#like i simply would not hit that you could NOT persuade me to endure it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

byuntrash101 · 3 years

Text

Cry me a Fucking River

Pairing: Baekhyun x You

Genre: angst 💀(i tried), smut 🖤

Tags: plot, back story, psychological and physical violence, Ex!AU, AbusiveRelationship!AU, “make up” sex, crying, alcohol, breeding kink (i guess?), VERY angsty, bitter sweet ending. Don't read if you are triggered by these topics

Raiting: 18+

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: Even if it’s a lie you love the way he looks at you when he says “I love you”.

A/N: It’s sooo difficult for me to write angst. I really tried hard 🥲... But IM really inspired me with the song. Even the tittle comes from IM's neck tattoo in the MV... I’ve been working on this one shot ever since it came out (aka a long time ago) please tell me if i did justice to this beautiful song ^^

General Masterlist

Inspired by IM Changkyun’s “God damn”

𝓖𝓸𝓭 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷 𝓲𝓽, 𝓘 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓲𝓽

𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 '𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓘'𝓶 𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓭, 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓱

𝓘 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓷' 𝔂𝓸𝓾

𝓖𝓲𝓶𝓶𝓮 𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝓖𝓸𝓭 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷 𝓲𝓽, 𝓘 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓲𝓽

𝓘'𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘'𝓶 𝓭𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝓖𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝓘 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾,

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓘'𝓶 𝓭𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓴

Received 4m ago

Baekhyun: I miss u...

✓ Read

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯...

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶...

𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯

You sigh staring at the ceiling of your room. Your roommates are down stairs playing an alcohol game but you sit here alone. You don’t feel like having fun tonight… You don’t feel like anything at all actually.

You lift your phone up and stare at the name on the screen. Baekhyun… Baekhyun is your ex boyfriend. You have been separated for a year now. After 3 years of the most toxic and damaging relationship you ever had you finally broke up.

You told everybody he was bad for you.

You told your friends how possessive he was, how would go through your phone, or force you to use the speakerphone every time you have a call. Or how controlling he was when he didn’t want you to wear make up or even earrings…

And you’re not lying, all of it was true, down to the littlest detail and that’s what you told yourself too. But the truth was that you were hiding half of the story. Because no matter how much you tried to persuade yourself… you were just as bad to him.

You kept quiet on the silent treatments, spending days even weeks ignoring him, just for the sake of hurting him.

You kept quiet on the numerous ways you were always blaming him for all the problems you ever had. You never took the time to listen to him, you just always assumed it was his fault for everything. If you guys fought so much it was his fault, if he was sad, it was his fault. No matter how many hurtful words you spat his way it was his fault for being weak and not being able to bear the truth.

You kept silent on the way you always tried to make him jealous by letting other guys go after you or by simply letting people believe that you were available.

Always manipulating him in feeling sorry for himself, the exact same way he did it to you.

Like a game

Turn by turn

You were making your lives a living hell

Just like a game

But they were moments of peace, or if you dare to call it that way, love. Yes, in some moments you truly loved each other. In a way, only the both of you can understand.

No one could possibly get how good you felt when you were finally calming down after the storm. How his eyes would clear up. How your heart would beat for him when his lips pink pouty lips curled into an adorable boxy smile. When you laid your head on his chest and that you knew he was yours, yours only. How you knew that heart beating against your ear was beating for you. How you knew the soft warm breath fanning your cheeks was just for you. When you both apologized and made the ever empty promise of never hurting each other again. He looked at you with the most sincere eyes and he said that he loved you…

This…

This feeling… no one could understand, no one but you two.

In your own unique and fucked up way… you loved each other.

But it had to be stopped right? If it went on you would have ended up killing each other… When you love and hate someone so much at the same time it’s the only way out…

And so you broke with him for good when after another fight you… You have absolutely no trouble recalling the taste of blood in your mouth, the pain in your scratched out throat, the screams of your ex-boyfriend, the sinking void in your chest…

You remember everything, every single detail.

How his voice shattered your eardrums, the noise of your nose breaking, the blood gushing out his brow bone, dripping in his eye.

That night was the last one.

You can’t help but to think about that when you look at the message on your phone. It’s been a year, the memories of the damage you’ve done and the pain you endured is still fresh… But so is this feeling of warm happiness bubbling in your stomach… and so is this feeling you want to call love…

***

“Hey” Baekhyun simply says when he opens the front door of his apartment. He invites you in and you try to avoid his eyes.

“The living room is right there he points to the end of the hall” you nod, eyes still on the floor as you walk to the designated room. You sit yourself on the couch and Baekhyun sits right in front of you in a single seat. The only light source is a desk lamp set on the end table to your right. The room is small but cosy it has the familiar smell of cold cigarette that you came to love.

“The apartment is nice” you finally say after a long moment of silence. Baekhyun chuckles.

“Yeah… it’s kinda nice living on my own now… You know without the roommate” You are still looking around the room even though you already looked at the details of the curtains 3 times. “The only downside is that you can’t blame someone else for the dishes piling up in the sink” He laughs, with that clear, open mouth laugh that you used to know. A sound you thought you would never hear again. You don’t know why but that makes you look at him.

The second you lay eyes on him your heart sinks. His dark brown eyes forming little crescents, his pouty lips curled up in an amused smile, his moles sitting on the side of his face. After that long , you would have thought that you had forgotten such details about him but you didn’t.

His smile faded when he noticed how long you stared. You locked eyes with him and somehow it felt different… Somehow you felt like you were going to be alright… Somehow you felt at home…

“You want something to drink?” he asked, blinking twice and shaking his head, breaking the intense eye contact.

“Yeah… Vodka please” you quietly answered smiling back.

At once he disappeared into the kitchen. The room was completely silent and you were able to hear your heart. It was beating hard but not fast. You didn’t feel nervous at all for some reason.

When Baekhyun came back with two glasses of the clear liquid and a beaming smile he sat next to you on the couch. Because frankly, it was what felt the most natural. His thighs pressed against yours.

You brought your glass to your lips to have a sip.

You thought that it would have been awkward that you wouldn’t know what to say but… The truth was that you didn’t need to say anything. You already spent hours speaking already. It was like you already said all the words in the world. And no words could ever make it right anyway. What was done was done and reality can’t be sugar coated anymore.

“Listen, y/n I-“

“No” you lifted your hand. “Don’t”

You didn’t want to hear them again. You knew them by heart the fake excuses and the empty promises. You didn’t come for that. You came to remember what was good.

You leaned in and closed your eyes and Baekhyun did too. When your lips link, sparks of electricity shoot between you, shivers run down your spine, making the hairs on your nape stand. Just a simple peck before he parted from you. Immediately your lips missed the warmth of his.

Baekhyun brought his hand to press your thigh. His cold slender fingers caressing your skin though your distressed jeans. You’re startled when you feel a warm tear roll down on your cheek. You repress a sob when you finally understand what it is… Then you notice a scar above his eyebrow and flashes of the last fight come rushing to you… You made that, you made that scar, along with the many invisible one that slowly turned him into the broken person he is. The overwhelming weight of guilt comes to crush you down.

But before you can open your mouth to say anything he crashes his trembling lips on yours. Trying so hard not to cry too. But the truth is that he missed you just as much.

His cold hands slip under your hoodie and roam your heated skin while yours unbutton his shirt. You can’t believe the same hands that are right now so delicately caressing your skin are the same that were lifted hit you so many times.

You can’t believe the soft lips kissing you so sweetly are the same ones that parted to insult you so many times.

You press your eyes closed shut, trying to chase away the memories of blood gushing out and shattered screams. You let your fingers entangle in his shiny silver hair. While he unbuckles you belt and pulls down your pants. Right after you help him out of his own clothes.

You lay down on the couch and he lays right over you, gently kissing your neck as you gasp at each one.

When he pulls away to look at you, his eyes translate a thousand emotions. Guilt, sadness, remorse and maybe, just maybe, even love. Or maybe you only want to see that in his eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he says his own eyes brimming with tears.

“Yeah” you breathe out.

