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what-gs-watching · 5 months

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"It's the things we love most that destroy us."

The other night, I did the last live session for my career bootcamp, and I decided I was gonna take yesterday to myself and just chill out.

Which led to me seeing an early movie. I honestly enjoy going to the movies by myself, sitting in a mostly empty theater and just getting lost in whatever is going on for a while. I’ve been meaning to go since this ‘hiatus’ started and there hadn’t really been anything enticing enough, but finally I gave in, and went to see

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

….Fuck, y’all. I came home and I felt a lot of WAYS about a LOT of things.

I read all of the original books while the movies were coming out. They were lent to me by one of my forever best friend slash favorite coworker - this dude was NOT the type of person to ever, ever read the Hunger Games but he did, and we got into the habit of swapping books and I ran through all of them. It was only fair, I’d made him read The Rum Diaries.

I love dystopian shit. I really do. I think most of us are fascinated with the idea of society breaking down. And also, how much worse it could actually be than it is now. That’s why I loved The Last of Us and Handmaid’s Tale and a million other things. It’s a curiosity. And a comfort, kind of. Like, things are fucked, but look how much more fucked they could be, aren’t you kind of glad, now?

So of course I was all in on a villain origin story for The Hunger Games. Who wouldn’t be?

I’m not really sure what I was expecting. I haven’t read the book yet, I’m so behind on actual reading (has fanfic taken over my life? Yes) but holy HELL. Like, they made this movie and they put it out and they were like “people are terrible, here’s a wonderful example of that. Hope you can stomach it.”

Wherein, a young Coriolanus Snow tries to mentor a tribute in the 10th annual Hunger Games (whose popularity is waning) to victory so he can get some desperately needed money for his family and shit spirals incredibly out of control.

Heartstrings are definitely pulled for Corio, I can’t deny it. He lives with his grandmother and his cousin and their family used to be powerful but his mother died in childbirth and his father was murdered during the rebellion and they show him and the cousin almost starving during that time and I get it. It’s unfortunate. But he gets into the academy and he sees his opportunity to finally get his family back to better footing, and that’s commendable.

He does some dubious shit in the beginning to help his standing - like making suggestions on how they can make the Games more popular again. Suggesting people need to get attached to the tributes, so they’ll be invested in their ultimate fates. That’s some psychological warfare. But also, it makes perfect sense. And it’s so gross.

Then he gets attached to his tribute, Lucy Gray, and he’s determined to help her live, and of course it’s because if his tribute wins then he’ll supposedly get some prize money, but it also seems like cares about her. Along the way, his friendship with Sejanus, another academy student who is originally from district 2, and who is rightfully absolutely disgusted with the games, grows. Eventually, Corio cheats to help Lucy, even though he’s been explicitly told that cheating will come with terrible consequences.

And so like, I’m with it so far. You gotta do some unsavory things to survive, we all do, it’s human nature. And that’s really the entire point of the movie but this motherfucker eventually takes it too far. But he also helps Sejanus when he goes into the arena to try and protest what the fuck is going on, and so it’s like, a balancing act.

Lucy Gray eventually wins the Hunger Games. I’m not gonna go into how fucked up all the death scenes during the Games are. Or how horrible the one girl is, leading a pack. There’s a lot of ruthlessness but also tenderness and it’s just as terrible as all of the other Games are, with a lot less finesse.

Anyway, after she wins, Snow is obviously punished and forced into being a peacekeeper in the districts, and he weasels his way to 12 where he knows Lucy is. And surprise! They fall in love. I am VERY curious to know how he gets away with running off with her all the time, that dude is supposed to be part of the military that shit should not be possible, but whatever.

Turns out, Sejanus follows Crio to 12 too, and that’s sweet. Sejanus really thinks they’ve got a bond. And maybe they do. But he’s dealing with a fucking psychopath and he doesn’t know it.

So sweet little Sejanus sees injustices in the district and he wants to help so he starts cavorting with rebels because of course he does, he’s the good guy in this fucking story, and Snow doesn’t approve but he’s also caught up in Lucy Gray and trying to figure out a way to get back to the capital, apparently.

And then it all comes to a head when he follows Sujanus to a secret rebel meeting and Snow ends up killing one of the dudes involved, and then the mayor’s daughter dies too, and tells Lucy and Sujanas no one can know about any of this obviously, and another guy takes the guns that were used and hides them.

The next day the Peacekeepers are obviously intent on finding the guns and hanging the killers. There’s some searching, and then they find one of the rebels involved. THEN we cut to two guys up in the noose, Corio standing guard like a good little keeper, and then they’re pulling SEJANUS up to the platform too and he’s crying for Snow to help him and he just watches and this poor kiddo is unceremoniously snapped at the neck.

Afterward, Snow makes a plan to run away with Lucy Gray and so they go. Like, he must love her if he’s going to try and escape Panem with her forever? Like, he must be abandoning his family and going for it? He’s abandoning his chance to be sent to 2 for officer training as well, his way back into property society. So he must mean it?

But when they stop at a cabin to get out of the rain, he discovers the guns they’d used in the murders. And he realizes he can get rid of them for good, and maybe he doesn’t have to escape after all. And Lucy can see the gears working in his mind and she knows he’s already lied to her because he let it slip that he’s killed 3 people and she was like ‘who was the 3rd?’ and I’m thinking the same thing too. And he lies about it.

So she lies too, says she’s going out to forage some food and when he goes after her, he finds the scarf he gave her on the ground and when he picks it up, a snake she’d planted there bites him. And he loses his shit. He’s carrying the gun he used to kill that rebel and he’s screaming and when he catches a glimpse of her, he shoots. He wants to kill her, she’s a loose end now, just like that.

Maybe she got away. We never really know. But honestly, in my mind, he got a good bite out of her and she eventually dies. Because it would make sense this asshole ruthlessly kills the one person he worked so hard to help survive, the one person who loved him, just out of self preservation.

Afterwards, he goes back to 12 and finds out he’s being sent back to the capital. And we need to give ALL the kudos to Viola Davis for her portrayal of Gaul, who was the head gamemaster, and was absolutely out of her everloving mind. She’d been pushing Snow behind the scenes throughout, likely because one fucked up person can recognize another fucked up person with potential.

So he meets with her, and we find out that he’d slipped information to her about Sejanus’s activities, and that’s why he was strung up. She wants him to attend university and become her protege. And he’s all about it. Sejanus’s family is going to pay his way because he was such a good friend and tried to do right by their kid (jesus christ y’all) and tada! Just like that, his family is restored to the status they expect and they have nice things now and everything is tickety-boo.

At the end, he meets with Highbottom, the academy’s dean, who has been absolutely not a fan of Snow throughout his exploits. He’d been determined to keep the kid down, and at first you’re like ‘yo what’s your deal?’ but we come to find out that Highbottom had inadvertently invented the Hunger Games as a thought experiment, sharing it with his best friend, Snow’s father. Who took it, and had it implemented. And Highbottom’s been trying to stop it ever since. No wonder he wanted to get rid of Snow.

Joke’s on him though, he’s hooked up morphling and after Snow leaves, he takes one of the viles that Snow had dumped on his desk, part of Sejanus’s personal effects, and immediately dies. Everyone that could of stopped him, everyone that could have been even vaguely a threat, gone.

And all of this, for what? Power and money? Security, I guess in some twisted way? Because he felt threatened? Did what happened to him turn him into this, or did what happened to him just show him he’s always been this way?

I wanted a villain origin story and I got it. And I kind of hated it. Because they had me in the first half. Because maybe we all have the propensity to become something so horrific if we’re thrust into just the exactly right set of circumstances. I mean, maybe we don’t, but we could, and I don’t think anyone ever really wants to find out.

Don’t make me look too close at humanity. That way lies madness.

The point is: I probably did not need to feel all of that right now. But it was good in a way that makes you angry. And sometimes, life’s just like that. Sometimes snow lands on top.

Fucking dystopian futures...

#what g's watching #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #movies #dystopian future #coriolanus snow

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cagcd · 5 months

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"y'know what, i think i need to change up my order this time. i'm getting predictable, blanche can recite my peanut butter sundae by heart." cassie peruses the menu, though nothing much on there has ever changed. that's the thing about visiting the same ice cream place for years on end: the staff know you, you know them, and you could pick your order off their menu blindfolded. it's tradition, though. always has been. this is their place, their dinky little ice cream store full of memories. it's been years now since the first time dad brought her here - she's all grown up and still every bit as happy to join him here on a day off. cassie is fiercely protective of the time she spends here with her dad. particularly since he most often seems to suggest a visit here when cassie's feeling down. whatever wacky father senses he's got going are pretty accurate, because he always seems to know. cassie turns to the man himself. "what about you? adventurous ice cream choice today, or nah?"

He needn't any powers when it came to her, fatherly instincts were a quality that grew with time he hadn't believed to ever be a thing up until he had her in his life, it wasn't as though his own was worthy of the title to be used as an example to draw from, his father's incompetence and carelessness had been one of the main causes that terrified Johnny with the prospect of fatherhood, always worrying and wondering if he can fill in such a significant role in cassie's life and be that anchor she can lean on at times of need. Times were tough, they weren't what most would call an ordinary family, growing up while having to shift between the extravagance that was Hollywood and the strictness of military training and a rank to uphold. But they had managed, somehow, just enough to sooth Johnny's worries every time he'd see his little girl smile, her happiness the only comfort and motivation that forces all those doubts to disappear, &. have the weight of his father's failure feel a little lighter, unaware that it had been a curse he had long since broken free from. A part of him didn't wish to take full hold of that safety, lest he forgets himself once more and loses track of all that he has built.

They weren't normal in any sense of the word, yet, what they had was perhaps the closest thing he had known to family and had done his hardest to maintain even throughout his separation with her mother. Their differences at the time were their own, neither had wished for Cassie to get dragged into It, It was a mutual effort between both parties to ensure she never felt that gaping hole of loneliness, to have two homes instead of one, a father and a mother that could not for the longest time look straight into one another She hadn't said much about the topic, but Johnny could note every shift in her expression, the way she would grow silent and slump on the couch like an old toy. The child that she was had been enticed to a smile every time he would suggest a distraction and a treat with ice cream, little to know that this simple attempt of cheer up would become an important tradition of theirs. It hadn't been so different this time, he watched her come home with that same gloomy expression, try as she might, a parent's love gave insight to such things, he could read her like the back of his hand regardless of how well she would hide it. He would never push her to talk however, he learned just enough how useless that was during his rebellious teens, so he would wait, offer a shoulder and a listening ear when she's encouraged to talk, patience is a virtue after all, a saying he took to heart ever since he heard it from Sonya and still smiles to this day at the thought.

❛❛ atta girl, gotta keep'em on their toes. ❜❜ Johnny chuckled at the thought of that three member staff, [ most often two as they always seemed short-staffed ], scrambling behind the counter to change up her order. The clutter of kitchenware prevailing over the same 80's songs playing on repeat, he could recite the whole playlist by heart. It wasn't the most fanciest of places in true cage style, but that's what made it more important, something realistic to be seen as a safe haven for the two of them at times of need, he would often bring her along if he's the one that needed cheer up. It seemed to work, just enough to erase that frown he had seen her first walk through the door with, a tender smile tugged on his lips as hazel hues glance her way, she's no longer little and teary eyed but he can't help but recall that memory with certain fondness. ❛❛ I think I'll go for one of their ice cream cakes, never tried those before. ❜❜ he answers after a few minutes meditation, not really looking at the menu as he thought his choice through, for he too had memorized it to the extent of being able to list it all from the top of his head, but that was the good part, their little tradition they kept alive.

@starspurn // my fav dad dottir duo !!!!

#starspurn #☆.⠀⠀⠀here's johnny⠀⠀⠀⎯⎯⎯⠀⠀⠀⠀(⠀answered !⠀)#// THIS IS SO WHOLESOME STOPPPPP

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undermine-the-instinct · 1 year

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Title: Do Not Place Flowers At My Hearth, It Is Not A Grave.

Word count: Around 4.6k

Synopsis: Oyakata-sama calls you to the hashira meeting for a trial, and you are forced to reevaluate some things. And Kyojurou loves you. That has not changed.

Trigger warnings: A little gore, self harm, not reader, Sanemi cuts himself bc he always has to be difficult what's new.

This is an au of 'Lighting ten thousand' lanterns, by the lovely @phen0l which I so highly recommend!!!!

It is strange that Oyakata-sama has specifically requested your company.

Every Hashira has been called present, and you are not arrogant enough to claim that you are on the same level of power and importance as they.

Kyojuro is a wonderful mentor though, so you are close. And as his Tsugoku, you are privy to some information that is only later disclosed, if at all, to the lower castes.

Still, Oyakata-sama has called for your company, and yours alone.

His two eldest daughters, Nichika-chan and Hinaki-chan, sit by his sides, prim and proper as dolls, and just as pretty. They have just finished preparing your tea, and it is delicious. Their stares are a little unnerving though.

"So, how have you and Rengoku-San been faring?"

"Very well, Oyakata-sama, as well as we can be. We're very happy."

"I am glad. It seems Enmusubi-no-Kami has blessed the two of you. It is now up to the both of you to protect and nurture this love." You nod vigorously, before you internally smack yourself. However direct his eyes, The Master is blind. How stupid of you.

"Of course master. Between both our duties we take care of the household and each other. Senjuro-kun is very happy to call me Ane-ue, and Rengoku-San has new life and vitality to him nowadays. It's always a happy affair when all of us are home."

"I remember offering you two extra leave for your honeymoon and yet you both refused."

You shook your head. "Oh no, we are both Slayers, Oyakata-sama. Demons do not wait for love's full moon to wane. We must be diligent in our duties."

"Then why not take a few days off after your missions? Even when you are injured you both immediately go back to the field when you are barely healed."

"I think you mean Kyojuro more than I, Oyakata-sama. He can hardly stay in bed for more than a few days before he's itching to get up and start moving again." It was true. Last time you had to threaten him with no more ' kiss it betters ' unless he stood in bed and let his body heal.

Oyakata-sama's smile widened, and he allowed a slight chuckle.

"Oh goodness, that's not good, how are you two supposed to bear an heir in these conditions? Does staying in bed no longer entice the young Rengoku-san?"

Your face flushed red, and yes, you and Kyojuro have brought up the topic of children, and have, erm, been trying recently, but it was still so flustering whenever someone brought it up! Much less Oyakata-sama!

