "No".

#articles #magazines #life magazine #marilyn monroe

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honeyvbarnes · 4 years

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Let Me In

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angsty AF, mentions of heartbreak, anxiety and depression, commitment issues, language, Happy ending (I promise)

Summary: A heartbroken soul is never easy to fix.

Word count: 2,393

A/N: Hi, it me, ya angsty gal. The readers past is pretty much based off of my past. I wrote this to let everyone know that you’re not alone through heartbreaks, and that it does get better. Love yourself before you can love someone else!

This is also for @whimsicalrogers! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful art with me. I love you so very much! @the-wayward-robot

You know heartbreak. You know heartbreak a little too well, actually. You’ve spent most of your young adult years dating immature individuals that weren’t anywhere near ready for commitment, yet they still strung you along for the hell of it. You were ready to give up on love all together, but then you met him.

This was the man you were going to marry, you knew it, you felt it in your bones, deep in your soul. He was charming, shy but knew exactly how to make you laugh. His unique features interested you, you’d even go as far as describing his looks as angelic. He promised you the world. Promised you the life you’ve always wanted. Marriage, a home, children, and stability most of all. He gave you his heart, and without any hesitation you gave him yours in return. You gave him your mind, body, and soul. Blind by the honeymoon of it all, you didn’t see. You didn’t see the red flags and warnings. His sweet words and gentle touches put you under his spell. Easy. You made everything simply too easy. He had you, he had what he wanted. For years this man, if you could even call him that, owned you. Young fiancées, you believed you were to be wed. Until you weren’t. Alone. You were left completely and utterly alone. Left for another woman, as he had been sneaking around the last couple of months. He opened up his heart for someone else, as he shut you out all the same. Nothing. You were left with nothing, but the broken pieces of your own heart. Pieces were missing, the pieces you had so eagerly given to him.

The disgusting darkness weighed you down for the years to follow. Completely ruined for any other man, so you thought. Ugly anxiety clawing at your mind every second of the day, and the heavy depression drags you down into the unknown. And yet, you’re stronger. Built up walls for yourself, so you could not be attacked again. Although you yearn to be loved, hoping someday maybe someone will show you what true love actually feels like, but you’ve shoved that idea far away now. You’re smart, and you know love doesn’t come easy. You’re determined to never be so blinded by the fuzzy warm feelings. Cold and unattached is your new façade. Men line up to simply bask in your beauty and charm, but you’d never give them a second look. You’re stronger, and you’ll prove it. You’ll prove the world, but more importantly yourself.

You’re proud of yourself to say the least. Over the years you’ve worked hard to get to where you are today. Becoming a SHIELD field agent, that was your first goal. Excelling in all your courses, and challenges thrown your way, you quickly climbed the ranks and was accepted into the Avengers initiative.

Being a part of the Avengers was strange at first, but you quickly settled and fit right in. All of your teammates adored you and you now considered them your family.

Natasha took it upon herself to take you under her wing to train you, Steve and Sam always the big brothers, and Tony, well Tony was a big flirt and you loved the banter between the two of you. Clint, Wanda, and Thor loved you just as much as everyone else did as well, but Bucky Barnes was a different story.

You two became really close, really fast. When the two of you first met, something snapped in Bucky’s heart, feeling the need to protect you at all costs. He would always snarl at Tony when he’d flirt with you, or yell at Steve for pushing you too hard during training. You never viewed it as an issue, and you’d trust him with your life if it came down to it, but you were scared. Scared of accepting your friendship for what it really was. You and Bucky spent a whole year of tip-toeing around each other, never knowing what each of you wanted. The team sometimes teased you guys, calling Bucky your boyfriend and vice versa. It would always make your anxiety spike, and you’d shut down for a couple of days in result. They all knew you had some sort of dark past, but you never talked about it. Natasha always stood up for you, if you were to be questioned by another. “A good spy never reveals her past.” She would say. Your past makes you feel weak, reminds you of a time that you’d like to erase out of existence. So you continue to shut down, and shut out.