Yes you want to forget about the bad things, about the pain and hatred, about the screams and the blood. You want to escape the truth one last time. You want to tell yourself that underneath all of this was true love. And you want to believe it’s still there even though it’s untrue. Even though you’re lying again…

Just then, like he senses your need to turn your face away from the truth, your need for fiction he crashes his lips onto yours, pulling you into a rough and harsh kiss. His teeth grazing over your lips.

His length plunges inside your sopping center and his warmth pulls a small gasp from your lips. Finally reunited at last.

He seizes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. Both of your body match up a coordinated and pleasurable rythme. His rough and hungry hands convey how much he missed you and even after all this time, he still knows you by heart… Of course he does… and you do too because the truth is that… You and him… You could never forget each other. Forever damned to be together, forever cursed to be apart.

The pleasant and familiar feeling of his hands, his lips and his manhood kissing your deepest part ignites a fire inside you. You pull both of your bodies up. You make him sit up and you straddle his lap.

But the truth is just right here, whispering in your ear…

“You’re just fucking whore” his distant voice yells form the back of your head

You want to forget

Your hands roughly pull on his hair as he thrusts up inside you, making you moan his name in a shaky whisper. He whimpers into the deep and messy kiss. Your hands run on his warm skin, desperate to find under your finger the soft sensation you used to know.

The sound of shattered glass on the floor

You want to forget

Your hips swivel around on him. You push your center against his hard cock, making him moan against the skin of your neck. Both if your warm bodies pressed together are reminded of each other.

Soft sobs, lying on the cold tiles of the bathroom

You want to forget

He nibbles on your collar bones while you throw your head back giving him unrestricted access to you. His swift hands contour you and harshly grip your waist to pull you up and push you down on him, walls clenching around him while you feel him twitch in pleasure. Baekhyun dives in on your chest, taking one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth.

The smudge makeup, the cold nights, the reek of alcohol, the screams, the sound of his hands leaving blue marks on your face, the horrors you said, the horrors he did… everything… everything…

You want to forget everything

“Aaaah… Baekhyun” you whisper, trying to cover the overwhelming rumor of your own memories.

“Fuck y/n” He breaths against your skin while you lower your hips on him.

It feels so good. He feels so good. You close your eyes, making sure to enjoy the moment while for a brief instant you didn’t feel miserable.

“Fuck Baekhyun… Aaaah'' you moan again, feeling your core throb around Baekhyun’s length while his comforting grunts fill the air between you.

“That's it baby” he purrs in your ears, hands roaming your body and lightly teasing your hard nipples. “Moan my name”

“Baekhyunnn” you cry out, feeling your release coming dangerously close as you rock your hips on him.

“Fuck baby you’re so tight” he moans “You’re gonna make me cum” He says pushing his hip up fucking you back while you both sync up, fucking each other and at a beatiful matching pace.

“Say you love me” you plead, desperately wanting to believe him.

“I love you. I love you y/n” his hoarse voice whistles in your ear.

“I love you too”

“Let's make that kid. Let's have that child we always dreamed about” he moans, nails digging into your bare thighs

“Okay” you whisper in a short breath, giving up, desperately wanting to believe this child will save the both of you.

“Take my cum baby.” His breath is short, struggling on every word. “Get pregnant... aghh” he grunts as he finally cums.

You feel him let go, huge amounts of thick cum rush inside of you, filling you up to the brink, reaching the deepest part of you, where life can possibly sprout.

You throw your head back, toes curled up and eyes rolled back as you bite hard on your bottom lip, fully enjoying the delicious full sensation spreading to your body as your heat uncontrollable twitches in a powerful orgasm.

You moan out his name like a prayer, like a religious mantra. A final vain attempt to make you both right for each other at last.

He crashes his lips onto your, trying to chase away your doubts while you throb around his cock.

“Cum for me baby” he whispers as you slowly ride your high, drunk on the unbearable pleasure he pumped inside you.

Once you both get down he looks at you eyes filled with something you can’t quite describe, something you’ve never seen before… Maybe hope.

“I love you y/n”

“I love you too”

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the tears rolling on your cheeks.

Even if it has to end in despair and sorrow, if it’s with him then you are willing to give it a pointless try once again. Because even if it’s a lie you love the way he looks at you when he says these three simple words.

General Masterlist

Tag list: @lovebuginlove @calamell @bobohumyonlyboo @smolbeanmika @making-me-blush @wooya1224 @yixing-jaehyun @f4ncyvelvet @lalalala-lav @deligxt @xofanfics @byunsugar @dixnysustae @to-all-the-stories-i-love @artisticcgroove @myexoobsession @geniusloey @blahblahblah-boo @nana-banana @mingiandbaconjam @chanyeolscoon (if you don't like angst i'm sorry for tagging you 😭)

A/N: There we go! Please tell me if I honored IM’s amazing song. I listened to it around 5000 times. So guys... can I write angst or not? I don't really know if I like it 🤔

#baekhyun angst #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic #byun baekhyun #exo smut #baekhyun ff #baekhyun one shot #exo baekhyun #exo fanfic #kpop smut #smut #angst #exo angst #angst with bitter sweet ending

204 notes · View notes

kaisa-ryo · 3 years

Text

Sukuna Ryōmen NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Lie on your back with your arms crossed under your head. Most of the time, Sukuna looks up at the ceiling and thinks about something; sometimes he talks to himself, asks himself if he really loves you or pretends to love you. But when you start to cuddle up to him, he looks at your sweet sleeping face and, smiling for some reason, gently squeezes your hand, which rests on his chest, and snuggles up to you.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

At first you thought he was joking when you said he liked your whole body. But he was not joking. From the outside, he really admires your whole body, because for him you are the most perfect specimen in the world, and he was simply mesmerized by your perfection. Perhaps it will surprise you, but you began to realize your sexual attraction only with him. Before him, you had no idea how good you are. Yes, there were those types who said that your eyes should be mesmerizing and your hair should be long. Or that you must have big lips. Naturally, for a long time you considered your appearance as your biggest flaw. But against the will of fate, as in a typical love story, one possessive brute appeared and made you love yourself. You haven't confessed to him yet that you are grateful to him for teaching him to love yourself. And even if every day he notices some flaws in you, you still don't listen to him, because you know that he still likes your body, it's just that such an egoist has a habit of influencing you and the people around you.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

Anywhere, as long as it is your body.

Yes, inside, too, is no less horny, but hell, you seem so spoiled and dirty in his eyes when you are covered in his cum. He will not let you go to the shower right away, because he wants your body to be more saturated with his scent. And he doesn't care that you are indignant, that you are uncomfortable. If he needs it, he will do it.

D = Dirty secret

Public sex.

Sukuna moans at the thought of how he is leaning you as much as possible against the panoramic window so that everyone can see how you wriggle and groan. You feel his tense flesh, watch how he digs more and more into your buttocks, and feel how his penis, increasing in size more and more, pierces your pussy. It seems as if in the whole universe there is nothing but his rhythmic movements inside you. Everything else: people outside the window, cars, barking dogs - nothing compared to this powerful electrical discharge that escapes from your body at that moment.

E = Experience

It was several times before you. Only now, none of them wanted to start a relationship with him. As, in principle, he is. Yes, baby, sex without obligation is still in fashion. You yourself can no longer remember why it was you who decided to take such a brave step - to meet with the curse, and even with their king. Probably because even behind the veil of selfishness and dependence on power, you could see in him one pitiful, but still a drop of humanity. Naturally, Sukuna did not disregard this and even imbued with your enthusiasm. And this splinter is still amazed that you have not left him yet.

F = Favorite position

His most favorite is missionary and doggy style with a squeeze of your wrists over your head. So he can do whatever he wants: change speed, pace, bite, and you cannot stop him or push him away.

G = Goofy (Serious at this moment?)

No.

During the process, he can throw something dirty and humiliating. Can slap, bite or hit. He cannot stand it when it is quiet and only spanking and your moans are heard. He needs to create a whole performance, whatever, just to fill the room with something passionate other than silence.

H = Hair (Is the hair okay?)

Not at all.