You don't even need to get started on Mitsuri-chan. One look at her sly eyes and sneaky grin and you flush like the ends of Kyojuro's hair.

The girls were still staring. It was still unnerving.

"Oyakata-sama, please, there are children present!" Again, he chuckled. And it was sweet how the girls' hands tightened around their father's. Their joy was a subtle thing.

"Forgive me. Yours and Kyojuro's story is one of the happier love stories in Demon Slayer history. I just want to ensure you both have a happy end."

"Do these other love stories not end peacefully?" Though his eyes were blank, and his eyebrows whisper thin over the purple scarring, his face still twisted into something akin to displeasure.

"Not many slayers in the era's past have lived to see love, or see the fruits of their love prosper. Most tragic of all is where their love is not killed per se, but is dead nonetheless."

Oyakata-sama paused to drink from his tea. Hinaki-chan kept her hand under her Fathers to make sure he did not drop it. You gave him pause and listened as he continued.

"In the Sengoku era, there were two swordsmen. Two Slayers. A mentor and his disciple. Comparable to the moon and stars, they grew to love one another.

"But, the elder swordsmen had a younger twin brother, one more talented and respected. And while there was no other swordsman more noble than he, there was none ever as glorious and breathtaking as his brother. Sun and moon, that's how different these two were. The older twin believed that he would never be able to shine in his own light rather than his brother's refracted rays."

"So, what happened?"

Oyakata-sama smiled, a bit sad, a bit bitter.

"The mentor and disciple grew apart. And eventually, his love decided to join the younger brother and learn from his ways, and the younger twin's heart broke.

"He decided that if he was forever to be a reflection of his brother, an imitation too pale and lonesome to be looked upon, he would become a mirror, and shine so bright and sharp that all who looked upon him would know his dark splendor.

"He drank the blood of the first devil, and became the fullest crescent moon of a tapered blackened sky. He became a demon."

You did not gasp, you were too well trained in breathing techniques for such an amateur move, but you felt your heart trip over a beat.

Oyakata-sama nodded.

"Horrible, is it not? Horrified at what he had become, the lover attacked him, and the two engaged in battle. It is assumed that the two killed one another. That the battle lasted till dawn, and as the sun rose over the horizon, the moon fell back and watched the stars fade in Dawn's embrace, and the rest is history."

You did not know what to say? The silence was heavy, and the three Ubyashiki's stared at you like they were awaiting an answer.

"Is it history, or myth?"

To your confusion, he shrugged.

"Perhaps a bit of both. It is an old story after all. Perhaps the swordsman did not kill his lover. Perhaps the lover did not track down the swordsman. Maybe he never became a demon and it was the younger brother instead. But there is always a kernel of truth in every tale, however old and tragic it might be."

"And what is the truth to this tale?" Oyakata-sama smiled blithely. Nichika-chan refilled your cup.

"What would you do in their place?" It took you a moment to process, and when you did, you felt the hot flush of anger creep up your neck and face.

"Kyojuro would never become a demon."

"But what if he did? What if it were not his choice? What if it were you instead? "

Where was the master going with this? Still, you paused for thought, and gave him your answer.

"Then I suppose he would not be Kyojuro, and I would not be myself anymore. I could only hope that there would still be enough of who we were to accept death before anyone is killed." You looked up from your tea, and you knew Oyakata-sama felt your probing stare.

"Oyakata-sama, why are you saying all this? Does this have something to do with you calling all the Hashira?"

"I will not string you along anymore Rengoku-San. There is a young slayer here. He is carrying his sister, who has been turned into a demon, in a box on his back." Before you could splutter out your questions of why, he dropped this anvil on your head,

"This boy has come in contact with Muzan Kibutsuji."

And now all the air has been punched out of your chest. Your vision narrowed, and all you could see was snow. White and shining, reflecting all the fiery colors of your former family's pyre.

One of the daughters moved closer and you flinched back, because her hair was white, just like his, a white paler than the snow he left nary a footprint in, but his eyes.

Sanguine, not like the rubies of the Rengoku's, but blood, like the flesh that he tore apart with the whip-like appendages that his arms turned into.

You had only caught a glimpse of him as Seiji was pushing you to run, the first one to see a losing battle and try to cut losses. The Devil was moving too fast to be seen or caught, but he had paused. Entrails hung off his body like garlands, viscera dripping thick and wet from his claws. His hair was no longer white.

His spider lily eyes had gazed in your direction as he stepped over the corpses of your adopted family. A child's head, crushed like a grape under his gait, unperturbed and languid, as death often is. The witching hour had fallen, and as midnight fell so to did the Fujiwara clan.

"Rengoku-san." A cool hand shocked you out of your reverie, and Oyakata-sama handled your trembling hands with care.

"This boy, and his demon sister, are on trial today. I will also question him about Muzan. As the only other who has seen him in the last century, your insight will be invaluable. But if it is too much for you, then you can stay here, and we can keep the questioning between you and I. You're under no obligation."

You scoffed internally. No obligation? Didn't the wind have an obligation to spread the seeds it carried? Didn't a hearth have the obligation to warm the house it graced? Was a slayer not under oath to follow the natural order, to slay all demons?

You would do this. You had to.

"No, no, I'll be fine, Oyakata-sama, I can do this. I think it's about time I fully disclose what I know, anyhow." He has not let go of your hands, and you take a moment to marvel at their softness, and the almost rash-like contrast to the purple scarring creeping on them.

It is comforting nonetheless. He smiles, and he looks grateful.

"Thank you, Rengoku-San. Anytime you feel uncomfortable, you can leave. I will not be offended and I will not blame you. But if you're ready, everyone is waiting."

You nodded and stood and moved to help the girls as the master rose, though they seemed to handle it.

With a nod, you left the room through a pair of shoji doors that a kakushi opened for you four.

It was already a ruckus. Within a couple of seconds of the master being arrived, a boy with his arms tied behind his back (the boy on trial obviously) jumps up into the air and headbutts Sanemi-san, who has his blade drawn with blood on it already.

Surprisingly, Sanemi-san is dazed after the blow, and the boy screams at him that if he can't discern between evil and good demons, he should just quit being a Hashira.

The audacity of this boy. He's on trial and he's already attacking people? What is this, trial by combat?

You catch Kyojuro's eyes and the worry and confusion within, and you smile at him to ease his nerves. He doesn't look that relieved, but his brow is less drawn.

Oyakata-sama comments on the weather, and it is indeed a lovely day. He thanks everyone for attending this semi-annual meeting, and you feel on the spot as every Hashira kneels to the master of the mansion. You're in the back, but should you kneel too?

You decide to bow instead, and you feel everyone's probing eyes, and the questions they are holding back. But Sanemi offers his greetings first and foremost, and you want to snort. This man was oft so feral, filthy demons this, and disgusting bastards that. Far be it you to question his motives or resolve. But truly, only the master could make him be this respectable.

You caught a movement at the corner of your eye and saw Mitsuri waving at you. She was trying to be sneaky but the excited movement was no doubt overt. Still, you smiled at your friend and shyly waved back.

You kinda just stood there, while the master spoke. You kept your expressions and reactions to a minimum, but to find that he already sanctioned the boy and his sister?

Urokodaki-san and Giyu-san. Something about these water breathers made them all such bleeding hearts.

But you look over to the boy, with his head held down by Sanemi-san, and you see his eyes well with tears and you think, damn it. He's just a boy. He's just trying to protect his sister. He's just a boy.

But a demon who has not eaten in two years is still a demon.

What if you were a demon? You think. You look away before Kyojuro can catch your gaze. You see Seiji's blue anconitum eyes with its slit pupils, framed by fire in your mind's eye, and you try to imagine Kyojuro in his stead, Senjuro-kun. You do not think you could survive the heartbreak.

You are Kintsugi, cracked and lined with gold. But gold is a soft metal, easily dented. You need steel to fortify your nerves. You cannot be swayed by this child.

Because a child he may be, he is still a slayer. He still has broken the one rule of being a slayer. He has also attacked a Hashira.

And this boy has met Muzan Kibutsuji. Eyes fling back and forth between you and the boy and you plate your spine with steel. With nothing more than a gesture, The Master quiets down the hashira and turns to you.

"Between Tanjiro-kun and Rengoku-san, no one has seen Muzan in over a century. He has sent demons to annihilate the Fujiwara clan. He has sent demons to kill Tanjiro-kun and his demon sister, an anomaly that has surprised even the first devil. Do you understand what this means?"

"...A demon is a demon! Allowing one to live goes against everything we as the Hashira stand for! It's tantamount to spitting on the graves of all the countless people slain by demons. I refuse to accept this!"

To your shock and alarm, and the Masters as well, Sanemi-san slashes his skin, and blood pours forth, into the box, and you hear a groan from within. Your hand flies to the hilt of your blade. The only thing that reminds you to check yourself is a glance from one of the girls.

"It's daytime, she's not gonna come out. Go where there's shade." and Obanai-san is of no help whatsoever. Sanemi-san turns to the master with a bow.

"Please forgive me for this discourtesy."

You turn to guard the back of the master when Sanemi-san throws the box into the shade, following it shortly and stabbing through it, much to the chagrin of the Kamado boy, whose scream is cut off with a choke. You hear Obanai-san and Shinobu-san and Tengen-san but tone them all out as the lid opens.

A little figure rose, and grew, turning to reveal a girl with a checkered obi and a bamboo gag. Her nails were sharp and pink tinted. Her hair was orange at the ends. Her eyes were slit pupiled.

She was humanoid, but she was off, and the growls coming from behind the gag did not help. Her pupils were dilating rapidly and you drew your blade.

"Here's the blood you demons love so much! Want a taste? I'll let you have a lick before I cut your head off. So c'mon." He waved his wound, fresh, and she tracked the movement.

"Nezuko!" You felt the tremor when the boy's hands smacked on the hardwood, and for a moment, the demon seemed in daze. Her eyes blurred, and her hands loosened from the half clenched fists that they were. When her eyes refocused, she glared at Sanemi-san and turned her face away.

Everyone gasped then. Sanemi-san waved his arm closer, but she just scrunched her eyes tighter and took a step back. His eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"What happened?"

"The demon, Nezuko, has turned her face away, seemingly in disgust. Sanemi-San waved his wounded arm closer, but she has stepped back, despite being stabbed three times."

You do not see his face, but Oyakata-sama's voice makes you give an imperceptible little flinch.

"Alright then. Rengoku-San, what is the verdict?"

Me?? She is a demon, what else am I to make of this??

Slowly, you approach, with your blade still drawn. You hear the panicked breaths of the Kamado boy and the slow drip of Sanemi-San's blood. You see Mitsuri tense from the corner of your eye. Kyojuro gives a little aborted flinch forwards.

You approach till you are a mere few feet away from the demoness and she looks at you and you falter.

Her eyes have softened. Pink, like peaches. Mitsuri's hair. Sunrise. Cherry blossoms.

Pink like oleander.

The pupils are round again, but she is still a demon and you remind yourself she is dangerous, even as she stares at you with calm clarity in her round face.

Not with a desperation that comes from a mind warring against blood. Not with steady malice and a promise of death.

There are no blue anconitum or red lilies in her eyes, though oleander is just as deadly if provoked. Her brow is pinched, and she makes an inquiring noise at you, tilts her head.

You can only see a child. A deadly one, but a child, nonetheless.

You withdraw your blade.

"I can't believe it, but she's safe. Relatively. I have marechi blood as well, and she's been stabbed three times. She should have attacked Sanemi-san or myself by now, to heal if not out of hunger." You step back, and watch as the girl climbs back into her box, shrinking down to toddler size.

She huffs at Sanemi-san, who is still staring in bewilderment, and you drift, zoning out Oyakata-sama's words to the boy.

You are somewhere else as Oyakata-sama tells him to defeat a twelve kizuki with his sister, and earn the respect of his fellow slayers. When the boy loudly proclaims that he will kill Muzan himself, you huff a breath, amazed at the arrogance of youth.

"...Let's focus on a Twelve Kizuki for now, alright?" He glows red, and you stifle a laugh. You don't see Kyojuro's shoulders relax as you do, and you move to join him and Mitsuri with little fanfare as the boy is taken away to the butterfly estate. He has fallen into Shinobu-San's hands and you wish him luck.

"Obanai-san, Sanemi-san? Please try to be more lenient with the youth. There is no need to be so harsh." The two men bow, sheepish, to one of the only men who can make them do so, and the Hashira meeting begins.

But the Kamado boy comes running back after he has been dragged away, being smacked and punched by the frantic kakushi, asking to headbutt Sanemi-san as many times as he stabbed his sister. You are aghast. You are endeared (Inevitably. Unfortunately).

This boy is calling down every death omen upon him.

Muichiro-kun will not allow any disrespect to the master though, and shoots three pebbles at the boy, knocking him down. Kamado is dragged away, limp and half dazed.

Honestly, when the Mist Pillar is alert he sort of unnerves you, though he as well is just a boy. But Kyojuro takes your hand in his, and the meeting continues.

You've been near-silent all day.

Well, not all day. Just since the demon incident. You stared at her, and you saw something, and you've been quiet ever since.

Kyojuro is accustomed to your silence, and a hand around yours keeps you from drifting too far. He draws nonsensical patterns on the pulse of your wrist with his thumb, and you scribble back little words.

Yes.

I'm okay.

Don't worry.

Pay attention.

I'm fine.

Kyojuro just wants to make sure.

He was ready to jump in front of you and slice off the head of that demon, because he knows how you feel about demons, and he knows how you feel about him.

And he knows that you know what it's like to lose a home, a family. The only difference between you and the Kamado siblings is that they had bodies to bury, graves to mourn over. They had each other.

There were no bones to pick in the pyre of the Fujiwara home, and all you had was the taste of wisteria burning down your throat.

So he holds your hand as you recall untouched snow and naked wisteria trees. He traces the seams of your hand as you conjure up images of a devil, with breath so cold the air does not puff from their lips in winter. He interlocks your fingers and squeezes as you remember split pupils and bloody claws and carnage, every nightmare you still jolt awake from in the dead of night.

Mitsuri rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your torso. Oyakata-sama thanks you, and Kyojuro does not mistake the newfound awareness, soberness, in his fellow Hashira's eyes as respect for you. Everyone here has seen the horrors of the first devil. The only difference is how far they've ventured into hell to fight against it.

And Kyojurou will become hellfire if it means you and his brother and his father can live in peace at the end of the day.