You don't necessarily like to be affectionate with your teammates. You’ll rest your head on Bucky’s shoulder on the quinjet ride home after a particularly tiring mission, hold onto Sam’s arm if he’s ever escorting you anywhere, and you’ll let Wanda give you a hug if she knows your having a bad day. Other than that, you have a strict no touching rule, and refrain from any other affection. You used to love affection, but that was when you were weak.

Tony Stark was infamous for throwing great parties. Galas for charities, holiday parties, and buying out whole club venues were his specialties. Tonight though, he’s agreed to keep it small and low key to celebrate you one year of being an Avenger.

You were appalled by the idea at first, and weren’t completely sure why everyone would want to celebrate such a small milestone, but you eventually agreed to a small dinner and a night of dancing. You still knew how to let loose and have a good time after all.

The festivities started a couple of days before the gathering when Tony had given you his credit card for you, Nat, and Wanda to go shopping, without any type of price range. You appreciated the gesture, and after a long day of searching, you found the perfect dress.

The breathing ensemble fit you like a glove. The fabric hugged your curves in all the right places, and had slits up both sides of the dress showing off your toned legs. For a moment you felt like yourself again, twirling in front of your mirror, and putting on the last touches of your makeup. You had just finished buckling your heels when you heard a voice pulling your attention.

“Doll, you sure know how to clean up.” Bucky spoke from the door frame of your room. He wore all black, slacks and a dress shirt to match, with the last two buttons undone. His hair was messily perfect, pulled back to a low bun, and his face was freshly shaven showing off his handsome features. He smiles at you as he walks in.

“Thought I told you not to call me that, Sarge.” You teasingly shot back, using the pet name he so graciously asked you not to call him either.

“Sorry, you really do look amazing though Y/N” he says with such sincerity, you blush at his words.

“Thank you, Barnes.”

Bucky extends his elbow to you and you indulge in his gesture, hooking you hand on his arm.

“Ready to make your grand entrance?” He asks.

“Yeah, lets get this over with.”

Dozens upon dozens of dishes filled with your favorite foods are served on the table for dinner. You have a taste for fine dining, and Tony did not disappoint in providing. Dinner went smoothly, laughs were shared and memories were made as the wine never stoped flowing. The common area had been cleared of the furniture and been turned into a dance floor, with a DJ to set the mood. Your favorite songs play all night long, and you dance the night away with your super family.

As the evening dwindles down, most have retreated to their rooms. Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and yourself still remain. Sam and Wanda are definitely more intoxicated than you are, while Bucky remains sober. The four of you are sitting in the middle of the dance floor as you finish off your drinks, your feet are in Bucky’s lap, he’d taken off your heels and he massages the aches away.

“Why don’t you two jus date already?” Sam speaks up, obviously with no filter.

“Sam!” Wanda warns. Her eyes immediately shine red as she looks at you, knowing very well that this is a touchy subject for you.

“Come on Sam you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about man.” Bucky smoothly fires back. You eye him and his appearance remains calm, but you can tell his anxiety spikes as well by the way he’s gripping your feet.

“I-“ you begin, but Sam cuts you off.

“Ugggh y’all are so annoying, just kiss already! Everyone one knows you guys got somethin goin on anyways. Why won’t you date him Y/N? Is it the arm? Or is it because he’s old as shit?” He wiggles his brows at you.

You’re stunned to say the least, on the edge of an anxiety attack. You know Sam’s just teasing, but you don't like to be teased. Your hands are starting to shake and the walls are starting to close in.

“Just fuck off Sam!” You exclaim. Pushing off the floor, you run to your room, leaving your friends concerned.

“What I do?” Sam asks.

“Y/N can I come in?” Bucky knocks on your door. You’ve changed into your pajamas already, and you’re currently trying to remove your makeup while crying.

“Go away.” You answer.