The king of curses does not see the need for this at all. If you're uncomfortable with giving a blowjob, he doesn't care. He's not going to waste time making you comfortable. Only throws a short "bear with it." But one day you still managed to persuade him to at least try, smirking him with cute eyes. Then he “limped” for a long time and was angry with you, because it was as if his skin had been ripped off below him, and now everything became sensitive. You laughed at him until everything grew back again, and Sukuna vowed that he would never shave his pubic hair again.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

Oh, he has a problem with that. But don't be in a hurry to despair, he just started to learn!

Most recently, he stopped making a grimace of disgust after kissing you on the cheek or kissing the back of his hand. There were some compromises - now he began to inhale your scent into all his lungs. Then you asked why and why, and received in response what he liked, how you smelled, adding that for all the time that he was on Earth, he had never felt such a unique and intoxicating scent. Not to say that it did not bother you at all, then you really felt a pleasant feeling of goosebumps.

He has no money for gifts, but if you try, he can take you to any place. If you want - to the forest, if you want - to an amusement park, if you want - to a park of culture and rest, if you want - to a museum. In general, such a good guide. Lazy and does not immediately agree, but still a guide.

You push him to all these (however, there is no one else), forcing him to watch dramas, musicals, family comedies, throwing fleeting glances at him when the romantic scene begins. He will cast a second glance at you and guess your goal, sighing in disgust and rolling his eyes.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

It happened a couple of times. That same dirty secret.

To be honest, he didn't react in any way when you caught him doing it in the middle of the day. Unless he just wanted you to "help him." You rolled your eyes and slammed the door, leaving for another room. He grinned maliciously with such a predictable reaction. He was sure that you wanted it, it was just that you didn't have the courage.

K = Kink

If you only knew how languidly he sighs when you give yourself pleasure. Especially if you do it for him. The way you do it turns all his ideas about sex upside down. How you moan when you play with your nipples and stick thin fingers into your hole - it makes his mind melt in an ocean of pleasure. How he fidgets, waiting for your orgasm when you start kissing him. How do you hold his shoulders, snuggling up to him so that he can feel all your hidden virtues. He asks for more and more. And then suddenly he sharply grabs the hair and digs his lips hard into your mouth. He has very strong arms, it seems that even a pinch of effort, and your head will be ripped off. Yes, power and the elements of BDSM are also on his list of favorite things about sex, as are bites or wet sucks.

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

To be honest, he has no preference.

If he wants to fuck you on the kitchen table, he will. If he wants to fuck you on the couch, he will. In the laundry, he'll do it. It's no secret for you that he would not mind trying a couple more places and he will never get tired of coming up with new ones.

M = Motivation

He likes it when you suddenly start to dominate or suddenly rub against his cock.

He realizes that he has a competitor and this idea turns him on as hell. Sukuna naturally loves to compete, and you also add fuel to the fire. Naturally, he will not give in, because you are still a pitiful person in comparison with him, and your power must be defended. Therefore, do not be surprised if he begins to act more efficiently than usual in order to assert his own greatness. And Sukuna will try to show you how small and insignificant you are, unlike him.

N = No (Which will not do)

Greed and the desire to completely control the process, of course, is what he aspires to, but when he sees you suppressed and constrained by some thought coming directly from your subconscious, it worries him much more. Such vulnerability literally tears him apart. Under the pressure of circumstances, he turns, in a sense, into an evil, but caring mother. The king of curses first looks at you, as if expecting your gaze on him. Realizing that this is useless, he starts the dialogue first:

— Well, what is different?

Now you didn't want to answer him. I didn't even want to see him. This is not the first time he has shown waywardness. It started to exhaust you in order. The thoughts in your head were dark and your voice sounded cold and indifferent. I thought that it would be better to kiss you or touch you tenderly, but his hands at that moment were too persistent. It infuriated, but it was already impossible to leave. And he did not stop talking to you.

— Sor..m.. - the words from his lips sounded somehow strange. He seemed to have eaten the last syllable.

— What? - you responded.

— Sorrmm...!

— I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.

— Forgive me already, fucked up!

He rolled his eyes after you started either laughing or crying (you laughed and he realized it almost immediately).

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

Receive. Definitely.

What else can you expect from a cursed spirit like him? He will definitely make sure that the blowjob is the longest process in sex for him. Moreover, he will do this persistently: winding your hair around your hand, forcing you to swallow the penis as deeply as possible, so that later as deeply as possible and finish. He doesn't care if you gag, cough or provoke a gag reflex. Sukuna insists that you have to endure, adding "for my sake" with feigned tenderness. You have no choice but to succumb to his pressure. After all, if you do not do this, do not expect that he will please you.

P = Pace

Very lively.

There is hardly a second when you can completely relax. He will hammer into you like a jackhammer, dig his nails into the skin, leaving red streaks on it, and whisper something viciously at the same time. In order to somehow soften these moments, you intensely squint and succumb to his tricks, allowing you to lull your vigilance and give an outlet to the accumulated tension. But you still feel a growing wave of excitement inside you. And Sukuna knows it, as if he reads your thoughts.

Q = Quickie

Immediately starts high. And if because of this you end up quickly, he will require a second round, then a third, and so it will continue until he gets tired of it. Your sex play can last for hours. His "come on, I know that you are already at the limit" will be repeated so often that you will not even be able to think about anything other than orgasm. And he fucking loves it.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

Always ready.

You have such compelling requests almost every day. You refuse the majority, because they sound too crazy, but he does not despair and continues to whisper details in your ear, if you nevertheless agreed. And this is, surprisingly, really a working method.

Did the baby suddenly want sex on the roof? Why not!?

On the director's desk? Oh, how can you refuse when you ask him so sweetly, moaning into the phone speaker and squeezing around the air, instead of which there should be yours and only your Sukuna.

S = Stamina

Fuck with him until the morning? Easy! If you are free all weekend, he will definitely find time for you to have fun (if you understand what I mean).

T = Toys

Bad attitude. It's just bad.

— This crap can't take and replace my dick like this! — shouted the King of curses, — Or do you think that she will be better!?

— No, that's not what I mean! — you yelled, — I just suggest you try.

— In that case, I'm against it.

He turned around and left.

You rarely managed to convince him, and this time he was seriously opposed to it. Well, if you want to try them, then you have to do it alone in secret from him.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

It is already difficult to remember at least one sex in which he would not tease you.

Yes! God yes! He knows that you want him at any time of the day or night. Every minute ... He knows all this and feels as if it is a part of him, as if he was destined to constantly touch, squeeze, lick and caress you. Feelings are heightened more if you tell him this directly. For this, he is ready for almost anything. He is ready to give up and just melt between your legs. His skin is so sensitive to your touch that every movement of yours creates desire in him. And an ordinary "dirty slut" excites both of you no less than any other intimate intimacy.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

Loud.

The kisses that descend on your goose bump, lower and lower, turn into a marathon of moans and screams. Whichever of you tries to sound quiet, at times like this it becomes useless. Sometimes you even thought that Sukuna just wanted to shout you down. Such thoughts make you smile involuntarily.

— Why are you smiling? Are these days over?

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

One neighbor lives next to you. Kind and friendly. Every day, there is a new gift for you - a cake, a cookie, or even a garden gnome. In general, he loves you very much and is constantly interested in when you will marry.

One night you were especially noisy: the bed was reeling back and forth, its back was banging against the wall, and you were screaming with pleasure so that the glass trembled. In general, it is not clear how the house sustained both of you, but you woke up in the morning as if you had slept for a whole month.

You were lying around, unable to even pick up your phone or go to the toilet. And then there was a knock on the door.

You quickly pulled on your panties, threw a robe over your naked body and with small steps ran to open the door. There was a neighbor at the door. It turned out that she had heard the noise from your house all night and decided that they were burglars or worse. The morning head, with difficulty digesting information, finally woke up and at that very second you felt so ashamed that you winced and closed your eyes.

— The guy and I had a fight a little. But it's okay. Rampaging is the norm for him.

She was a little taken aback by this answer.

— Was it me who was on the rampage? — There was a hoarse voice from behind, — Yes, you rode on me like a stallion! Although, to be honest, I liked such a filly...

The neighbor stares at Sukuna, dumbfounded.