It is late when you both return back home to the Rengoku estate, when he is finally able to sweep you up his arms and kiss you, long and full and deep, just as he's wanted to all day. Your hands creep into his hair, undoing his topknot, and scratching at his scalp and he wants to stay here for an eternity.

He shivers, and he feels you tremble in turn, and he breaks the kiss to stare into your face.

"...I'm fine, Kyo."

"You haven't been this quiet in weeks." You shake your head and slide your hands down his neck, resting your hands over his pulse. He waits.

"Kyojuro, what would you do if I was turned into a demon?" He jolts, and he already sees the rejection in your eyes.

"No, just, where did this come from?"

"I thought, as slayers, that we are to kill all demons, to protect people. That's obvious. That's easy.

"But I spoke with Oyakata-sama, and seeing the Kamado siblings, I'm left to wonder now. What if I turned into a demon, what if it was Senjuro, what if it were you? Would I do my duty as a slayer, or would I try to save you?"

"Slayers save people, not demons."

"I am not a proper slayer. Slayer's save all people, without fault, but there are people I would still maim if I were to face them today. And Kamado was not a slayer when he saved his sister."

"Is she saved? She is still a demon."

"A demon who has not devoured a single human, a demon who hunts other demons. I looked into her eyes, Kyo, and she's just a girl. How could I raise my blade against a child no older than Senjuro?"

Kyojuro knows, because while you stared down the demon, he was staring down Tanjiro Kamado. He watched the boy, desperate, frantic, adamant as he and his sister were condemned. He fought against a Hashira because he hurt his little sister, demon or not. He swore that his sister would never kill a human, that together they would take down demons, and now it is up to the both of them to make due on those words.

Kyojuro thinks that they will. They will try, at least. And trying is not good enough when there are lives on the line, but Kyojuro is already wary of what new passages this will lead them to.

Kyojuro doesn't know if he'd ever have the willpower to go against the natural order. He doesn't know if he'd have the strength to rail against fate so hard its track is discoursed. But Tanjiro Kamado has done exactly that, and in the process, returned a sliver of his sister's humanity to her.

Kyojuro doesn't know if his heart is that strong.

He's mostly scared because he knows. He knows that if you were to ever become a demon, he'd still find you beautiful. Senjuro would still be his, more son than brother. His Father would drive his blade into his own flesh before he succumbed to the first devil. So would his fellow slayers.

And he knows that you would have enough steel in your spine to stand against the natural order; slay all demons.

"I am not a proper demon slayer either." Your head shoots up, incredulous. Before you could immediately go on a spiel on how noble and righteous he was he pressed on.

"If I ever met the people who sold you to the demons, who took you from your home and your family, I would hurt them. I might even kill them."

Just thinking about it made a hot flash of anger flare in his chest, his heart jumping an irregular beat. He pulled you closer, your brow resting on his collarbone. He sighed into your hair.

"If somehow Muzan himself became a normal, everyday human, I would still kill him. If you, or Senjuro or Father, or any of our friends, or even I, became a demon, I know that whatever needs to be done will be done. Whatever that is."

"Whatever that is?"

"Whatever that is."

"But that's such a vague answer. How do I know what needs to be done?"

"You're asking for a hypothetical answer to a hypothetical question, vague is the best I can give you, dear. But I can assure you, I will never become a demon. I will never allow Senjuro to become a demon. And if you become a demon, then I will save you."

You don't ask him for specific circumstances. He knows you want to ask if you were in the position of the Kamado demon, if you'd never devoured a human. He knows you're thinking of red lilies and morning glories, and what if it was all different?

He wonders why children are made to be demons and demon slayers. Why they are taken from the comfort of their homes and sold to demons by their own brethren. Why they still flinch at the thud of heavy footsteps and still wake up to cold sweats in the dark of night.

They are all children holding the hand of some fallible deity and asking, why? How come? What if? What if? What if?

There are 'what if's' that still haunt him to this day, ones that he still can't answer, so he does the next best thing and just holds you tighter, savoring the warmth of your body.

You kiss up the pulse of his throat and sigh against his skin, and Kyojuro swears his heart is ablaze, molten and dripping fire in the cupped palms of your hands.

He loves you always, and while that is a terrible realization, it is a simple truth. He loves you always. Always, always.

The Rengoku are flames after all, and Kyojuro loves you like the Sun in a cobalt blue sky. If you became a demon, then he would become the Midnight sun, and set flame to every one of your charcoal dark nights.

But it is late now, and the hearth has been unlit. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and another day will begin and Kyojuro will love you then too.

And he knows you love him. He knows.

Cultural Notes!!!

Enmusubi-no-Kami: a deity most commonly known for being prayed to for luck in love, courtship, relationships, omiai's and the like!

Tsugoku: in this case, mc was trained by Kyojuro and is his 'head disciple/student'. In the case he dies or is incapacitated, they will take his place as flame Hashira.

Ane-ue: A respectful term for an older sister. Senjuro typically calls his brother Ani-ue, so mc who married Kyojuro is Ane-ue.

Story notes!!!

Oleander: One of the most deadly flowers in the world. They can be put up for ornamental shrubbery or hedge, but all parts are poisonous. Ingesting any of the plant can lead to seizures, comas and death. Since nezuko was essentially in a coma for two years, and oleanders are pink, I thought this was perfect for her!

Anconitum: Otherwise known as wolfsbane. Ingesting a few drops from the roots of the flower and you've got some heart failure and cardiac muscle paralysis, if you're not dead already! I chose this plant for Seiji because his eyes are blue of course, and anconitum is also known as the devils helmet 😏😏😏

Spider lilies: I think we know this one. Spider lillies are poisonous to humans and pets, they used to be drawn over graves to deter rats and pests, giving it the moniker as the Flower of death, fitting for Muzan. They were planted as well around rice paddies to protect the crops. Touching then could cause a rash, and is deadly to animals.

Original premise: Mc is from Lighting Ten Thousand Lanterns by @phen0l , a lovely Kyojuro/reader fic. Basically reader was stolen from her home and sold to demons, but was saved and adopted by the Fujiwara clan, an clan of Onmyojis. They were supposed to marry an man from the clan named Seiji, until Muzan wiped out the clan but mc survived, and fell into Kyojuro's training and care.

There's really no way to summarise, so just go read the original. It does not have enough notes or reblogs for how lovely it is!

#Rengoku Kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #Rengoku Kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #Demon slayer #Demon slayer imagines #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou #reader insert #long fic #i love 'lighting 10k lanterns' and i want more but i wont harrass the author so im writing it myself #im a little obsessed can you tell #hearth #my stuff #my writing

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scalamore · 1 year

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Ch 94-95 Proposal Analysis (Rupert's side)

A continuation of my thoughts from

Starting off, I love this panel so much:

Lari's face just screams: I'm so done. Idk what's going on with you Rupert, but it's been a long day, please shut up with your nonsense. I don't want to deal with it right now.

But the panel right before this, I found interesting:

Either way, Lari is absolutely offended that he even resorted to bribing her to stay at the palace. First he tried to promote her to various positions, then even the position of crown princess through marriage (it's not even a promotion anymore but a life-long commitment with its own problems), and as a last resort he offered up a bag of precious jewelry that literally came out of nowhere as a dowry, with the same, blank, bored face this whole time. This was too much randomness for her, so she tells him to please stop, she's tired now. AGAIN, I LOVE THIS SCENE

Its a misunderstanding, but it's so consistent with their characters thus far: Rupert, who never experienced love, who doesn't know how to lo

Lari, who believed that no one would love her, can't recognize love.

In this arc, we see Rupert acting so differently than usual: He doesn't yet realize it himself, but he really really likes Lari. He was so worried for her that he had to run down to Belois immediately to check up on her himself, him getting jealous at both lehan and Sir Baileys when he sees Lari giving them attention. He was jealous how Lari nagged at Lehan about his smoking when she never nagged at him, and how she really appreciated that flower that Sir Baileys gave her. He sees how happy she is to be home... and for all he knows, she might want to quit her job at the palace and go home at any time. So to prevent that, he offers her incentives to stay at the palace, even money, but she declines it all. As crown prince, one would think he's the best candidate ever: money good looks highest political standing Yet Lari rejects it all. Things that a normal person would want, she doesn't want any of it. So then, if she doesn't want any of that, then what on earth can Rupert do to encourage her to stay by his side? Their promise was literally "as long as he is in power, to protect House Belois from harm". To him, that's nothing. If he needs to, he'll have his army protect them, he'll sign orders for them to be protected. It's ridiculously easy. He literally doesn't have to do anything to fulfill it. But he doesn't feel that it's enough. Again, why does Lari want to be his ally although she hates/fears him so much? He really appreciates and wants her to stay beside him in the place, but he literally has nothing that would entice her to stay. She's getting closer to marriageable age - one of these days, for all he knows, she'll meet a nice young gentleman and choose to get married to him and leave the palace. He's going to be Emperor soon, he already has the money, prestige, and good looks, but yet she doesn't want any of it. What the heck should he do to keep her with him? There's not much he can do right now, so the status quo continues - she works as his head attendant, and he treats her nicely because he wants to. -- As a very straightforward guy, I love how it's consistent with Rupert's character that he knows that he wants Lari to stay at the palace, so of course, the best way to get someone to do what he wants is to give them encouragement with the most common things: political power, having them fall in love with him, or money/riches. Lari is literally the only one who he can't persuade in this manner: - she doesn't want his money (she can't be bribed) - she has no interest in elevating House Belois' or her own power (can't bribe her with political power) - she doesn't want to marry him, because they don't even like each other that way (which is true). --- Interestingly, I'm not sure how to translate the above line when Rupert offers her the jewels: Taking it in context, all the below are valid: I'll give you everything (all that he owns) I'll give you everything (just the bag of jewels) It's all for you.

Either way, Rupert is literally offering Lari riches. In this context, I'm wondering if they rearranged a scene in the next arc to this one, in the sense that Rupert has completely accepted her as his ally, and in turn, he's willing to do anything for her and make all her wishes a reality. So she's understandably suspicious and wary when Rupert offers her "everything". She didn't want that much, but yet he so easily gives it to her? What's the catch?? what does he want from her?? That's what it means to truly be Rupert's ally - everything he has, also belongs to that person. He just wants to share everything he has with her. Lari will realize it's a very heavy responsibility.... and once she realizes the extent of Rupert's feelings for her, that simple offer of his is just tremendously heavy and she knows what it means if she were to accept it...

#your majesty please spare me this time #rupelali #manhwa #otome isekai #YM 95

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libidomechanica · 2 months

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Shaped her foode relish thin finds should lose my jade

And, as drop in for the other god day: they will. I won’t err in the graces spied he receiving borough heroes, kiss Anthea’s border; and a voice most. In all smiled, nor form, or walk’d; if foul, the wide enough, with such animation; and now it e’er err’d, nor canker’d where grief! See, the hare I swore? In so precious acceptations it is word of travell’d,

and awake against the Field, he knowledge saw him kneel her ties add what is cut off the thing the civil be; gif ye hae I been mine sank sad and ever go and stops his true as a tingle hobgoblin’s noon. Making eyes, and garter’d Caravaggio’s glory, the wind was it wont ligge in thine, like tumbled together, I forgotten their good glee,

all save not be less, knock’d the reasts aristocratic hints here is lost—her still, and no less it teach turn’d: both of smoke quitt with his many send, the corners of the Pedlar can into my childe: what her than satire, he not now?—At this shrieks and the produce it; and daffodil, be care nothing but always score of the same bene hidden brooks and

stray away; I hate’ she shock a concord mought do it, you wring your tears. And proved, I did see emperor! Which compose most edifying couplet radicals its pinnacle, and glimmering. There was as fine old woman, talent for the river. Subtle skin, enough so sore, harsh fear withheld me forth a limited the winna let a body that

she straying. Right entice to come too cold, he converted foe as farre away? Till day: therefore to pass like the virginitie. Lure it calling from under. The eternal spirit playe, of which grown, so the Muse determined, rival now! Embracing, she lies, love to see their roses around a page or vessel lost. Than an after years or lately lost,

my soul. They seem to know all minds can never deeper meets his friends. And she gave the next to his hand is so did Miss Rawbolds—pretty shell- fish. And Hayley’s Triumph in ever past echoing died,—and he died, gone another heyre: for its corner; yet I feel her spent in county cherish dispossessed of these quenchless as blythe I turned the salt tides, we

won’t, and to force her come next day, to the Power, told of course of perfect seisure thrush, singing, What Lamp had Destiny! His other noble scions which though which would less soul once he colours eare daily prosperity. Me pour’d him Rx Pulv Com gr. He wandering: it is his own hair sprent with these slopes; who knows: but when, drop their spite, they are the bed to

me in hastily logs of the Universe pair,— and you the loue, ioue on her starry Fays; the size of threescore for their wintry sun the daily logs of Pegasus, or dim thence came ye, merry larks on Ilsley Downs, they were kind of prophecy, and stoute: but approve parent to ring; the Dee, the talk of. Quite so censorious mad, and such a shrine of

some time; down each a fix’d foot, obliquely rubbing very will, or be so the seeks, look into jest. Not as a test. Beauty from the fought him in the wayfaring through joys and dispossession the rest my plainly aim; full many Knots unravel’d by the skiff; and if her young or better, partly bends to And much followed war, more I loved you.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #204 texts #ballad

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dalleyan · 1 year

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Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Distraction posted, 4-8-23)

Dariel has wedding jitters and needs something to distract her. (Anxiety, Family, Comfort)

Distraction - (Mar, 22 IV)

Too fast. It was all happening too fast. Dariel felt panic welling up inside her at the prospect of soon standing before the King of Rohan and speaking her wedding vows. She loved Elfwine – passionately – yet this ceremony would not only make her his wife, but eventually the queen of Rohan. The walls felt as though they were closing in around her, and she tried not to let anyone notice that she was having trouble breathing normally.

To her consternation, Queen Lothiriel rose and began clearing the room of everyone but her mother, Lady Eowyn and herself. When the four women were alone, she gave Dariel a tiny wink. “I do not know about you, dearest, but all that fussing before my wedding to Eomer very nearly drove me mad!”

“I would say it did drive you mad!” Eowyn countered. “Why else would a usually rational woman postpone her own wedding so she could sneak away and be married privately – in a cave!” Everyone broke into laughter at this. It had taken a while before the entire story became known, but now the events surrounding Eomer and Lothiriel’s wedding were almost legendary in their own right. Ever since first hearing it, Dariel had envied it, thinking it both wildly romantic and certainly far less taxing emotionally. At this very moment, it was looking like a most enticing idea.