“Please, Y/N whats wrong?” Bucky hesitantly opens the door. You remain sitting on your bed but try to look away from him.

“I said go away Bucky.”

“Did I do something wrong? I mean Sam was just messin’ around Doll, I-“

“I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!” Your anxiety takes over and you can’t control it any longer. You scream at Bucky to leave you and your sobs are coning out harsh leaving you breathless. You bring your knees up to your chest as you wrap your arms around them, as an attempt at comforting yourself.

Bucky rushed forward the pick you up into his arms, but you’re quick to push him away.

“Don’t touch me! Please, don’t touch me!” You yell through breaths.

“Let me help you Y/N!” Bucky tries again and this time he succeeds in holding you, placing you on his lap as he wraps his arms around you tight. You thrash and attempt to hit at his chest to let you go, but the more you cry, the more weak you become.

“Let me go, leave me alone! Just leave me! Go away!” You slip away from his arms and promptly fall to the floor, sobbing harder as you realize you want Bucky to hold you, you want him to make you feel better, but you can’t. You can’t let him in.

“Y/N I’m not leaving you like this. Please just let me-“ and he tries again, reaches out for you sliding to his knees on the floor next to you, but you push him away again, and stand. Pacing across your room to keep your distance.

“JAMES LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” You finally scream at him.

“NO!” He actually yells back. You’re stunned where you stand. Bucky has never raised his voice at you, and his outburst shocks you like fresh crisp air. Calms your breathing, and you're confused why.

“No, I am not going to leave you alone Y/N. I can’t do that.” He grits out. Bucky stands before you tense, fists tight at his sides, chest expanding with each hard breath. He looks angry, again it calms you.

“ Why?” You ask, and your breathing labors, the tears are slowing down.

“God Y/N are you serious? I. Love. You. Why can’t you see that? I love you so much and it’t terrifying. You won’t open up about your past, and I respect you decision to do so. But I need you to let me in Y/N. I need you to tell me if you feel the same way too. I feel like you do, but you’re scared.” Bucky surges towards you and grabs both of your hands in his. “Please let me love you. After all the years of torture and pain, I never thought I’d get a chance at love. I probably don’t even deserve love, after everything I’ve done. But I love you, and I need you. You don’t know what you do to me Doll. You make me a better man. You make me want more out of life. We’re all damaged here, we can be damaged together. I just- God I wish you’d say something. I shouldn't have told you all of this, I’m sorry. I-“

“I love you.”

It comes out in a soft breath. The weight of your past dripping off of you in heaps, and its like coming up for fresh air, after drowning for decades. Bucky stands before you, a good man. Memories of the past year together with him flood your mind, and new tears form in your eyes. His beautiful face is one of shock and disbelief. But the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he croaks out a laugh.

“You love me?” He asks for good measure.

“Yes, Bucky I love you. And I’m sorry I-“

He gives you no time to explain. In one quick but gentle motion his lips are on yours. He pulls you in incredibly close, and a piece of your heart is restored. You’ve never been held in such a way before. In his arms you feel the passion radiate off of him in waves. This love is different, it’s real. Something you’ve only dreamed of feeling someday. As you pull away for air you stare into each others eyes. Searching for what has always been there.

“Y/N, I love you. You’ve been hurt, I can tell. But I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll spend the rest of my days protecting your heart. So let me in, okay?”

The earth shifts, and the heavens above shine bright on the lost lovers. Separate, they know nothing except heartbreak and pain, but together they find love. Soul renewing, heart repairing, true love. Nothing so cruel shall ever tear them apart, not even death.

“Okay.”

Taglist: @pinnedandneedled @perpetually-tuned-out @stuckonjbbarnes @rayche776 @sebbbystaaan @the-wayward-robot @captnrogers @chloerinebarnes @valkyriesryde @captain-kelli @stateoflovinged @mushyjellybeans @bitchassbucky @an-adventureland @imma-new-soul

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel fic

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