You wanted to put it in a blender right now.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

20 cm. During erection ± 2.5

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

As stated earlier, Sukuna is not good at compliments or gifts. And he himself constantly claims that this is not necessary at all. He acts on the following principle: good for you, good for him, then everything is fine and nothing else is needed. You want something romantic, not depraved. Sometimes he gets bored with his reproaches and requests to spend the evening in bed again. One gets the feeling that he is not capable of anything else.

Sukuna wants to change for you. Listens attentively when you say anything about the human world. What are the customs, countries, traditions, sights. He remembered everything that you said to him and remembers, too, what you tell to this day. He wants to prove that you were not mistaken by discerning humanity in him, towards which no one ever dared even look. She looks at other men, studies gestures and tries to repeat them. Now you do not understand this, but one day you will realize it, and you will love him like you never did before.

± 8/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

He does not fall asleep and does not sleep. And he goes to his tomb and sits on the throne while thoughts of you visit him. The more he thinks, the more he wants to touch you. Take it and never let it go Any philosopher would say that you are the same as all people. She is as ordinary as millions of others, with her weirdness and naive dreams. Anyone would say, but definitely not him. He doesn't care if you’re ordinary or not, but he wouldn’t date you if he thought the same way. Even if you don’t live a thousand years like him, you’re ready to give you half of your life force, just to die with you.

He doesn't like such thoughts. They don't like the fact that you tied him to yourself, just once you smiled sweetly. He gets angry and screams that he allowed himself to get too carried away by you, and everything around, the whole world is just a pitiful soap bubble, which does not exist even in such a seemingly huge format as your most human soul of all.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

#jjk #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader

178 notes · View notes

acdeaky · 3 years

Text

to tell you the truth (i’m still in love with you)

warning: angst, fluff, mentions of sex

note: oscar isaac’s hot, no question. anyway, enjoy this, babies

word count: 3.3k

gif credit: @damerondjarin

it was dark out when you woke. the loud, incessant banging on the front door of your apartment had jerked you awake, and the minimal amount of lighting coming through the curtains let you know it was very early - or very late.

a part of you was tempted to roll back over under your sheets, pull them up to your chin and fall back asleep, but the knocking only seemed to become louder and more frequent.

you pulled off your covers and flicked on the small lamp by your bedside. your clock showed 2:43 as you shook your head and began to make your way through your small apartment to answer whoever thought it was a good idea to show up at your door right now.

you had an idea who it could be. there had been a few times when santiago had appeared on your doorstep in distress. on those occasions, you coaxed him inside with soft words and gentle touches as he pulled himself in on heavy feet, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders.

looking through your peephole, you knew this would be no different as you noticed the familiar stubble and greying hair of santiago’s, looking ever the same after three years. even after so long, you were who he crawled to, the only person who could calm the noise in his head.

the locks clicked as they were shifted, the hinges creaking afterwards as you pull the door open.

and, just as you knew, there he was. santiago’s usual, confident self was gone; even just looking at the way he held himself could tell you that. it almost looked like he was leaning against an invisible pole, his old stance gone, a new, tired one filling its place.

but he was here, and alive, and even after three years the only thing you could think of was-

“hi.” was all he said, a duffel bag by his feet and his hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

“hi, welcome home.” you simply spoke, leaning against your doorframe, feeling like your heart was about the burst the longer you stood and looked at him.

“do you know?” there was a slight quiver to his voice and his head dipped down from yours. “do you know where i went?”

“frankie told me. when you left that night, i waited a couple of days for you to come back. then i asked fish if he knew where you were and he said you were in south america. i asked when you’d be back and he didn't know. i didn't expect you to be back three years later.”

you could almost remember that day, as clear as if it happened yesterday. the night before he left, your best friend, santiago garcia, invited himself to your apartment - like many nights - and brought dinner. he laid the excuse as wanting to spend time with you, have a night like you used to (even though it had only been a week or so since you last did something like this together).

but santiago didn't take no for an answer; he let himself through the door and began pulling out containers of food and a couple of bottle of drinks. you welcomed it pleasantly, happy to be spending a night with just him, just santi, no tom or benny or will or frankie. no comments about your relationship, no teasing over your choice of drink (or teasing in general, which santiago would always reply with ‘they mean well’, and you know they do).

a few hours later, the food was gone and you had both had a few drinks. the sun was settling down on the horizon and, if you looked carefully, you could begin to see the moon creeping up behind it. the red and orange sky covered your open room with light, bringing in a peaceful glow with it. the light settled on santiago, like it was used to his body and the dips and bumps covering him.

he looked like a vision, ethereal. a beautiful dream which you had experienced so many times and you were selfish enough to only want to see it yourself for the end of time. you believed no one would appreciate it like you do, no one would find the same amount of beauty as you find in santiagoas he lets himself bask in the light.

neither of you had realised that you had moved closer to each other over the course of the evening. you had started on almost opposite sides of the sofa, but now found your thighs pressed against the other’s, you shoulders bumping into each other’s as you moved.

santiago’s music was playing in the background. at some point - god knows when - he had gone into the kitchen and, as he came back, the soft notes of his favourite song floated from the speakers and settled around you two. he handed you another drink, sitting back onto the sofa and leaning slightly towards you, his arm slung across the back cushions. his hand landed on your shoulder, and his fingers began drawing light patterns across your skin while he conversed with you.

it was something that rarely happened. santiago had done this with you before, that being eating, drinking and relaxing, allowing the music to pull you from the real world as you talked until the early hours. never been so close and intimate. at the time, you thought nothing of it as his lips came to meet yours in a delicate attempt at confessing his feelings.

the words “i've fallen in love with you” escaping his lips as they ghosted against yours, his breath hot and sticky against your skin as you replied, “i've fallen in love with you, too”.

santiago made you feel things you'd never felt before that night. he touched you with softness behind it, allowing his lips to travel wherever they could reach before picking you up off the sofa and trekking through the apartment to your room.

the two of you spent the night together filling it with passion, giggled and delicate kisses. neither of you could get enough of one another. to you, he tasted so good, like nothing you've ever endured before, something good and amazing and so characteristically santiago. to him, you tasted like home, a forever presence that he refused to get rid of.

and he really didn't want to.

come morning, the sheets beside you were cold and pulled back. the couple of bits he haphazardly threw on the bedside table the night before were gone and so were the clothes you remember tugging from his body. the only thing he left was his jacket; it was the one you loved on him, that smelt like him. alongside it was a note, the words ‘i love you, but there's something i have to do’ were carefully engraved on the paper.

that's when you waited. you gave santiago a few days to do whatever it was before you turned to frankie. that was a difficult conversation in itself and you could tell that frankie was as confused and conflicted as you were. he offered you an answer, more than santiago had given you, and a response to a question that no one in the world could answer, not even santiago.

“i'm sorry-”

“santi,” you stopped him, not wanting to do this - whatever it was - on the doorstep of your apartment at almost three in the morning. “do you - its late - but do you wanna come in?”

santiago looked back up at you, seeing your warm smile and kind eyes, something he had missed for the last three years. “yeh- yes, please.” you gave him a light nod, stepping further back into your apartment to give him space to pull himself through with his duffle bag.

even after three years, he was still your santi. the cap he adorned was one you had spotted and persuaded him to buy; one which he had worn almost every single day since he went away. the jacket was new, one to replace his other one, but it fit him well, allowing his broad shoulders a chance to be seen. the colour suited him, too, a dark navy blue.

he was heavy on his feet as he entered, shuffling around like he was a stranger in a foreign country as he thought about where was best to leave his bag. that had been his life for the past three years; everything he had and knew lived in there while he was deep in the jungles of south america.

much to his surprise, he came back unscarred, physically at least. of course, his knees had taken a hit during his - mission? - and the neck surgery he gotten gotten the year before hadn't helped much either. but aside from that, he would be fine, so long as the nightmares were kept at bay, no one would think any different of santiago.

but you weren't just anyone. you had seen santiago in his most vulnerable states, in every sense of the phrase. there was almost nothing you didn't know about him, but now, there was a large part of him you were a stranger to. without even knowing a tiny part of what had happened, you knew the santiago who was currently in front of you, sweaty hands and shaking nerves, was a different man to the one who left you three years ago.

three years. god, santiago had changed, as had you. you had never been with someone since. many people had tried to win your affection, attempting to entice you with the promise of dinner and a sense of forever, but you didn't want that anyone but him, a man who was on a completely different continent and who had probably had many others beside him in his bed since that one night.

regardless of how he had acted out there, your love never faltered, unlike your hope for his return. the light inside of you which had been sparked by santiago’s promise of love had quickly diminished when you began to believe that he would never come home.

but you wouldn't think any different of him. he just didn't know that.