Eowyn’s eyes shifted to each of the others, and then she proposed, “Many years ago, when they were off fighting together, Faramir told me of a night before they were to return home. Our husbands were sitting around a fire, preparing to turn in for the night, when Faramir suggested they each describe their wives in a single word. What say you? Shall we take a turn at such a challenge?”

As everyone seemed in agreement, they began considering the matter.

At length, Arwen chose to go first. “Estel is...compassionate,” she offered thoughtfully. The Elf-woman rose to gaze into the fire, explaining, “Some part of him always knows when another has pain in mind or body, and he empathizes with their suffering. Then he does all in his power to alleviate it. The world of Men admires his courage, his strength, his nobility, but my heart is touched by his gentleness and compassion toward others.”

Moved by this apt tribute to a man they each knew and loved, there was a long silence before anyone else took a turn.

At length, Eowyn ventured, “Faramir is astute – in all things. He sees more than other men, and seems to understand better. Sometimes he sees things in others that they themselves do not see, and yet it is there. Whether it is kings, noblemen, soldiers or servants, he seems able to read men’s hearts and act accordingly.” The others nodded their agreement of this assessment of Gondor’s Steward.

Lothiriel elected to go next, saying, “Eomer is surprisingly complex.” Chuckles erupted in Eowyn, with Arwen following suit, and Lothiriel could not restrain a grin. Attempting to clarify, she told them, “To most, he is merely the noble King of Rohan – strong, brave and a proud, capable leader – but I see things that others are not privy to witness. I see his tenderness and passion with me, his warmth and gentleness with our children, his kindness and respect toward those who serve him, and his easy good humor with his friends. Most see only his practical efficiency, but not his intelligence and wisdom. He is so much more than what meets the eye.”

As all smiled their approval, Eowyn in particular nodded her concurrence. “Perhaps that is why the two of you fit so well together – you see far beyond the obvious in him,” she suggested.

After a moment, everyone’s eyes turned to Dariel and she shifted nervously under their regard, feeling out of place in this gathering of women. Though one was her mother, and she had known the others her entire life, Dariel was still somewhat in awe of them and did not yet consider herself equal to joining their ranks.

Forcing her attention back to the topic of discussion, she considered her betrothed carefully, then said, “Elfwine is dependable, in all things. Any task he sets himself to, he is completely reliable. I have no doubt of his love for me, of his devotion to the Riddermark, of his concern for his people. He will one day be an excellent king, but first he will make the finest husband a woman could ever hope to have.”

Lothiriel had been standing nearby and moved behind where the girl sat. Stroking her hair, she pressed a kiss to Dariel’s head, saying softly, “Nor could I ever hope to have him find a finer wife, dearest. He will be even better for having you at his side.”

Dariel could not restrain her tears at the warm endearment, and she looked up to find all the women smiling at her with understanding.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking the spell that seemed cast in the room, and Arwen laughed lightly. “It is time, iell nin. Let us go bind you to this fine man.”

Only as they made final adjustments to her dress and hair, then stepped toward the door, did Dariel realize her nerves had fled. Yes, these were extraordinary women, but canny also. They had known just what to do to relax and reassure her in those tense moments of waiting. She could do this. She could be Elfwine’s wife, and eventually Rohan’s queen.

THE END

also on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46346377/chapters/116686798

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Lord of the Rings #Elfwine Chronicles #LOTR #Dariel daughter of Aragorn #Eowyn #Arwen

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hwanchaesong · 2 years

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2 times, 1 time ATEEZ mini-series

The 2 times you looked at him, and the 1 time he looked at you

San X Reader

You know Choi San based from stories and rumors. Handsome, talented, playboy, muscular, you name it. But you have never really seen him in person, and when you did, you were left in awe.

It's exactly as how they described him but better. The descriptions they gave you didn't really do him justice, if you're being honest. He looks so unreal, ethereal even that it made you think that he is the Goddess of Beauty's son.

The first time that you looked at him was when he danced in the center of your school gym during an event. His moves are powerful yet graceful, everything about him is so smooth. Facial expressions on point and god, that tongue is gonna kill you someday.

After that, you longed for more encounters with him, but lady luck wasn't always by your side. You never saw him in campus again, now you're doubting if he's even a student at your university.

Your suspicions were erased soon when you saw him in a taekwondo competition, his uniform has your school's insignia embroidered on it. So he does attend the same school as you.

The second time you looked at him, you are sure that you have already fallen in love with him. How can someone kick like a monster then smile like a baby afterwards?

His duality is insane, maybe his tongue isn't gonna be the reason for your death afterall.

You never looked at him again, did not find him or anything. You were just.. there? Your feelings didn't really matter, you are contented that you are able to see him twice.

What matters the most is this lovely cat that you're petting right now.

You stumbled upon it, or more like the cat stumbled upon you. Walking peacefully in the campus when it suddenly ran in your feet and started rubbing its head on your shoes.

And who are you to shoo away an adorable feline?

The first time San looked at you was when he was looking for his cat, Byeol, who escaped from his bag. Pets are not allowed in their school, but hey, if nobody can see it then it's not a violation.

He thinks that you're a goddess, so pretty and delicate that you'll put other deities in shame.

He fell in love at first sight with you, how could he not, especially when he sees his cat playing with you, comfortable enough to let her guard down in your presence (yes, Byeol is a her.)

He doesn't know if he should be jealous that Byeol opened up to you so easily or because you are rubbing the cat in a way that looks so enticing.

Doesn't matter, he'll just walk over to you, retrieve his cat and say goodbye.

He did the first thing on his checklist, but he failed to do the other two.

"Hi, I think my cat has taken a liking on you and so do I."

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musclesandhammering · 3 years

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Every Single Issue I Have With S*lki (It’s Not Just The Selfcest)

Here goes. I threatened to post this a few days ago and never did, but I just saw a s*lki stan Twitter account claim that Loki caring about Sylvie more than the whole multiverse was a Good And Romantic thing and it pushed me over the fucking edge, so now you all have to read this. I’ve divided it into categories cause there’s just THAT much.

OOC Bullshit

• First and foremost, no amount of mental gymnastics you do will ever make me believe that this specific Loki- the one that just invaded New York, that just came off a year of Thanos Torture, that just got done being influenced by the sceptre, that was literally in the middle of a crisis already, and then on top of that went through all the trauma of Ep 1- would even be worried about a romantic relationship. That would be the furthest thing from his mind. Go back and watch how he acted in Avengers- you think that guy would abandon his previous mission to become a snivelling simp for a girl he’d just met 3 days prior? Yeah, there’s no universe in which that makes sense.

• “It’s very in character for Loki to fall in love with himself lololol-“ NO, it’s literally not. Out of all the characters in the mcu, I don’t think I can think of anyone that genuinely hates themselves more than Loki. He even referred to all his other male variants as “monsters” and said meeting them was “a nightmare” in this series. He’s got so much self-loathing, plus the fact that he genuinely thinks himself to be an evil backstabbing scourge- so there’s no evidence at all suggesting that he would ever develop a fondness for, or even be inclined to trust, another version of himself, after only knowing them for 3 days.

• Building on that, the whole concept of Loki falling in love with a version of himself just feeds into the annoying ass misconception that he’s a narcissist. No matter which way you stack it, he’s not. If you’re referring to NPD, he doesn’t fit the criteria, and if you’re saying “narcissist” just as a slang term meaning “selfish and arrogant”, that still doesn’t accurately describe him. But when creators like Waldron and Herron do things like having him fall in love with himself, it makes it so much easier for casual viewers to think that he is.

Shitty LGBT Rep

• It’s kinda sus that Loki’s are allegedly genderfluid and yet the only female-presenting variant we see (and apparently the only female-presenting variant there is, cause the male Loki’s all seemed unfamiliar with the concept) is treated as some kind of mind-bogglingly special paradox. Also very sus that, out of all the Loki variants, the one our Loki falls in love with just so happens to be the only female one. What a coincidence.

• The fact that the creators of the show went around bragging about Loki’s bisexuality and Marvel purposefully (lbr) allowed stories about Loki possibly having a male love interest to circulate, specifically enticing queer viewers to watch the show (you know, the definition of queerbaiting), and then instead of having a male love interest (Loki was the first queer main character, so it was the perfect opportunity) they gave us *gestures to this dumpster fire* this… it’s just a middle finger to LGBT fans. The fact that they would rather have this relationship with all its myriad of problems than have a gay relationship is just……. Very telling.

• While him being with a woman obviously doesn’t refute his bisexuality, the fact that they showed/talked about him being interested in 3 different women (flight attendant, Sylvie, Sif) and never even hinted at him being attracted to a man, definitely makes it seem like they were trying to cover up his bisexuality to smooth things over with the more homophobic viewers. You know? It’s like “I know you’re pissed that we sorta confirmed Loki as bi, so we promise we’ll never mention it again! Or even hint at it! As a matter of fact, we’ll give him lots of female lovies and make him seem as straight as possible! That’ll take your mind off of that horrible crumb of queer rep, right? Please please please keep giving us your money!!!”

• Aside from all the other issues, at its core, the biggest reason why I think I’m so irritated with s*lki is that it took one of the most interesting, complex, and diverse characters in cinema atm and squished him into a tired ass unnecessary heteronormative subplot…. Like literally every. single. other. protagonist. ever. Loki is such a unique character, and it’s so so so incredibly disappointing that they stuck him into that same boring cookie cutter romance that happens to every other character in every other movie I’ve ever seen. It’s a disservice, and it’s honestly just not compelling or entertaining at all.

Thematic Issues Galore

• His arc didn’t need a romance. With anyone. It was unnecessary and it didn’t make sense plot-wise. In fact, one of the reasons he was my fav prior to this was because he was the only big-name mcu character whose story wasn’t muddied-up by a romance that didn’t need to be there. So much for that.

• He wasn’t emotionally ready for a romantic relationship with anyone. Hell, just a genuine friendship would’ve been pushing it for him at this point. He was in such a bad state that any relationship he got into would’ve been toxic and unhealthy for both him and the other person, and it doesn’t make sense why the writers would want to put him in one when there were so many cons and essentially no pros (other than “Uwu aren’t they cute together”).

• Sylvie’s character in general was unnecessary and Loki’s character was robbed just by her being there. The whole show became about her post-Ep 2. They spent most of the time giving her backstory, building her up, telling us how awesome she is, trying to convince us to like her, etc when what they really needed to be doing was building Loki up- cause I gotta say, if I had to describe TVA!Loki in a few words, they would be Flat, Boring, and Weak.

• The romance overtakes the plot. They spend time portraying their supposed connection that could’ve been spent adding depth and complexity to literally any of the characters. They make the big Nexus Event them giving each other googly eyes on Lamentis when it could’ve been so many other way more profound things that speak to the fundamental nature of Loki’s. They have the climax of the finale be “oh no she betrayed him to kill He Who Remains” when it could’ve been something way more compelling (Loki having a moral crisis over whether or not to kill HWR, Loki contemplating the state of the multiverse and weighing the pros and cons of freedom vs order, Loki looking into some What If situations and getting emotional about what could’ve been regarding his family, Loki realising the gravity of HWR’s offer and finally coming to terms with how important he is to the universal cycle, etc etc). The entire plot suffered in favour of a romance that half of us didn’t even want.

• It essentially reduced all of Loki’s potential character growth down to “He did it for his crush.” He seemed to at least have some motivations of his own in Ep 1-2 (feeble as they were) but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, literally every action he took was just him being a simp for her. Why did he lie in the interrogation? To try to protect Sylvie. Why did he fight the minutemen and Timekeepers? To survive kinda, but mostly cause it was important to Sylvie. Why did he get pruned? Cause he got distracted trying to confess his crush to Sylvie. Why did he try to get out of The Void? Cause he thought Sylvie needed him. Why did he stay in The Void? Cause Sylvie was staying. Why did he try to enchant Alioth? Cause Sylvie told him to. Why did the multiverse get cracked open, leading to an infinite number of Kangs waging war on all of existence? Cause Loki didn’t wanna hurt Sylvie in their fight at the Citadel and then get distracted by her kissing him. It’s uninteresting and honestly pretty embarrassing.

• Throughout their “relationship arc” the writers do their absolute damndest to convince us that we should like Sylvie more than Loki. And you know what? It’s the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen. They preach and preach about how Sylvie’s life has been so difficult/we should feel bad for her/she had it so bad/poor poor sylvie/she had it SO much worse than pampered prince Loki…. But then they never even touch on any of Loki’s trauma of hardships (the ones that have been ignored for literally 3 movies now). They frame Sylvie as a good person and a Freedom Fighter after she spent literal decades/centuries mass-murdering brainwashed TVA agents and showing exactly zero remorse for it….. but then they make it their mission to constantly remind us that Loki is a terrible person and constantly put him in situations where he’s forced to acknowledge his wrongdoings/show remorse/admit to how “evil” he is for being a mass murderer for like 2 years. They show him on-screen having a wider range of powers than her, and perpetuate his whole shtick of being a “master manipulator” or whatever….. But then they make Sylvie “the brawn” more competent, intelligent, and physically capable than him. Tell me how it’s a good thing for a ship to be so narratively biased toward one character.

Missed Opportunities

• If they absolutely had to have a romance subplot, then they could’ve paired Loki with one of the characters that have already been established OR one of the characters that were a big part of the whole TVA storyline anyway. It would’ve been so interesting if they’d revealed that Loki had a history with some of the players from previous films (Sif and Fandral both come to mind). It also would’ve been really interesting if they’d given Loki a love interest that actually had some allegiance to the TVA as a whole (Mobius maybe, but not necessarily. It also could’ve been Renslayer or B-15). Hell, imo it would’ve been cool if they’d followed through with that “See you again someday” line that he said to the flight attendant in Ep 1. ALL of these characters have way more chemistry with him than Sylvie, and they were also already relevant to the plot without wasting half the show to give background info on them.

• If they absolutely had to have a hetero-presenting love story involving an enchantress-type figure, then there’s a whole Enchantress (Amora) that was actually Loki’s love interest in the comics. Plus, fans have been screaming for Amora to appear in the mcu for years. Plus, Tom literally pitched an Amora/Loki storyline way back in 2012-13. Also, Lorelei (another enchantress) is also one of Loki’s love interests in the comics, and she already exists in the mcu (she was on Agents of SHIELD). There were several different established characters for them to choose from. Creating a whole knew amalgamation of a character and going with the “she’s a Loki variant” storyline was just completely unnecessary and made no sense.

• They completely robbed us of a Chaos Twins dynamic. Had they handled Sylvie better and not forced her and Loki to smooch, the two of them could’ve had a really really complex and interesting sibling relationship. Loki could’ve stepped into Thor’s shoes and sort of used that new role to gain some self importance, and Sylvie could’ve finally had somebody to look out for her/teach her magic/be there for her. It would’ve been very aesthetically pleasing, the vibes would’ve been out of this world, it would’ve been way more profound than this bs, and frankly it would’ve been much more entertaining to watch.

• Loki’s relationship (read: obsession) with Sylvie completely overshadows all Loki’s other relationships in the show. Loki and Mobius were literally the focal point of the series in Ep 1-2, but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, they barely had any interactions with each other, and Mobius pretty much faded to the background entirely. Loki had the beginnings of a pretty interesting antagonistic relationship with Renslayer (with her wanting him pruned, then arguing with Mobius that he couldn’t be trusted), but after Sylvie showed up the dynamic shifted to focus on the history between her and Ravonna. Loki and B-15 started off very badly and openly disliked each other throughout Ep 1-2, and then in the end of Ep 2, Loki showed a little bit of concern for her when she was possessed, hinting that they might be inching toward a reconciliation- especially considering how obvious it was that Loki was gonna uncover the TVA’s sins eventually. There was so much potential for him to be the one to give her her memories back and convince her to change sides, but no, of course that honor went to Sylvie. In fact, after Sylvie showed up, Loki and B-15 never even spoke to each other again.

Various S*lki Fails

• If they were trying to convince us that this affection was mutual, they completely failed. There’s nothing I’ve seen that even hints at Sylvie feeling the same way about Loki that he does about her. At most, I’d say she has a slight endearment to him. She finds him likeable and she’s grudgingly fond of him, but she definitely isn’t in love with the guy. Maybe she thinks he’s cute and hopes that he gets out of this mess alright, but her mission obviously comes before him- whereas, it’s been confirmed multiple times that Loki cares about her above anything else. She doesn’t trust him, she looks at him like he’s an incompetent fool half the time, she shows little to no reaction during most of his confession moments, and she kissed him as a means to distract him so that she could get him out of her way. Look, all I’m saying is, when you get into a relationship where one of you is way more invested than the other, it never ends well.

• This goes without saying for a lot of us, but the selfcest is just straight up odd and cringey. If you’re cool with that sort of thing, fine! People can ship what they want! But don’t pretend it’s not at least a little bit uncomfortable. Yes, I know they’re not technically siblings so it’s not technically incest, and they’re also not technically the exact same person, but they’re similar enough that it makes things weird. And yes I know selfcest can’t happen in real life, so there’s no way to judge it morally, but neither can most of the other stuff that happens in these shows/movies (the Snap, Loki destroying jotunheim, superhero with powers being held accountable, mind control) and yet we still find ways to judge their morality, because they all mirror real-world events. (The snap= genocide; Loki destroying Jotunheim= bombing other countries; superhero accountability= weapons accountability; mind control= grooming and coercion). And lbr the closest real-world mirror to two versions of the same person (who may or may not share DNA, family, backgrounds, physical and emotion characteristics) being romantically involved with one another is incest. And you can be ok with that if you want- that’s your prerogative- but don’t get pissy just cause a lot of us are squicked out by it.

• The whole mirror metaphor (learning self love via each other) thing just fell completely flat. First of all, having Loki learn to love himself by looking at someone who mirrors him did not, in any way shape or form, require them to be romantically involved. But they were. Of course. Secondly, the creators have contradicted themselves so many times on whether Loki and Sylvie are the same or not, that it doesn’t even really register to the viewer that the mirroring thing was what they were going for. Finally, Loki and Sylvie are shown to have so little in common- and to have only the most bare minimum of similarities personality-wise- that it doesn’t even make sense that Loki would “learn to love himself through loving her”. Like? They’re nothing alike. So how would he make the connection that he himself is actually pretty cool, based on her alone? There’s virtually nothing in her that reflects him.

• I know the objective of the entire show was to convince us of how awesome and unique Sylvie is, but honestly her relationship with Loki just did the opposite. A hallmark of a Mary Sue is having her constantly upstage the male lead, and then having him instantly fall madly in love with her anyway. And that’s.. exactly what happened here. Everything they’re doing to try to force her character to be more stan-able is really just forcing her to look more like their self-insert OC. Which is exactly what she is. It would’ve been so much more satisfying if she didn’t have to try so hard to look cool, if they didn’t have to try so hard to make her backstory tear-inducing, if they didn’t have to turn our protagonist into a snivelling simp just to prove how incredible she supposedly is. Very much #GirlBoss energy and we all know how performative and cheap that is.

• The entire thing was too rushed, there was too little build-up, and it was nowhere near believable. As stated above, it’s ridiculously unlikely that Loki would canonically even be interested in Sylvie, and this show did nothing to explain why he was. He just suddenly was. There was nothing they showed us as viewers that would justify a guy as closed-off and preoccupied as Loki falling head-over-heels for a girl he just met. Their was no explanation, no big revelation, no reasoning, it just… kinda happened. And I’m also severely skeptical of any love story that has the characters go in this deep after only 3 45-minute episodes of exposition.

I’m sure there’s other stuff, so if anyone thinks of anything, let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add it. Tagging @janetsnakehole02 @raifenlf @natures-marvel and @brightredsunset800 for expressing interest. This is all your faults.

#antisylki #loki meta #kinda #loki series critical #loki series negativity #anti loki x sylvie #anti loki series #anti sylvie #frosty bby #loki deserved better #I don’t even like TVA!Loki tho so I guess it doesn’t matter with him lmao #tva loki #loki laufeyson

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin. He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #winter solider smut #definitely not canon #i refuse to believe steve went back in time for some 1940s kitty kat and left his best friend behind #tony and nat are alive bc they are the only truly valuable characters #sebastian stan #also youre the daughter of agent hill #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #winter soldier #wEiNeR sOlDiEr

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candyflosstoxicity · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Your Setting Lotion

Endeavor x Black!Reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Power imbalance. Unsafe sex. Creampie. Breeding kink. Breath play. Pain play.

Despite the sizable uptick in his popularity after triumphing over the High-End Nomu, Enji still felt that his ability to relate to the everyday civilians was sorely lacking. There was still some doubt amongst the masses that he could be a suitable replacement for All Might. As much as that stung his ego, Enji knew that their misgivings weren’t unfounded.

He had promised his son that he would become a hero that he could be proud to call his father, and that meant more than just saving lives. Enji had to work to build a relationship with the public, and be a hero that was not only powerful, but approachable and relatable.

So, with his secretary’s assistance, Enji reached out to the most highly recommended media relations agency in Musutafu and requested that they pair him with a very particular type of publicist. He made sure to specify that they had to be thick-skinned and prepared to undertake all the work that would come with being the publicist to the number one hero. Though he had certainly made some important changes within himself, he still didn’t know how to talk to people and didn’t want to send the publicist running for the hills.

That was how you ended up standing outside the Endeavor Hero Agency. The glass skyscraper gleamed brightly under the sun, and really impressed upon you that this was happening. You had been assigned your first hero, but not just any run of the mill hero and it honestly had you feeling nervous in a way that you never had before. It’s not as if you doubted your ability to manage and improve the Flame Hero’s public image, but this was a major assignment that could either launch your career into the stratosphere or sink it like a stone.

After taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself, you walked briskly through the front entrance and into the main lobby, where you were greeted by the receptionist. You explained who you were and what you were there for, and she immediately hopped up from her desk in a panic and hastily led you to the elevator. It did nothing to quell your anxiety, because if his receptionist was losing her cool, what chance did you have against the man?

Upon reaching the top floor, the receptionist all but shoved you out of the elevator, giving you a hasty “good luck” while frantically pushing the button to close the door. You stumbled forward and were faced with a large, hardwood door. Having decided that you simply could not delay your assignment any further, you squared your shoulders, took decisive steps forward, and knocked on the door.

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

That was several months ago, and you could say with hindsight that you were right to be anxious. While working for Endeavor was the best way to cut your teeth as a publicist, the man himself was...something fucking else.

It wasn’t just that he was physically intimidating, with his towering height and mountains of muscle. Honestly, you were able to quickly get past that and start working towards building a friendly, yet professional relationship with your boss. Except, he was the most tight-lipped, awkward person you had ever dealt with when he wasn’t in the process of saving lives. And when he was actually somewhat talkative, he was so intense that it left you flustered.

However, Enji always treated you with respect and courtesy, and when you did well, he told you as much. Heat would crawl its way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes whenever he would tell you, “You’ve done excellent work this week, (L/N)-san. Your efforts are appreciated.”

To anyone else and coming from anyone else, it might not mean much, but Todoroki Enji wasn’t just anyone. He had high standards for all of his employees, and you were no exception. Praise from him was hard to come by, and when it was directed at you, it made you feel some type of way.

It was obvious to everyone with a pulse that Enji was an incredibly attractive man. Indeed, every interview you scheduled for him with a female journalist found him being inundated with coy smiles, flirting, and pointed questions about his relationship status.

To be fair, you had asked him the same question, but only because it was important for you to know as the person who handled all of his public relations. It definitely wasn’t because you were lusting after your client and hoping that he was free to maybe, someday, knock your walls down.

Still, you had always prided yourself on being the consummate professional, so you refrained from asking any questions that were too personal. Even though you were so often alone with Enji in his penthouse office, with little to no interruption, and a lot of plush furniture he could fuck you on…

You shook your head sharply, your dark, curly hair moving with the motion. ‘Focus, bitch. Don’t be a goofy and try to fuck your boss. He would probably fire your ass before you could ask for a crumb of dick.’

It didn’t matter if you hadn’t gotten laid since you started working as his publicist; you were NOT going to fuck Todoroki Enji.

Little did you know, Enji was enduring his own share of suffering and sexual frustration. And he had no intentions of denying himself. For him, it was simply a matter of opportunity.

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

It was finally Friday evening, and Enji was more than ready for the weekend. After a solid week of double patrols, while squeezing in PR appearances that you had set up for him, he just wanted to sit down in his recliner at home and have a stiff drink. He was sitting at his desk with his laptop open, finishing up some last minute paperwork on a report he needed to submit to the Hero Public Safety Commission by Monday.

Just as he put the final signature on the last page, you came bursting through his office door, without knocking, of course. Not that he minded; it was always a treat to see you, even if you were a bit...distracting. Your shapely legs carried you briskly towards his desk and he couldn’t help but admire how enticing they looked sheathed in your sheer stockings. He almost missed what you were trying to tell him, too busy imagining them wrapped around his waist.

“Endeavor-san, I’m sorry to disturb you right before quittin’ time, but I just finalized the details of your appearance on Present Mic’s late night radio show for next weekend,” you chirped with no small amount of satisfaction. Ah, right; Enji had agreed to make time for that, considering Mic was very popular with the young crowd and an appearance on his show would do wonders for his popularity with that demographic.

“He promised to keep it light and casual, and most of the time block will be spent playing some music that you both enjoy. I cross-referenced his playlist with the list you compiled, and y’all have some bangers in common. We’ll need to go over your note cards again, but I’m sure you’ve got that part covered by now.”

Your eyes were focused on the folder in your hands, flipping through the papers there as you went over the last minute details. Enji’s eyes were watching you, though, and he found himself struggling to give a damn about Present Mic or his radio show. Not when you were standing before him, a radiant vision of smooth brown skin and a halo of curls. How badly he wanted to sink his fingers into them and tug your head back, make you submit to him…

“Endeavor-san, are you listening?”

The question coming from your pretty lips, in that sweet, but sharp voice, was enough to finally get his attention. He tore his gaze from your petite frame and looked up to see your dark brown eyes staring at him sternly. Enji coughed and shifted in his chair, trying to subtly adjust his now rock hard dick.

“My apologies, (Y/N), I’m a bit worn out from this week,” he hastily assured you. “If you wouldn’t mind emailing those notes to me, I will look over them again this weekend.”

Your expression softened and you tossed the folder onto his desk before walking around to the side and perching yourself on the edge. Enji could practically feel the blood rush to his dick with you sitting so close to him, the scent of your perfume immediately clouding his mind. Your already short skirt rode up even higher and he had to force himself to look you in the eye, which he regretted shortly after.

“Have I been riding you too hard, sir?”

Enji’s eyes narrowed slightly at you, thinking that you must be toying with him. But, your face was devoid of cunning, and you seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being. He wasn’t used to that kind of consideration from really anyone, especially not one of his employees.

“No, far from it. You probably take it a bit too easy on me, but you still produce amazing results. I would be completely clueless about this public relations crap if I didn’t have someone as bright and clever in my corner,” Enji rumbled, almost bashfully, the tips of his ears still pink from your accidental innuendo.

He had no way of knowing, but the feeling that Enji’s praise gave you was like a shot of adrenaline to you. Warmth bloomed in your cheeks, and you quickly began stuttering and trying to downplay your contribution. However, Enji was having none of it and reached out to grab your anxiously fluttering hands, which had the desired effect of shutting you up.

But, Enji didn’t stop there. He was tired of you not giving yourself enough credit. More than that, he was tired of only being able to show his gratitude in words. So, he took advantage of your size difference and tugged you into his arms and then settled you on his right thigh, forcing you to straddle the muscular appendage.

“E-Endeavor-san?!” you squeaked out. Your tiny hands were encased in his much larger ones and even that small bit of skin to skin contact was enough to set a fire low in your belly.

“Please, call me Enji. It seems a bit formal considering the things I want to do to you.”

“And what exactly do you want to do to me, Enji?” Your voice was low and breathless, but he could see the excitement clearly in your deep brown eyes.

He released your hands and let his own wander down the curve of your sides to settle on your hips. Still maintaining eye contact with you, he engulfed the soft flesh there with a gentle, but firm squeeze. You gasped softly and instinctually ground down against the flexing muscles of his thigh.

Enji growled lowly in his throat and took one hand off your hip, and reached up to bury it in the soft curls that framed your gorgeous face. At first, he gently massaged the scalp with his fingertips, but when he felt you relax, Enji used the curls at your nape to tug your head back.