“can i-”

“i'm sorry for-” you both began, santiago seemingly wanting to smooth things out above anything else. “you go.”

“no, no, it’s okay. i just- do you wanna sit?” he nodded, watching your finger point towards your sofa in the open space. it was the one where that night began, but most definitely didn't end. you knew that. he knew that. but you weren't offering a seat in a malicious way, wanting to see him squirm and suffer while making him remember what happened that night, you could see that he was tired. it was the least you could do.

so santiago took your offer, turning away from you in a vain attempt at calming himself down. that wouldn't happen until things were sorted, until he felt that you knew everything. he just wanted to say-

“what happened?” you whispered into the quiet, turning on a small light to light up the room. it glowed over the sofa, settling around your bodies as you moved to sit down next to santiago, not completely ready for how long this could take.

but he was. santiago knew everything that happened in those years and it would not take a few minutes to tell. there was too much to say and almost not enough time.

the story began with his time colombia, working for the police as a private military advisor. next came lorea and santiago’s escapades with his informant in search for the drug lord. he explains the house - the safe - and the job, how he roped benny and tom and will and frankie into helping him with the job.

he didn't even make it through the mountains - tom.

and something about the night feels strangely familiar. with the two of you, sat there, being shielded from the world only by your thin curtains, it felt like home. familiarity. the thing that seemed to have left you three years ago and escaped to south america.

your bodies were pressed into each other’s sides, the feeling of just another person being there after so long brings about comfort in the both of you. a warm, calloused hand of his sat in the both of yours, a thumb gently rubbing over the back of his hand.

somehow, your eyes were trained to santiago’s head throughout his story, never leaving his body for a second in case you missed something, anything. as for him, his eyes never left your joined hands, watching the delicacy of your movements, concentrating his sight on something so small, but so significant to him.

it was silent for a few moments after he finished. santiago kept his head down, watching the comfort on his hands, whereas your eyes were darting over his entire body, taking him in, thinking how much you had missed him.

“i’m so sorry, santi.” your voice was quiet, like earlier, only just drifting from your mouth and into his ears. that’s when he moved, shaking his head before looking up at you, finally meeting your eyes for the second time in years.

“no, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have just up and left like that, especially after what happened the night before.” there was a small smile on your face at that reminder and you hadn’t even noticed the quiver in his voice.

“it’s okay,” one of your hands left his thigh, moving upwards to cup santiago’s cheek, the stubble a little longer than usual. “you’re here now, and everything will be okay.”

his eyes closed as you allowed yourself this time to look at him. there was exhaustion buried deep inside of his skin, the usual relaxed look that he held whenever he closed his eyes was gone. it seemed that only a shell of the man you used to know came back from south america.

but you knew he was there. you knew your santiago was there, underneath it all. that’s why you held him. and that’s why you’d continue to hold him for as long as he needed you to.

without much thinking, you leaned closer to him, pressing your lips against his for only a second. an innocent kiss, much different to the ones you two had shared before he left, but it meant more to you both than either of you could describe.

then, as delicate as ever, one of his hands reached up to join your own, his large palm completely covering the back of yours. “come on,” you whispered, your free hand moving to card through his unruly curls. “let’s get you to bed.”

a slight nod was your only answer, that and the lack of resistance he gave you your hands grabbing his and helping him up from the sofa. everything stayed where it landed, neither you nor santiago making any effort to grab his bag and pull it into your room.

it almost seemed domestic. almost. as you crawled back under your covers, santi stripped off his jacket, leaving him in just a dark t-shirt. his jeans followed, the metal of the buckles clashing together as he pulled them off. the hat was last, being placed gently on your chest of drawers before he made his way over to you.

like usual, you welcomed him, pulling back the covers just enough for him to slip under, shuffling his body closer to yours. as he laid on his back, you took the silent invitation to press into his side. just as any other time, your head rested on his chest, both of your arms wrapping around the other’s body.

santiago let out a deep breath, his chest rising and falling so slowly it felt like you let one out, too. maybe you did, but it wasn’t important with where you were and who you were with in that moment. he was finally home, back and safe in your arms and not in a godforsaken dark corner of the narcotics war.

you fell back asleep to the steady beat of his heart, his hands running up and down your skin as he tries to soothe himself to sleep. eventually he does, well after you, but he feels safe this time, being back in your arms doing wonders for his mind.

it felt as if it had only been a few moments, but it wasn’t long before you could feel the rise and fall of santiago’s chest again, but this time on your back. the warmth of his breath on the nape of your neck was calming, that and the warmth of his hand over your exposed skin.

“we should get up, honey.” he says delicately, his voice rough with sleep, dry sounding, and you can feel him behind you, his eyes just barely opening as he decides to start his day. you feel guilty that you wish he wasn't awake, even as he reaches closer, an arm tightening around your waist as the other slips between the pillows and your head, reaching out for your hand as your other lands on his forearm, affectionate, loving.

there was no use in pretending you weren't awake, your need to touch him, to feel him and know he was there and not in some god forsaken place in colombia, too great to even attempt to stay in his arms longer.

“we shouldn't.” you mutter, turning your head to press into his skin, soft, warm. your fingers danced across his bronzed skin, keeping your lips pressed against his bicep as you did so.

santiago was complacent behind you, not even bothering to attempt to stay true to his words as he reveled in you, your warmth, your love, the exact thing he had missed all these years. his breath was still warm on the back of your neck, his lips only ghosting over your skin. even after last night, after the sacred kisses and emotions you’d shared, this is what stumped him.

it was only a few minutes later when you twisted onto your back, your hand leaving santi’s as you shifted to face him instead of hiding away. the hand that had left his own cradled his exposed cheek, your thumb carressing the delicate skin.

the beautiful brown eyes you love were still hidden by sleep-ridden eyelids. the only indication that he was awake being the small smile that adorned his face as you continued your ministrations, your own eyes flittering over his features like he would disappear, again.

“are you still in love with me?” he asked, breaking the silence without even opening his eyes to look at you, “after everything i’ve done?” his voice was so quiet, so petrified of your response, especially when that gentle hand stopped moving. god, never stop holding him like that.

“i’ve always been in love with you, santiago,” you assured him, guiding your hand to the back of his head to pull him even closer to you, fingers tangling in his short curls, “i don’t think i can ever stop.”

“can i tell you the truth?” his eyes finally met yours, confidently shifting the hand on your hip around you to press flat against your back, bringing your chests closer, bringing you closer.

“please.” it was a whisper, a beg, your plea for him to tell you what you already knew.

“i’m still in love with you.”

if anyone wants to be tagged in my oscar writing, let me know!

taglist: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty @1001-yellow-daffodils @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80 @goldhoran @scarecrowmax @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawings @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen @bhxrdy

santiago taglist: @stardust-galaxies @kindablackenedsuperhero

people who i think may like: @damerondjarin @unstoppableforcce @starryeyedstories @sergeantkane @youvebeenlivingfictional @writefightandflightclub @anetteaneta

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #once agAIN #this has been in my drafts for a while #like my last javi one #but here she is #and she’s beautiful #i love this one #and i hope you do too!#enjoy babies #x reader #acdeaky

167 notes · View notes

starrysebastians · 3 years

Text

Tis the damn season

Summary : On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other. I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count : 11k

Warnings : general sadness, mentions of death and strained family relationships, but holiday fluff to make up for it.

A/n : this was written for @wonderlandmind4's fall winter challenge, thank you for hosting this! (Got carried away with the word count while simultaneously having no inspiration and writing utter shit I'm genuinely sorry about this?????)

"God I hate this damn season and everything about it."