He loved how small you were in his arms, how easily he towered over you and controlled your movements. And there you were, gasping and squirming in his lap, letting him touch you in such a dominating way. It stoked a fire within him that he hadn’t felt in a long while, urging him to make you fall apart under his touch.

“There are so many things that I want to do to this tight, little body,” Enji whispered against your throat. He placed a heated kiss there, followed by a gentle nip before continuing, “But, for now, I want you to ride my thigh.”

To his delight, you didn’t hesitate to start meekly rolling your hips forward, your skirt bunching up around your waist with the motions. Still, you seemed to be holding yourself back, and he was having none of that. Using the hand that was still gripping your hip, Enji forced you to press down harder and move faster. Getting the message, you braced your palms against his broad, solid chest and began grinding against him in earnest.

The filthy moans you let spill from your plump lips were music to Enji’s ears, and he struggled to refrain from just ripping your stockings off and sliding your down onto his aching dick. There would be plenty of time for that later, but in that moment, he wanted to make you felt just how appreciated you were.

“Come on, little sparrow, I know you’re close. I can feel you soaking my pants leg.”

The desperation and desire in his voice drove your lust even higher. That, combined with the friction of your nylon stockings against your bare pussy, had you teetering on the edge of release.

“Please, sir!” You didn’t know what you were asking for, but he seemed to. And he was going to make you beg for it.

“Please what?”

“I...I want you to fuck me, sir! Please let me cum on your dick,” you pleaded with a breathless whine, never ceasing your wanton grinding.

“Oh, you will be cumming on my dick. But, first, you’re going to make yourself nice and sloppy for me.”

Enji gripped your hair tighter and pulled your head back until your spine arched. Now, your nails were digging into the skin of his pectorals, but he didn’t care because the end result was you humping against him with reckless abandon. No longer needing to guide your movements, he reached up and wrapped his other hand around your delicate throat, squeezing just enough to make the blood rush to your head. That was just enough to tip you right over the edge.

“Oh, oh!” Your hips began to stutter slightly in their movements as your orgasm crept up on you. A scream that surprised you, but made Enji growl in triumph, was ripped from your throat as you bucked wildly through the peak of your release. Letting go of your tresses and throat, Enji pulled you gently into his chest and ran his hands soothingly down your back. As your body trembled and quaked through the vestiges of your orgasm, he murmured soft praises into the crown of your hair.

“You did such a good job for me, baby girl. I’m so proud of you and all your hard work. Are you ready for your reward now?”

Despite the fact that you had just cum your brains out, his words of praise had you moaning wantonly, your head bobbing lazily in consent. Enji wasted no time in standing you up between his legs, supporting your weight effortlessly as he slid his hands up your inner thighs towards the crotch of your stockings. A brief, but loud ripping sound echoed in the spacious office, and then you felt a cool breeze against your soaked lips. Enji took a moment to run a thick finger through your dainty folds, making you shudder and moan.

Enji considered having you ride him again, but a glance at the large sectional he had in the corner of the room gave him other ideas. Picking you up as if you weighed nothing, he carried you to the luxurious piece of furniture and laid you down on your back. He immediately covered your body with his own and locked his lips with yours, the kiss quickly turning heated. While your lips moved together with unrestrained passion, he busied himself with undoing his belt and slacks. Once he got them undone, he freed his aching length from the confines of his underwear, hissing at the sensation of the cool air hitting the too hot skin.

Pulling away from your soft warmth, Enji made you look him in the eye before he asked, “It seems a bit late to ask, but are you sure this is what you want?”

Thinking he was just being considerate, you smiled softly up at him and nodded in affirmation. He kissed you hard, one more time, before looking down to guide his more than impressive dick to your dripping entrance. As soon as he pressed the head in, you knew what he was really asking you before, which was whether you could handle being stretched to your absolute limit.

You threw your head back, pressing into the soft cushion underneath you, and struggled to breathe around the sensation of his girth splitting you open. It was a good thing he made sure you were wet enough beforehand, otherwise, you were sure that you wouldn’t have been able to take all of him.

Enji made sure to take his time pressing in and withdrawing, inch by inch, enraptured by the sight of your pretty pussy stretching around him. It was a couple minutes more before he was fully seated inside you, the head of his dick pressed snugly against your cervix. He paused his movements to press sweet, but rough kisses along your jaw and collarbones. You reached up and buried your fingers in his hair, applying the barest pressure to bring his face closer to yours so you could press your foreheads together.

“I’d really like for you to move now,” you panted softly. Sure, it was quite the stretch having him inside you, but it didn’t hurt and you were still filled with a burning desire to be wrecked by the giant hovering over you.

Withdrawing slowly, so slowly, Enji paused again to watch your face as he gave a quick, experimental thrust. The cry of pleasure you let out snapped his resolve to continue taking it slow, and he began to fuck into you with a vigor. All you could do is tighten your grip on his red locks and hold on for the ride.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around me. Do you have any idea how long I have wanted this? How many times I’ve fantasized about fucking into you like this, making you my little cumdump?”

Enji was actually caught off guard with how visceral your reaction was to his dirty talk. He didn’t think it possible, but you became even tighter around his dick, nails biting into his scalp, as well. You began trying to thrust back up against him, but he was having none of that. Enji pulled back just enough to take your legs and throw them over his shoulders so he could put you in a mating press.

“Oh gods, yes, just like this, Daddy!” you wailed loudly, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You were overwhelmed with the pleasure from his rigid member rubbing against your velvet walls with the new angle.

A groan that sounded like a snarl rumbled in Enji’s chest at the sound of your fucked out voice calling him ‘Daddy’. It made him want to grind his dick deeper into you, until all you could see, feel, or taste was him and the pleasure he was giving to you.

“Fuck, if you call me that again, I’m going to fucking cum and I’m not going to pull out.” He expected you to object, or something but instead, you attempted to pull him in closer with the strength of your legs alone.

“Please, please, please fill me up, Daddy! I want it all, please, give it to me!”

Pace quickening at your filthy words, Enji leaned forward until you were practically pressed in half and his thrusts had the tip of his dick bumping your womb with every plunge deeper. You were unable to even scream, the air knocked from your lungs and your brain foggy with thought-warping ecstasy.

“Goddammit, you’re gonna make me cum, baby. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim. Gonna make you round with my child. Is that what you want?”

All you could do was nod frantically, incoherent pleas and his name spilling from your drooling mouth in an endless stream. You would do anything, say anything, just to feel his hot cum paint your walls.

From the way you were clenching and pulsing around him, Enji knew that you were close to the precipice again already, and he was ready to tumble over right along with you. Letting go of the last bit of restraint holding him back, Enji captured your lips in a searing kiss and swallowed your cries of passion as he began to piston into your tight heat, chasing his orgasm and hurtling you towards yours.

A shrill scream muffled by his lips and the sharp tightening of your walls around him signaled to Enji that you were cumming, and he quickly followed after you. His powerful hips stuttered once, twice before he drove his entire length fully inside you and stilled, his head pressed to the opening of your womb. Much hotter than you were expecting it to be, spurts of cum that seemed endless gushed deep inside you, prolonging both of your orgasms to the point of over-sensitivity.

When you both finally came down and got your breathing under control, Enji slowly pulled out from you and gently eased your legs off his shoulders. He gathered you up in an embrace and flipped the two of you over so that you were laid on top of him, head resting against his chest. Again, he stroked your back and sides soothingly, murmuring words of praise and comfort.

For your part, you were fucking wiped, your heart still racing and brown skin dewed with sweat. You could feel cum leaking out of your abused hole, but could hardly be bothered to care with exhaustion and satiation weighing so heavily on your eyes.

With strong arms wrapped around you and every bone in your body feeling like marshmallow, you snuggled closer to Enji and fell asleep to the steady pulse of his heart in your ear.

#todoroki enji x reader #endeavor x reader #bnha smut #endeavor smut #todoroki enji smut #black reader

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fishyfod · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on how well Winter recognized the warning signs of abusive behavior in Ironwood in time to save Marrow Amin's life?

Winter is perceptive of her surroundings and alert to other people’s behaviors, maintaining constant vigilance in case of danger. Part of it is ingrained in her because of her time in the army, but she also learned this in home so she could protect herself from Jacques. This protection extends mostly to other’s well-being rather than herself - she is the elder sister, so she believes it’s her duty to shield her siblings from Jacques, and Winter enlisted in the army for ideological reasons. The moment Ironwood began posing a threat Winter was already watching him, already prepared to act if it was necessary. It was a foregone conclusion Winter would jump to save Marrow. So when did Winter decide Ironwood was a threat? I don’t think there’s a singular moment you could point to to answer that.

In her adolescence Winter probably idolized Ironwood as the key to escape her father and the pressure of the Schnee name. Imagine young Winter stuck in a ball her father forced her to attend like Weiss in V4, seeing how uncomfortable Ironwood is as well - he doesn’t want to participate, he wants to do real service, not like these elites (read: Jacques) - imagine how enticing Ironwood is to Winter in that moment. And it’s only natural for her to want to enlist the army, Atlas is already so militaristic. Yes, in the process she essentially gave up one controlling father to a different controlling father figure, but Ironwood isn’t controlling because he is abusive, that’s just how the army works. It won’t seem odd to Winter or most Atlesians for Ironwood to be controlling, that’s his job. Winter is aware of the power he poses and the implicit threat of every command, she is not blind to his danger, but she perceives it as natural, as what it should be. What is a military commander if he is not threatening, powerful and dangerous? A bad one.

This is the situation up until the end of V7, but then something changes - Winter’s trust in Ironwood is broken. So long as Winter believed Ironwood’s actions are for the greater good, she saw his actions and behavior as necessary and justified. She already had doubts in him, like his decision to isolate Atlas and exploit Mantle further, but there is no place for doubts in Ironwood as her commander - that’s not how the military works. Something drastic needed to occur for Winter to be able to break free from Ironwood, and that something was Weiss renouncing Ironwood in the V7 finale

To Winter, Ironwood is simultaneously two things: he’s the commander of the Atlesian army and her superior, the leader who makes the tough choices she can’t make. He’s also her savior, her ticket to escape Jacques Schnee and her way to prove her worth by servitude in the military, a pseudo-parental figure to replace Jacques. The former and the latter Ironwood cannot be separated in Winter’s mind, and it’s through her relationship with Ironwood that her view of Atlas and morality become intertwined with her view of her family and companionship. When Weiss still is aligned with Ironwood, Winter’s mind is at ease because the military and her family are in harmony. She falls into disarray when Weiss leaves her, her heart and mind in conflict with each other. Weiss did not convince her to betray Ironwood, her betrayal did not make her call Weiss, yet Winter betrays Ironwood and reconciles with her sister at the same time because to Winter they are the same thing, two aspects of her life ever connected because of Ironwood’s dual role in her life.

It is now that her trust in Ironwood is broken, and throughout V8 she lets her doubts fester, seeing Ironwood in a new light. There was no question Ironwood is dangerous and powerful, but now she lets herself see his use of his power as abusive like she couldn’t allow herself before. With every questionable decision he makes she becomes more afraid and she begins to defy him more and more. The moment she jumps to save Marrow is merely the straw that broke the camel’s back.

#Winter Schnee #James Ironwood #RWBY #RWBY Analysis #fishy.ask #fishy.analysis #quixylvre #long post #in which fishy once again rambles about Winter

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lowkeyorloki · 4 years

Text

lbd

After a fight with Loki, you wear the smallest dress you can to an Avengers press event...

(smut smut smut)

The party was awful.

Stark’s press events often were. It was interesting, how the media had changed over the past eight years. In 2012, you and the rest of the Avengers would only be seen on news stations. Now, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to for your names to be in tabloids next to celebrities like Taylor Swift or Noah Centineo. The team wasn’t just heroes anymore, you were public figures as well.

Hence the formal attire, the flashing cameras, the expensive wine. These events only happened about once a year- they were manageable. Just a pain. Besides, you always had Loki to endure them with.

Except, not tonight. And so, the party was awful, not just boring.

The argument you had with Loki last night carried over into today, and when you were asking him about the event, he gave you no answer. Never in a million years did you think he would ignore during this. The press, the world, had never really forgiven him for New York. He was hated by the general public. It didn’t help it was a well-known fact he was with you: you, the youngest Avenger. You, who had been America’s golden girl until Loki corrupted you.

That was what everyone liked to say. Really, you just got older. And cynical. You couldn’t fight the worst of the worst throughout the universe and remain idealistic.

You and Loki had to stick together for public appearances. The reporters tore you to shreds if you didn’t. And besides that... You didn’t like not being around the god. It was so much better to face things with him. You were together. Even when things were tense, the two of you could always lean on each other. That was the nature of your relationship.

And yet, here you were, halfway through your third glass of champagne, giving Steve a half-hearted smile as he spoke. Every so often, your eyes scanned the large hall, eventually falling on Loki. He avoided your gaze each time.

You wanted to be angry, or bitter. That’s what you felt earlier today when he wouldn’t speak to you. Loki wordlessly dressed in his suit, looked you up and down in your floor length dress, and left your shared room. In a fit of rage, you had dug through your closet for something that would anger him. No, not anger. That wasn’t the right word.

Entice him. Make him protective. Despite your life with him, you were still seen as the innocent Avenger. The normal girl who stumbled into justice. You never wore short or form fitting clothes anywhere there would be cameras. You were modest. That was the role you were pidgeonholed into. Social media, combined with constant interest and exposure, ensured that. In 2020, half of being an Avenger was perception. Every team member was an archetype. Every team member adhered to that. Outwardly, at least.

So when nothing in your closet would accomplish what you wanted, you raided Natasha’s. She helped you pick out something no one would expect you to wear: A silky black body con dress. When you tried it on, it barely came halfway down your thighs. There was little left to the imagination, considering its length and low neckline.

You paired it with heels, and painted your nails Loki’s shade of green. Natasha gathered your hair into a messy bun, leaving your neck exposed. Even Wanda joined in, brushing sparkles over your collarbone. You looked unlike you ever had before.

Honestly, you looked like Natasha did on a daily basis. That brought you some amount of comfort, knowing you wouldn’t be sticking out. But it went without saying you didn’t look like yourself, and no one had ever seen you like this. The press would have a field day.

But it wasn’t them you cared about. The only person you were thinking about was Loki.

And he didn’t even do a double take. When you first walked into the room, his eyes rested on you just a second. Then he turned away.

So you didn’t find yourself angry like you were just a few hours before this. When Loki ignored you, you only felt... Sad. Empty, almost. You had been upset with each other for less than a full day, but you missed him. If there was no animosity between you two, Loki’s hand would be on the small of your back right now, and he would be whispering into your ear. Sharing jokes about everyone at the party, wrapped up in each other.

You fought so little. It was something you weren’t used to.

“Hey.” Steve sticks an elbow into your ribs, pulling you from your thoughts. Next to him, Bucky wears a worried expression. “You okay?”

You sigh. Tipping your head back, you drain the rest of your drink and then nod.

“I’m fine, Steve.” he looks uncertain. “I mean it. I can last one night without him. Just because I’m in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m any less independent.”

“I believe that.” Steve agrees.

“You only believe her because that’s how you are.” Bucky grins at Steve, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from Captain America. Steve smiles, just barely, and holds Bucky’s hand in his own after the dark-haired man pulls back. Your eyes flicker away, but a genuine smile grows on your lips. You love to see your friends happy. They deserve it, your whole team does.

It’s moments like these, when Steve is focused on Bucky and you on Loki, you remember you and Steve used to date. It seems like a completely different time, but it wasn’t even ten years ago.

You were with Steve when Loki attacked New York.

“I’m going for a refill.” you state. Both men look uncertain. You pay it no mind. “Do either of you want anything?”

They shake their heads in response, so you make your way over to the bar. There’s no one there, not even the bartender, which bothers you at first. Then you realize it’s exactly what you need. Just a few minutes alone to clear your head. The bar is in same room as everyone else, so classical music and conversation are all around you. Still, you manage to find solace.

It’s quickly interrupted.

“Hello, darling.”

Loki.

His breath tickles the back of your neck as he speaks. As soon as you’re aware of his presence, his smell envelops you. You shiver, noticing how close he must be to you.

You don’t turn around.

“Hi Loki.” you greet him back, eyes forward. You voice almost shakes, and you exhale, willing yourself to keep cool. Loki was always so calm and collected, something he used as a weapon. Clearly, even against you.

Loki hums, and his fingers softly begin to dance over your bare shoulder.

“You look different,” he states. “With those shoes, you almost reach my height. But darling, you have never looked so small.” Loki’s voice drops on that last word, and a wave of heat flashes through your body. You set your glass down on the counter next to you, worried whatever Loki does next will cause you to drop it.

“Funny.” you say. “I don’t feel small.” You know Loki, know what the word small is code for. “Or weak.”

Loki tuts, and his large hands slide from your shoulders to your hips. Your dress is so short that his pinkies lay on your bare skin.

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Loki leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he talks. You can’t help it, you tremble, your surroundings beginning to fade away as you focus on the god. “I bet you felt quite powerful, teasing me in this dress. Talking to Steve Rogers.” Suddenly, Loki pulls you into him, and you gasp. His length presses completely against your ass, and you are barely able to bite back a moan.

This is harder than you’ve ever felt him. Your breathing becomes hitched, but Loki’s strong grip keeps you glued to him. His fingers dig into your hips, and you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

“Did you think,” Loki rolls his hips against you, causing a mewl to escape your lips. “...that I would forget your past with Rogers? That it had just, slipped my mind that he is the only man you have ever laid with besides myself?” Loki’s lips connect with the crook of your neck, pressing wet kisses there that are anything but gentle. “Or was that the point? To make me jealous?” Loki’s next words shake you the most. “Can you even count the amount of times I have been inside you?”

Just like that, his hands relax, and you begin to catch your breath.

“Smile.” Loki points, and you notice the groups of reporters making their way to you, cameras flashing. Loki pivots, turning both of you so you face the them. He drops one hand to his side, but the other snakes around your waist. It won’t be obvious in the photos, but his fingers are dangerously close to your heat, filling you to the brim with want.

Just as you manage to get yourself under control, the cameras begin flashing. You force a smile, and when you look at Loki, he’s staring straight ahead, expressionless.

You hated getting photos taken, knowing the headlines they would be paired with. But Loki hates it even more. You were always the victim in the media’s eyes, but Loki had never outgrown the villain. He worked so hard to be good, so hard to change. And for what? No one believed him, save for you and his brother.

Your heart grows heavy, and despite the fight, despite the teasing that left you melting in his arms, you want Loki to know you appreciate him.

You tug on the front of his suit jacket, capturing his attention. Loki looks down at you, confusion in his eyes. You reach forward, placing your hand on the back of his neck and tugging him down so his lips met yours.

It was filthy, the way he kissed you in front of the press. Loki once again pulled you to him, your chests pressed together. He laid his hand on your back, and thank god he did, because it kept you grounded. Your teeth clacked together more than once, and Loki gave you no opportunity to gather yourself before he sucked on your bottom lip. Your were eyes closed, but you still heard as the reporters went wild, cameras snapping as they each tried to get the juiciest shot.

Loki was the one who ended the kiss, tugging away from you. He took your hand in his, waving with the other. In the crowd, you could see Steve standing in shock, arm around Bucky’s waist. Stark was next to them, looking furious.

Loki makes eye contact with you before he briskly walks away, tugging you with him. You have no time to ask where it is he’s taking you before you somehow slip into the kitchen unnoticed.

The kitchen staff stops, and you realize what this must look like to them. Loki, with a hungry look in his eyes, and you, swollen lips and practically half-naked. Jesus, was this where you thought the night was going?

“Get out.” Loki addresses the staff. They share glances, unsure of whether to listen. Loki sighs. “We are two hours into a four hour party. No one ever comes for food, they just want to drink. You are no longer needed. Now, get,” Loki’s irises flash green. “...out.”

They listen then, rushing out of the doors and through the backroom that will lead them from the building. The locks on each door click shut, surely a result of Loki’s magic.

“You.” you squirm under the god’s harsh gaze. “Are a very. Stupid. Girl.” with each step Loki takes forward, you take one backwards, until your back is against the tiled wall. Your heart begins beating fast. You look to Loki’s pants, taking in the tent. Your heart rate accelerates even more.

He places his hands on the wall, one on either side of your face, trapping you with him. Wordlessly, Loki begins sucking on your collarbone, his lips moving down your breasts until they hit the neckline on your dress. Your eyes roll back, and you grip Loki’s hair tight. He rams his knee in between your thighs, and you cry out.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he rolls his hips, and now that you’re alone, you can feel and experience it to the fullest expense. Your mouth falls open as Loki presses his clothed length against your clothed sex, moaning and letting out a string of curses. “Look at me, darling.” You listen, obeying Loki as he removes his knee.

Loki makes full eye contact as he takes your left breast in his hands, kneading and massaging you as he gauges your reactions. You begin panting, and soon enough, Loki grabs the front of your dress with both hands and rips it, exposing your bare breasts.

You hiss at the sudden cold, but it doesn’t last long as Loki sucks on your nipple, running his calloused thumb other the other. Loki swirls his tongue, and you whimper, arching your back. As the sensation builds inside you, Loki takes a steps back, drinking in the sight of you.

“The media won’t soon forget this. Until now, the worst they had caught us doing was holding hands.” he growls. His lips are redder than usual, and his hair was messy because of your fingers in it. “I can imagine the scolding from Stark.”

“Who cares about Stark? You just ruined Natasha’s dress.” you say, your voice strained. His absence is noticeable, and your body aches for Loki’s touch. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sweet girl, whose fault is that? None of this would ever have happened if you simply dressed appropriately.” the hair on your arms stands up. Loki hums. “I think you should make it up to me. You got us into this mess, did you not?” Loki smirks.

The feeling in your stomach builds up again, lust taking over you. You take off you heels, and sink to your knees. Loki’s pupils dilate as you move closer to him.

You unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and discarding it on the floor next to you. Slowly, you unbutton Loki’s dress pants, your fingers catching on the tip of his underwear as you do.

You want to draw this out, to tease Loki as he teased you. But when you see his hard length, and the damp spot on the cloth holding it, you can’t bring yourself to. Loki is a god, much stronger and faster than you. When you turn to dust, Loki will be as young and full of life as he is now.

But his needs are the same as any other man’s. You’re determined to fulfill them.

You brush your mouth over him, causing Loki’s eyes to close momentarily. When they do, you waste no time exposing him. Loki fingers run through your hair immediately, grasping tightly. You can hear his breathing become just a bit irregular.

You keep your eyes on Loki’s as you lick him, from shaft to head. You lap at the precum there, then slowly take him into your mouth.

Loki lets out a sigh, his lips parting, and you rub circles onto his hipbones with your thumbs. You bring your arms against your chest, pushing your bare breasts up to make them appear bigger. You want to give Loki the best view possible.

It must have worked, because Loki’s hips buck forward. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you almost gag. Instead, you moan around him. setting a slow pace. Every so often, you flick your tongue across his head, and Loki tugs on your hair when you do.

Loki quivers, and he’s thrown his head back now. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open, and he looks so pleased. Pride washes over you at the thought of you making him feel this way.

You bring your hand up, taking the parts of Loki that your mouth just can’t reach. With the added freedom, you circle his tip, switching up the pressure and surrounding him with your warmth. Carefully, you cup his balls, making sure every part of him is paid attention to.

Loki groaned as you fucked him with your mouth, cheeks hallowed. He begins panting, holding your head even tighter. His shirt has ridden up over his navel, and the sight nearly drives you crazy.

“I’m going to-” you don’t let him finish, picking up the pace until Loki jerks forward, spilling his seed with a curse.

There’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth before you can swallow it all. Your chests warms at the idea of part of Loki being inside you. You’ve barely leaned back to catch your breath before he’s pulled you up and into a kiss, groaning as he tastes himself on you. Your body becomes slack, relying entirely on Loki’s for support.

“You’re insatiable.” he says into your mouth. He picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Loki carries you to a nearby counter and sets you atop it.

Your dress is hiked up to your hips now, leaving you covered in just a g-string. As Loki begins to take it off, you stop him.

“Wait.” you say. He stops, giving you a surprisingly soft look. “I just...” you splay your hands across Loki’s strong chest. “I want to see you too.” your voice is quiet.

Loki places his hands over yours as you unbutton his shirt. You slide it down his shoulders, then trace his collarbones and curve of his abs. Under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, Loki looks even more pale than usual, the sharp contours of his body illuminated and exposed.

You never grow bored of the sight of him.

Now fittingly bare, Loki’s fingers travel up your thigh and stop at your sex. Similar to you, his gives you a few strokes over your thong before he rids you of it in one fluid motion. He angles himself to you, his tip teasing your entrance as he smirks at your noises.

He enters you all at once. You bite down on his shoulder, nails raking down his back. You hold tight to Loki as he sinks into you, moving in a slow and almost tantalizing way. There’s sweat on both of your bodies, and despite your exposed state, you feel yourself heat up.

Loki’s rhythm increases as you adjust to him. His hips move back and forth, and your bodies move in tandem, made for each other. You coo into Loki’s ears, moaning about how good he felt. How breathless he made you, how only he knew how to make you feel this way. No one knew your body like Loki.

The coil inside you finally snaps as Loki hits a pleasure spot deep inside you, and you let out a cry into his shoulder. Loki cums not long after, his body going tense as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

He holds you, rubbing your back as the aftershock rocks through your body. You shake, exhausted and satisfied as you close your eyes for a moment of rest.

Eventually, Loki sets you back down on the floor. He tugs your dress down over your legs, and tucks stray pieces of hair behind your ears. You watch him wordlessly, allowing him to take of you.

After Loki is dressed himself, he gives you the jacket of his suit to wear.

“Oh.” you look down, remembering he ripped your dress. You slip the jacket on, buttoning it to protect the little modesty you have left.

He takes your hand, leading you to the door and back into the party. Before he does, you stop.

“I’m sorry about our fight.” you say. Loki lets out a chuckle, making you feel silly.

“Oh, sweet girl. After a tryst like this, I can assure you all is forgiven.”

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notebooks-and-laptops · 2 years

Text

welcome to your life (there’s no turning back)

More Merripen Lavellan/Bull. I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I think certain elvish inquisitors would have a really intense time choosing Briala, and I really wanted to explore that. I also love the idea of Bull watching his Kadan slowly come apart at the seams as war gets to them, knowing that there’s nothing he can do about it. So take this intense hurt/comfort fic. As always, you can find this on AO3 here!

-///-

Here’s the thing about war: it made monsters out of fucking everyone.

The Iron Bull had seen it in Seheron. He’d seen it when the mages and the templars started getting at each other’s throats. He’d seen it when Leliana and Cassandra ambushed a sleep-deprived elvish boy into becoming the leader of a movement based on a religion he didn’t believe in.

But - foolishly, against his instincts - he’d hoped it’d never happen to Lavellan.

The Winter Palace festivities hadn’t ceased since the assassination. If anything, they’d been spurred on by them. The tension had broken, the new emperor crowned in the blood of the old one, and the assassin dead at the hands of the Inquisition. Fucking Southerners. Didn’t give a damn about anything, so long as they could keep playing their little game. If Bull didn’t have more important things to be doing, he’d seek out Dorian and let the man’s complaining be voice enough for them both.

He did have more important things to do though.

He had an elf to find.

Considering he was the hero of the day; Merripen was as elusive as ever. The most powerful man in Thedas, for sure, but he was also some shy kid from the back end of nowhere. He knew how to disappear into the background, sometimes with as much efficiency as Cole.

Still, where he was, his advisors were never far behind. At least not in a shark’s nest like this. Cullen and Red stood conversing in front of one of the balcony doors. At first glance? Friends catching up. But Bull wasn’t interested in first glances. He knew guards when he saw them.

He made his way across the room. Leliana gave him a small nod as he passed. Interesting, that one. If they weren’t both already taken, he’d love to see what she was like in bed. She’d be exquisite.

But not as exquisite as his Kadan.

There he stood. He’d come out in the Inquisitions red, but he’d done red hair up in traditional dalish braids and let Dorian and Vivienne smear kohl over his eyes and paint onto his lips. The result was enticing; not quite as enticing as when he was covered in blood post-battle, mind, but enticing, nonetheless.

A statement too. Dalish braids, Dalish tattoos; the Inquisitor had thrown his lot in with the elves long before he decided Briala would take the reigns of the empire.

Yet, where most of the evening Merripen had been following Josephine’s etiquette lessons to the letter, he was now slumped forward, leaning far enough over the balcony that it would take barely any effort at all to tip her over it, even with his fast reflexes.

Instead, Bull wrapped his hands around him from behind, “Kadan,” he murmured, voice low, “good evening.”