The sound of pebbles aggressively kicked by your foot is drowned out by the driver's door being slammed shut. It echoes around the empty street, morning fog still lingering in the air even in the early afternoon. A white cloud escapes your lips as you sigh, emptying all of your lungs' air before breathing in once again, and your eyes follow the shape — up, up, until it vanishes into the air and you are left staring at a familiar bay window. The curtain moves before you can even begin to turn your gaze away and a curse escapes your lips.

"Think they saw us?" His tone is dripping with irony.

Bucky is leaning against the car, arms crossed against his broad chest and his face as blank as your mind when you try to think about why you chose to do this. In the small moment of contemplation you were having, you didn't even notice him walk around the car and stand next to you.

"Nah, impossible," you say deadpan as a hand waves behind the glass. You stare at it silently before you talk again."We can still make a run for it."

You don't move as Bucky pushes himself off the car and opens the trunk, bags all held in his metal hand. The trunk slams shut and he is already crossing the road leading to the front lawn.

"I was being serious!" You call out, huffing when he turns around and glares at you.

Throwing up your arms and letting them fall back at your sides with a heavy sigh, you begrudgingly lock the car and walk towards the house — it seems so much smaller to you now.

"Of course they put Christmas decorations literally everywhere," you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling a wave of holiday hatred hitting you at full speed.

Bucky eyes you for a second before knocking on the door, a horrified expression distorting your features when the word wait doesn't get to be voiced out loud. His eyes are more grey than usual, matching the sky, and they hold a twinkle of amusement at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes looking up at the sky as if some sort of alien could possibly appear and whisk you far away from here.

It's intriguing, seeing you this way — in your hometown, nervous about spending Thanksgiving with your parents. Nervous isn't the right word though, because he thinks he has never seen you nervous before ; there are actually a lot of emotions he hasn't seen you display yet. Not that he has a reason to, actually, because he only sees you when you are visiting Sam at their new headquarters, or when you are helping out on a mission. So really, he has only seen you laughing at Sam's jokes, or being angry at armed criminals. And what is left between those two extreme moods are mostly you being silent or passive-agressive — although the passive-aggressiveness is reserved for him, he has noticed.

"Y/N!" Your mother's voice makes you want to wince and you purse your lips, a poor attempt at smiling. Bucky had stepped behind you after having knocked on the door and you are at the forefront of every attack.

Arms feel strange and foreign around you, a warmth you are not used to anymore. You can't really feel your hands as you awkwardly reciprocate the gesture, patting your parents' back as your gaze rests upon the staircase, so many memories rushing to your mind at once.

"Hi," you say simply, taking a step back and crossing your arms. You clear your throat, leaning closer to Bucky, your arm brushing his. This is what a regular person would do, right? "This is James."

You don't really pay attention to the way your mother's arms engulf Bucky — poor guy. Their voices are just noise to you as you step around them and walk to the living room. We have been dying to meet you. Y/N has been keeping you hidden from us for so long. We are so glad to have you here, James. Slow and careful steps, eyes taking it all in — the green walls, the fireplace, the old rug and the stains you've made, the painting you've always found disturbing. It smells just the same. You run your hands across every surface, fingers lingering on cold wood.

"It's a good thing that you're here early. I'll show you to your room and you can settle in, rest a little." You turn around lazily, lids heavy with the weight of nostalgia and old visions. Your mother's hand is resting on Bucky's forearm, probably because his shoulder was out of reach, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wonder if he is uncomfortable being touched like this by your parents or if it is something else. "You must have had a long ride."

Bucky opens his mouth and you cut him off before he can even begin to utter a single word, eyes boring into his with a warning.

"We did. Exhausting. Lots of traffic." You have faked enough yawns in your life to fool even your own parents — then again, how long has it been since they last saw you? And it takes little effort to conclude that you and Bucky will rest in your room for a while before coming down and helping with dinner preparations.

The stairs creak under your feet and you smile a little at the sound. Your room smells like old wood, rays of light playing with dust particles around you. An old fluffy carpet, pastel tones and white walls, very few decoration. Some pictures — pictures of artists you used to like, empty postcards, not personal ones. These ones have been taken off the wall years and years ago.

The mattress dips under your weight as you slump down on your bed, fingers moving on their own to stroke a soft blanket. Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes lingering on the almost empty walls. The thought of you and him in your old room and sharing your bed finally crosses your mind.

"M’gonna go for a walk," you suddenly say, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. You don’t walk towards the door, but towards the window instead.

"O...kay," Bucky drawls out. He watches as you open the window, grunting as it requires some forceful pulling. "Is this a secret code for...I’m gonna jump out the window and die so I can avoid my parents?"

You snicker, closing your eyes and breathing in as the icy air finally hits your face. Tendrils of hair fly around your features and tickle your skin. You turn around, fingers putting your hair back into place, strands tucked behind your ears.

"I wish," you almost don’t add anything, but Bucky looks so utterly lost and confused as you throw a leg outside that you have to. "I used to sneak out of here all the time. It’s safe, there’s a big ledge and then I land on the guest room's balcony."

"When are you getting back?" He only asks, pushing his body off the wall and going to sit down on the spot you were occupying just a minute before.

"In time. Don’t worry," this time you’re fully out of the room, feet expertly walking on the ledge. "If they knock just say I’m asleep." You stop in your tracks, voice louder. "And don’t go through my stuff. I’ll know and I’ll kill you."

Bucky’s still sitting on the bed when you get back, your hair slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity and the small drizzle outside. Cheeks and nose reddened by the cold and eyes brighter now that you have breathed in some fresh air, that isn't the air from New-York, something purer with a familiar smell.

"I’ve been gone two hours. Please tell me you’ve got up at least once," you mock, bending down to untie your shoelaces and avoid making mud stains all over the carpet. This floor has suffered enough over the years.

"No. I’ve been sitting there waiting for you like the good dog that I am." His voice dripping with sarcasm, you roll your eyes. "Told them you were asleep and blocked the door in case they wanted to check on you."

You raise your head slowly, squinting at him.

"So...you talked to them?"

He stares back with a bored expression.

"Yes. I’ve talked to them. I'm spending Thanksgiving with them and sleeping in their house, so I figured maybe I could behave like a civilized person and say hi, you know." You blink. "Plus, I'm your boyfriend." You blink again.

"You didn't have to talk to them so soon. We've got all night," you mumble, now going for your socks.

"I've endured far worse than having a full conversation with someone's parents, Y/N," he chuckles and your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

"Right."

Bucky looks at you, really looks at you. Hands going through your hair and gripping it a little too tight as you try to weave your fingers through knots and tangled strands — wind still raging outside. Dark shadows under your lashes from having rubbed your eyes in exhaustion and forgetting you had mascara on. Jaw ticking every now and then as your eyes bore into an empty spot, and he doesn't know if you are staring at an actual object or at something that only exists in your mind.

"Have they asked anything about us?" You say, sitting down on the floor and next to your travel bag.

"The usual. How we met, how long we’ve been together…that sort of thing."

Your stomach twists and you look up, alarmed.

"Oh god. What did you tell them? I forgot to make something up. We should have discussed this in the car, I just forgot." You run your hands through your tangled hair, again. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Bucky’s eyes follow your every move as you rummage through your bag to find another top, fingers pulling on a soft black fabric. "I told them we met through Sam. And obviously they knew who he was — who I was, so I assumed they knew about you too." There’s an interrogation in his voice and you simply nod in confirmation. "So we talked about our jobs, mostly."

"Exciting," you comment sardonically. "And how long have we been dating?"

"Told them we started dating before the snap."

You freeze, hands still resting on your black top, a slightly sheer and shiny material you thought would be more festive.

"So…definitely more than five years," you start, and he nods in response. "And...that means I visited Wakanda, right?"

He thinks for a second.

"Right. Yeah."

You hum again.

"Not very practical. I’ve never been to Wakanda."

"Now you have a problem with accuracy?"

You glare at him.

"No. Just saying. We could have met in New-York. Would have been simpler. That's all."

"Right. Two months ago and it was love at first sight so you’re already bringing me home to your parents — whom you haven’t seen in years. Makes sense." You clench your jaw and he raises a brow, sparkling blue eyes taunting you.

Glaring at him one last time, you turn around and face the wall.

"First of all, we didn’t meet two months ago," you start undoing the buttons of the cardigan you are wearing. "I'd definitely remember if I had only been enduring your presence for two months." He scoffs behind you.

You pull your cardigan over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. Some deodorant and you grab the festive top. Bucky stares at your back for a second, soft skin covered in small beauty spots and old scars, defined muscles in action grabbing his full attention. Your neck, the way your hair brushes up your shoulders, the glimpse at your breasts and the curve of your waist — he focuses his gaze on the window instead. An afternoon sky blanketed by dark grey clouds, a promise of rain and a mirror of what he guesses is an internal turmoil.

"And?"

"And what?" You face him again, fitted dark fabric clinging to your body.

"You said first of all. I’m assuming there’s a second part." Brow quirked and smirk slowly lifting the left corner of his mouth, he watches your face fall.

"There isn’t," he nods, full mocking smile on his lips now. "I actually like using first of all knowing there’s nothing else I have to add. It’s a figure of speech."

He scoffs, shaking his head.

"It’s not."

"It is now," you stand up, brushing your hands against your thighs. You are now dressed in all black and it looks like you are going on a mission. You are, somehow. "Are you gonna change for tonight?"

"What, is it that ugly?" Bucky looks down at his outfit.

Fitted blue sweater and black jeans with dark combat boots. You know he had cut his hair right after...everything, but it has grown out again and you’re surprised to find curls. You don’t notice him looking up, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon the blue of his sweater and the way it hugs his chest. He clears his throat and you meet his gaze — curious.

"No, it’s not," you force a smile. "It’s very nice, actually. Brings out your eyes." You sigh, turning around and grabbing your toilet bag and makeup.

"I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not right now," Bucky frowns. Isn’t it part of the job description to know whether people are being genuine or not? Aren’t spies supposed to know that kind of thing? He never can tell with you. Everything you say has that kind of monotonous tone and it's either ironic or deadly serious.

You let out a light chuckle as you enter the bathroom. "I’m not making fun of you, Barnes. Blue looks good on you."

You stare at your reflection for a second. Pale skin and dark circles, the remnants of a fight barely visible because your hair is hiding the last remaining scar. The door to the bathroom was left open and you catch Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

He busies himself with his bag, going through his stuff and deeming perfume to be the only necessary adjustment to his current state. Fingers scratching an unshaven throat, he calls out your name, meeting your eyes again in the mirror. You only hum.

"Should I call you babe for the weekend?"

Your hand halts mid-air, makeup brush just a few centimeters away from your skin.

"What?"

"Well. We’re selling this thing. What about PDA, that sort of thing?"

You laugh again, and this time it sounds really genuine to him. High and full of disbelief.

"Didn’t think you were familiar with the term PDA," you shake your head to yourself while he rolls his eyes. "But to answer your question — " you turn to look directly at him, complexion brighter and cheeks rosier. "— call me babe and you won't live to see another day. "

"Why have someone pretend to be your boyfriend if you're just gonna act like he's your friend?"

"Barnes. You think you have to exchange saliva with me in front of my parents for them to believe we’re together? Me bringing you here is already huge, trust me."

He stares at your back. Dropping the subject.

"Should I shave?" You don't need to look at him to answer confidently.

"No. I love a man with a stubble."

You finish your makeup in silence as he lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dinner that awaits him. He is curious about you and your family. Not a lot of people in this field still have their parents, or at least are being honest about what they do for a living. But mostly he is curious about you, someone he has been getting used to working or training with, but not holding casual conversations or doing simple things.

A week earlier

Bucky raises a brow as Sam answers his phone. It’s eight in the morning and they just returned from their morning job, among fog and drizzle, the sun slowly rising over New York City and filtering through Central Park's trees and half-empty branches. It is not as cold as it should be for this time of the year, but he can still feel the early morning air biting at his face, even inside the apartment. Sometimes after a run he has breakfast with Sam, when they haven’t bickered so much on the way over that Bucky decided to run home instead.

"I cannot deal with this amount of bad energy in the morning. Come over," Sam laughs and Bucky stares at his mug of coffee while his mind goes though every possibility.

And when Sam opens the door and you step in, he goes back to staring at his mug, only watching your every move from the corner of his eye. You do look agitated for someone who probably woke up less than an hour ago.

"I can’t." The new Captain America shakes his head and you grab him by the shoulders, hands looking so small.

"Sam. I wasn’t asking. This is not an option."

"We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner at the VA, I can’t ditch the guys," he says and you groan, head thrown back.

You plop down on a bar stool, the one across Bucky, and you only nod at him as a hello. He rolls his eyes — typical. He is hunched over the kitchen counter, plate of pancakes drowned in maple syrup placed in front of him. You stare as he picks up his fork and knife and starts eating, following every mouthful with empty eyes.

He almost opens his mouth to snap at you before you slightly shake your head and turn to the window to your left. The beginning of fall doesn't feel like it is supposed to — yellows and oranges and reds could be a palette of grey and you wouldn't even notice the difference. It's not the same anymore.

"Why do you absolutely have to bring someone anyway?" You sigh as Sam asks.

"They think I have a long-time partner."

"Why would they think you have a long-time partner when I've never even seen you hold a conversation with a guy?" Bucky comments.

"First of all, you've been gone five years. I'd shut up if I were you." You scowl, lips almost curling up in anger when you whirl around to glare at him. "Second of all, you're not exactly a god in that area either."

"Well I have been gone for five years, I've got an excuse," he shrugs with a smirk and you eye the table where they are sitting at, pastries and pancakes, fruits and hot beverages, full glasses. "Throw that glass of water at my face and I'll kill you."

You hold his gaze for a second and purse your lips, eyes turning away as you sit down and rest your elbows on the wooden surface, permanent frown etched on your face.

"They think they've missed five years of my life, I had a moment of…weakness. Didn't have the heart to tell them I was still single." You look out the window again. The wind howls loudly and a chill runs across your spine even though you're perfectly warm inside. "I think I'm gonna say he died."

You don't pay attention to the small beat of silence that follows your sentence — a silence that is interrupted by Bucky's fork scratching against his plate. You scowl at him.

"You're gonna say what now?"

You shrug at Sam.

"Then I don't have to explain why we broke up. And since I will spend years recovering my mom won't think of bothering me with boyfriend talk for a while." Which seems like a rather logical and practical plan to you, underserving of such funny looks.

"You can't just make up someone and then say they died, Y/N."

"I don't see why not. A lot of people have died recently, I can easily get away with it." The way you speak and shrug, it's all innocent and casual, but your words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look and stare at each other for a second as if a simple blink was enough for them to communicate their exact thoughts. You almost feel jealous.

"Just take someone else. I’m sure some of your friends have nothing to do on Thanksgiving."

Something heavy settles on your chest as you think of the people you would have loved to take home to your parents. Tony would have been impressive — albeit older and, well, married with a child. But your parents would have been starstruck. And Natasha would have seduced them right away. One foot into the threshold and they would have swooned at her feet, hanging onto her every word. Steve would have made the perfect boyfriend — the ideal american sweetheart, thoughtful and selfless, not the kind of person who would let you down. Not the kind of person who would leave everything behind.

When your silence has stretched for a little too long, you clear your throat, tightening your hold around a steaming cup of tea that you assumed was meant for you. Sam is now sitting next to you and you hadn't even realized he had moved while contemplating how lonely your life was. Bucky is staring at you with an unreadable expression and you shrug, again.

"I don't really have anyone else to bring. But that's okay. I'll stick to my story," you give Sam a woeful smile. "They'll think I'm sad and avoid annoying me for the whole evening so really I couldn't ask for a better story."

You stretch your arm in order to reach the plate of pancakes, but your fingers barely graze it. Bucky silently pushes it towards you and you simply purse your lips. It looks like a smile, right? Drowning your pancakes in syrup just like he did five minutes ago, you sit up straighter and exhale. Then your tone changes. "Anyway."

Sam crosses his arms and nods at Bucky. Blue eyes fixed upon the dark-skinned man’s face, he already knows.