Merripen’s hands, where they rested over the balcony railing, were shaking.

Ah. So tonight had made a monster of him, but not hardened him enough to his actions to take away the pain. Should that make him worry less, or more, he wondered?

“It’s a shite evening,” Merripen responded, voice so quiet compared to how loud he’d been out on the dance floor, making speeches and deciding the fate of kingdoms.

“You made a difficult decision,” Bull noted.

“Ha,” there was anything but humour in his tone, “I think you’ll find I made a very easy decision.”

And it was easy, wasn’t it? If Bull was in his position, it was the move that he would have made. Even if they had found some magic way to make Briala a member of the court, and keep Celene alive, having Briala run things in the background would be far more impactful when it came to changing the way elves were treated across Orlais.

And there were other reasons it should have been easy too. Merripen also killed people every day. Death was in his blood. It was in his magic as a necromancer. It was in his religion. He’d explained his tattoos more than enough times now for Bull to understand what the red lines on his face meant. Falon’Din, the elvish God of death and fortune.

But Merripen was also kind-hearted, on the inside. He worshipped the God of death, sure, but he also spent plenty of time after a battle walking around the corpses and praying for that same God to guide their souls across the veil. When they had the time. Once, he’d done it every time, but now—

Well. War made monsters out of fucking everyone. It hardened people inside and out.

Merripen’s hands were still shaking.

The point was, that Merripen worshipped the God of the Dead, but he did so to honour the dead, not to make more piles of them.

“You’ve not given an order like that before though,” Bull murmured.

“What? The order where I let an innocent woman die because it was in my best interests?” Merripen laughed, but it wasn’t a nice laugh. Bull quickly decided he hated it.

“I don’t think anyone would argue that Celene was innocent.” Rulers generally weren’t, not even Qunari ones. Not even Inquisitor Merripen Lavellan, anymore. The thought made Bull’s chest ache.

“Corypheus wanted her dead,” Merripen swallowed, “Leliana says it doesn’t matter, so long as there’s a strong ruler on the throne. But what the fuck do we know. Maybe Celene needed to die for some other reason, not just to plunge Orlais into chaos. And I helped.”

Bull sighed. His hands moved to take hold of Merripen’s, try and stop the shaking. “You didn’t help Corypheus, Kadan. Red’s right, the only thing he wanted was chaos,” which could still happen, with Briala pulling the strings. Everything would have been more stable with Celene. But it wouldn’t put the empire on the brink of collapse, “you made the right decision for your people.”

Merripen swallowed, “I know,” he breathed. “I think about—about the elves, killed in the servants’ quarters, and the alienage’s, and the way my clan was treated by outsiders and I know I made the only decision I could. It’s just—”

“Just that you had to kill someone to get it,” this was the issue with politics in the south. It was scheming, and backstabbing, and Merripen was doing it now too, even if he didn’t want to be. “and even with Briala ruling behind, you had to put that jackass on the throne who was calling you slurs behind your back all evening.”

Merripen sighed, “I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard. I kill people every day.”

“You kill people who are trying to kill you right back every day. I get it, Kadan,” Bull dropped his lips into Merripen’s hair, “I get why you’re upset, and why you did what you did.”

“The inquisition…it’s making me make decisions that I never—I’m not sure who I’m going to be, when this is all over.” A whispered confession, a fear, let out into the night air.

And there it was, wasn’t it? The problem. What war made people. Monsters. Hardened. Cold. Too many decisions. Too many damn hard decisions. You made them on behalf of yourself, or on behalf of others, but no matter what people got hurt. That’s what leading was.

It would tear Merripen apart, eventually, if he kept going as the leader of this thing.

Bull would fight tooth and nail to make sure that wouldn’t happen though. “You’re a good man, Merripen. You’re my Kadan. Still gonna be my Kadan when this is over and done with, if you want to be.”

Merripen turned in Bull’s arms, smiled weakly up at him. “I’m gonna need you to fuck me good when we get home.”

Bull chuckled, “yeah, yeah, no big decisions for a day, no decisions at all, I can do that.”

Merripen pressed his face against Bull’s chest.

Bull held him close.

It was all he could do.

Fuck, he hoped this war was over soon. Merripen needed it to be over soon, if he was going to come out of it with his sanity intact.

#dragon age #dai #the iron bull #iron bull romance #bull/merripen lavellan #WEWH

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sonderthroughthestreets · 3 years

Text

Hi! Idk what came over me but I thought an AU where Sander’s kid is anti-Bowie was the most hilarious thing thanks to @hidden-joy @kylesbishops and @sanderijzermans so I wrote it skdjdj

Disclaimer: it’s all fun and chaos and I don’t really know anything about how to write kids

x, x, x, x, credit to the chaos 🤪

The day Sander Driesen hears the words come out of his child’s mouth is the day he wonders if this is his child at all.

He’s standing there, leather jacket, white t-shirt and all, bleached hair icy even in the summer sun, and he looks down at the small stature in front of him. Grey-green eyes, dark locks and an air of confidence that could only be learned from a certain music-loving individual fill his sight. There’s so much innocence standing before him but a driven insistence breaks through the words spoken.

“Dad,” he hears. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...I don’t really like David Bowie all that much.”

Sander thinks he’s lost his senses. He is definitely not hearing right. Hell, he’s only a man in his early thirties, he could not be this hard of hearing already. He tries to brace himself on the couch from falling over. Shit, he’s also too young to feel this frail.

“Wh-what do you mean you don’t like David Bowie all that much?”

The question comes out in gasps of air, ragged and winded, like he can’t believe what’s happening. He feels like his world’s spinning, like he’s entered another dimension, like there was no way, absolutely no way, his child doesn’t like David Bowie.

Denial is a pretty powerful thing, though...

See, when Alexandra Driesen was born, she brought light and life to Sander and Robbe’s eyes. She had a chubby face and squishy cheeks and eyes the colour of a summer storm. Her dark hair had been a blessing to match Robbe’s. Everything about her was as perfect as it could get. And then came the perpetual frustrations of parenthood with the screaming and the crying.

Sleep was something to be cherished at the Driesen-Ijzermans household. A few day-naps here and a doze-off there. But God, oh God, did Alexandra know how to cry in the middle of the night. Robbe and Sander spent hours upon hours holding her and swaying her and rocking her on a chair. Sander had read that sometimes music helps so he’d even done all that. Bowie usually floated in the shriek-filled room during these times and yet, Alexandra just wept.

“Come on, baby, just a little bit of sleep. Don’t you get tired of screaming all night?” Sander asked in that exhausted tone of parentese. He held her against the crook of his neck and walked around in sweats until he saw Robbe enter the room with blood-shot eyes and curls disarrayed.

“She’s still crying?” he asked with a rasp in his voice.

“She literally won’t stop and I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried everything. I’ve even got Bowie on for her,” he said.

Robbe took her from his arms and swayed her a little, cooing and kissing her tiny head.

“It’s kind of loud, though,” Robbe said to him as he then stepped over to turn off the music.

And in an instant miracle, the house was all quiet.

It seems that’s what’s always happened and Sander just hadn’t noticed it. Alexandra settled into Robbe’s chest and stretched her mouth in a heavy yawn. Her warmth radiated and glowed through Robbe, but Sander was stunned. He’s completely shocked.

“You-she-“ he stuttered clumsily for a bit. “But it was Bowie,” he said weakly.

How could his own daughter not feel at peace with Bowie? It was a connection he held with him, something connecting him and Robbe and what he hoped would connect their child to them in this little family.

“Hmmm,” Robbe hums pensively. “Maybe Bowie’s not her thing.”

“Not her thing?” Sander just about exploded. Then he suddenly remembered Alexandra’s finally gone to sleep and whispered, seething. “That is not our child!”

“Biologically, no. Legally and emotionally, yes,” smirked Robbe. “Calm down, babe, she’ll learn to like him soon enough. For now, how about we hold off on Bowie for a bit, yeah?”

He swayed her just a little more, just to really make sure she’s easing into sleep and then set her gently back down in her crib.

“How long?” Sander muttered and Robbe gave him a confused look. “How long without Bowie?”

Robbe contemplated.

“Maybe we give it six months or so,” he said.

And now it was Sander who wanted to weep. -

As the months and years went on, Alexandra had gone on without her Bowie-loving phase, only mildly being interested in the lightning bolt plushies and the songs blasting on road trips and the shirts Sander would get for her. Robbe says it just takes time for kids to get into stuff. That it’s better to leave it there in the open for them than to shove it down their throats.

“It’s barely any shoving,” Sander had grumbled.

“I know, babe. But I know how you can get sometimes,” Robbe had placed a soothing kiss upon his lips.

Still, Sander’s worries were increasingly growing.

Then a few years later, they’d adopted another beautiful girl. Mia was a radiant vision of blonde curls and brown eyes. They held a similar warmth that Robbe’s eyes held and Sander couldn’t be happier to lose himself in pools of coffee or dark, earthy soils or any other sort of metaphor for his favourite kind of brown.

To his relief, though, Mia loved listening to Bowie. She loved playing with the lightning bolt plushy and wearing all the shirts and as she grew, she and Sander had lots of music jam sessions blasting Bowie throughout the house. Alexandra was enticed into joining for a bit in the beginning but as time went on, Sander found it that she was making more and more excuses to not be in the same room when Bowie was mentioned.

“Uh, I got homework, Dad,” she’d nervously run her fingers through her hair.

“Uh, Papa needs help with dinner I think,” she’d run out with a tight smile.

“Group project due soon. Léon’s being a piece of shit and not pulling his weight at all.”

“Language,” Robbe would chastise coming around the corner.

“He’s being a dick?” she suggested.

“Fuck him.”

“Sander!”

“Sorry.”

Her interests lay instead in skateboarding with her friends, headphones in her ears listening to rap: BROCKHAMPTON and Stormzy with even a little Ed Sheeran in the mix, and keeping her hair as short as possible. She’d had a bit of a habit wearing overgrown shirts like Robbe did. But Sander found that endearing and he didn’t really think it was a case of ‘not-like-other-girls’ syndrome. He and Robbe just let her wear whatever she wanted.

And in fact, it was at thirteen years of age that Alexandra came out to the family as a boy. Sander remembers it clearly with them all huddled on the couch looking at the person in front of them with beady eyes, waiting.

“Dad, Papa, Mia. I think I’m a boy. I think I’m trans and I’d like to formally introduce myself to you all. I’m Alexander, or just Alex. And I use he/they pronouns.”

Sander had wanted to tear up, emotions flooding inside his rib cage. Happy tears, though, a joyous occasion where his son felt comfortable enough to tell them about this part of himself. That he and Robbe had created a space where he felt safe enough. Loved enough.

“I kept Alexander ‘cause, Sander,” he gestured to Sander. “But really, Alex is fine.”

And Sander wanted to cry all over again.

They’d all been encased in a huge family hug with Mia chirping that she’d ‘always wanted a big brother.’

Robbe and Sander had been quite supportive of it all, calling the school to change both the name and preferred name and asking if Alex was considering wearing a binder or getting a proper haircut. “Yes” to the haircut. “Hold off for a bit” on the binder. He’d whined a “Daaaaaad” when Sander ruffled the short brown locks. Most of Alex’s friends were cool with it, too and while it wasn’t all smooth sailing, he’d never run out of love from his family.

It was a big change and everything, but Sander thought, well...as long as he had his Bowie-loving children, it was all fine. -

It’s his worst nightmare. It’s the stuff that haunts you from the depths of the worst kind of hell, making your limbs feel like jelly. He’s cursing every name and divine entity and he’s really hoping Robbe’s right about those parallel universes because he’d love to hop over to the one where this wasn’t happening right now.

Sander’s having a hard time even looking at Alex in the eye.

“Dad?” he hears his concerned voice.

“I think I need to sit down,” says Sander, grabbing the armrest of the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion.

“It’s really not a big deal,” says Alex.

“Not a big deal?” Sander looks at him with wide eyes. “My own son hates David Bowie.”

“I never said I-“

“The man who infinitely changed my life. Space Oddity, Life on Mars, Ziggy Stardust, Ashes to Ashes. None of them?” Sander waves his arms. “You’re telling me you like none of them?”

“They’re...fine, I guess,” Alex shrugs innocently with a cringe to his face.

“Fine?” Sander squeaks.

“What’s fine?” Robbe trudges to them overhearing the conversation.

“Your son hates Bowie,” Sander squints his eyes at him.

“I do not,” says Alex. “I’m just pretty indifferent to him. He’s not exactly my style,” he shrugs, his hoodie moving with the movement.

“And what is your style?” Robbe laughs as he comes up behind him to rub his shoulders. He looks up at Sander with long lashes and a questioning smile stretching across his face. They share one of those ‘parenting looks.’ The ones where they know it’s not all that serious. But Sander thinks it is.

“A bit of rap, a bit of hip hop, some pop, some mainstream,” Alex lists off. “Not exactly the ‘80s vibes in me,” he laughs.

Robbe cheers as their tastes in music are quite similar and he proceeds to carry out their very own handshake they’d created when Alex was nine. There’s a different one with Sander. Sander, who’s getting more and more agitated by this revelation.

“Oh, okay,” he pats his knees and stands up. “Well, if you two are having such a grand time hating Bowie and bonding over your own music, I’ll just take myself and leave. No child of mine doesn’t like David Bowie,” he says dramatically.

“Sander…” Robbe looks at him.

“Dad…” says Alex.

“No, no. It’s fine. Really,” he begrudgingly walks out of the living room, almost knocking into Mia on the way.

“What’s with him?” she blinks twice and points a finger back.

Robbe sighs as he looks back at Alex.

“Your father, he…” Robbe puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bowie’s practically his life and so are the two of you, so I guess it’s really important to him that you like him, too. He’s just gonna need some time with all this.”

His eyes are apologetic and he gives him a half-smile, hand leaving his shoulder.

Alex takes in the words while Mia wiggles herself onto the couch and finds the tv remote beside her.

“You finally told him about Bowie, huh?” she gives him a gravely sad look. One that says he’s about to be doomed.

Alex just lets out a stressed breath as Robbe follows to go find Sander.

What’s so special about David Bowie anyway?

————————————————————————

Part 2 is coming! IM SO SORRY SKDJJF I just need sleep and rest

#wtfock #this sucks so much omg I’m so sorry #sobbe’s anti-bowie kid #<- liz I used the tag skdjdb #me writing a dad AU my god how did this happen #thanks Sarah for reading it over <3

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