"Bucky doesn’t have anything planned for Thanksgiving," he starts and you keep chewing. "You should take him. I’m told he’s great boyfriend material."

You slowly look up, skeptic look on your face.

"I feel like you could sabotage me at dinner and I do not want that. The whole thing’s annoying enough as it is."

He shrugs. Too bad. Sam’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger and Bucky sighs, setting his fork on the counter and leaning back. The leather squeaks under his weight and he clears his throat. The noise makes you raise your head and you look at him curiously.

"I’ll behave."

You stay silent for a little while as Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. Is he better than making up someone and then saying they died? You think about it, and the chance of your mother not leaving you alone and looking at you with pity instead suddenly crosses your mind. Not good. Not your plan.

"Okay," you resign. Your pancakes don’t taste as good as they did before you said yes. Bucky and you have probably exchanged ten full sentences ever since you met, and they weren’t necessarily sweet. It is not that you don’t get along or fight — you work well together, actually. But he’s not your friend either. And sometimes, most of the time, you can’t help but feel something akin to anger build up in your chest when you look at him and see Steve instead.

The table is pretty. Red and green, matching the decorations hung upon the fireplace and all over the house. Candles and elegant wine glasses. Christmas tree already up in the back of the living room, which you can still see from your spot at the table. The flickering lights and glittering garlands are a welcomed distraction to the people actually sitting in front of you, and you can't even remember the last time you had dinner with your parents. So formal.

You notice your mother stealing a glance at you before she fully turns her body towards Bucky. Fuck. You try to shoot her a warning glance but her sweet smile is already into place and there is nothing you can do except watch. You knew appetizers and amuse-bouches and your comments about their incredible taste would not be enough to keep the conversation from turning more personal, but you didn't think it would be so soon.

"You know, this is the first Thanksgiving Y/N is spending with us." Bucky quirks a brow and you scoff in disbelief.

"This isn't true. I have distinct memories of yelling and burnt turkey. Where else would that be?" You deadpan, hand moving towards your glass before stopping mid-air, a single drop of red wine left starring back at you.

You hold back a groan, eyes flickering between the glass and the bottle. Should you maybe wait before getting a refill and not get any comments from your parents?

"I meant, this is the first Thanksgiving you're willingly spending with us. You were sixteen last time," your mother's voice holds the same irony, but hers is sad while yours sounds angry. Bucky steals a quick glance at you without ever moving his head, and smiles sweetly at your mother, as if trying to make up for your attitude. "Are you still in touch with your parents, James?"

"Oh god," you groan, hand on your forehead. "Mother."

You decide that possibly getting a comment about your drinking habits is worth it if drinking means not feeling this crushing weight of shame, embarrassment, and everything else. Bucky looks down at your arm as it emerges right in front of him — you don't spare him a glance, fingers curling up around the bottle and the sound of wine filling up your glass grows higher and higher until you stop. Even this can't drown out the conversation. Your dad's voice echoes from the other room, footsteps drawing closer.

"Sweetie, I think you're forgetting how old James is."

You don't watch as Bucky probably smiles softly at your dad, then at your mom, and says it's fine. Red wine is pretty when it is swirling in a moving glass — it reminds you of fall, leaves twirling in the wind, the red lipstick you're wearing, but mostly blood.

Your mother is babbling out apologies and reaching out for Bucky's hand across the table and he is being so gentle and patient it makes you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for being so good to them.

"We only heard from Y/N six months ago, actually."

"Well, you were gone before, so," you mutter, regretting every single choice that has lead you to this moment. Bucky perks up, eyes going quickly between your closed face and your parents, eyebrows drawing in a compassionate frown. Man, is he good at this.

"Were you both…taken by the snap?"

You sigh, turning your head to look out the window while Bucky and your parents talk about their shared experience, finger tracing the rim of your glass over and over again. For some the light around them and their alternate universe was all blue, others say it was a sort of ethereal shade of green. Some have non memory whatsoever of the whole experience and you wonder what it would have been like for you. You think that a minute in a world on literal fire would have been better than five years in the real one.

Natasha's world is probably made out of purple and red — you hear this is how Vormir looked. Pretty.

The rain suddenly hitting the bay window snaps you out of your quiet moment of contemplation. It was left slightly open and the sound of the wind blowing through swaying trees lulls your for a second, eyes unfocused.

Your name echoes around the dining room again and your gaze snaps to that of your mother.

"What?" You say in a sigh.

"Nothing!" Her tone is unusually high. "I was just explaining to your boyfriend how we reunited. You visiting us when everyone came back." She looks at Bucky again. "It was a big surprise."

You don’t meet his gaze, instead resting your elbows on the table and nuzzling your face in the palms of your hands. You probably should have kept being a ghost.

"A good one, I bet?" He keeps his tone light.

Your mom goes on about how they have missed you all this time and you resume playing with your glass. And maybe refill it a few times.

"Oh. We saw the ceremony you had for Steve Rogers with Captain...Captain America. It was very moving." Your dad tells Bucky with a compassionate frown and you purse your lips. You almost want to put your hand on Bucky’s shoulder — his hand, his thigh, anything to give him some sort of comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to move your own hand. Everything feels really heavy.

In your opinion, it’s actually a good thing that Steve died so soon. He had first been a man out of time when he woke up in 2011, and managed to adapt. Even said he wouldn’t go back because the past was the past. Right. But coming back an old man, having lived another full life while your friends remain the same? This wasn’t right, for anyone. With Tony and Natasha gone, you would rather have Steve be gone as well. Can’t really move on if something is still holding you back — now they’re all definitely gone.

Your chair scratches the wooden floor as you stand up on almost-wobbly legs.

"M’gonna check on the turkey." Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own and your throat hurts.

Voices are drown out as you close the kitchen door, back resting against it for a moment. The room is hot even though the window has been left open. You breathe in and out slowly, taking in the smell of pies and spices. You walk towards the window, slowly, taking it all in as you calm down. Nothing is in its usual place. Scattered utensils over every surface, traces of flour and sugar on the table and bottles which haven't been closed. Something makes you jump and it's a pan is overflowing.

There are only a few seconds left on the oven's timer. Pan situation under control, oven gloves on both hands, you think maybe cooking more for yourself would take your mind off things. You almost sigh in contentment as the warmth from the plate spreads through your hands, arms and even radiates through your chest.

All sorts of pies litter the kitchen table, cinnamon, clove and ginger invading your senses. All of you is consumed by spices and sounds of domestic life and it looks so homey but you can't bring yourself to feel at home. This whole day has been like being in a dream, floating through life, childhood and Thanksgiving memories like an intruder. Seeing yourself move around but not being able to control or truly touch anything.

You see yourself with the turkey between your gloved-hand, red lipstick and pretty outfit hugging your body. You see yourself ten years ago, dressed in a red dress and hair cascading down your back, laughing hysterically as you set a turkey down on a large wooden table, candles lighting up your friends' eyes. Seven years ago, in that deep green jumpsuit — the color of Natasha's eyes, Tony had said all night. Six years ago, in that matching Christmas jumper and soft socks in which you kept slipping on the cabin's floor. Five years ago and the years following the snap when everything was dark and hopeless and you had lost so much but you still had Natasha and Tony and Steve.

Every single bittersweet Thanksgiving memory plays out right before your blurry eyes, like a film. A compilation of every celebration shared between loved ones, your chosen family. And it feels so lonely without your best friends and half of the team you used to be.

Your hands shake as you go to set the plate down on the kitchen table — it's greasy and slippery and your hands are starting to burn so you don't even feel the glove slowly slipping.

Fuck.

It takes a moment to be fully registered.

"Fuck!"

On the other side of the door, Bucky’s cough is enough to cover a string of colorful curses and the cracks and tears in your voice. Your hands are as wet as your cheeks and you drop to your knees, muttering shit shit and shit all over again under your breath.

The plate clatters against the floor as you set it beside the turkey. Too loud. The minute your mother enters this kitchen you are a dead woman. "Shit."

Footsteps draw closer and heavier and you curse again, hands greasy and knees hurting from hitting the tiles. Somehow your fingers won’t grasp the turkey’s correctly and it keeps slipping back to the floor.

The door creaks open and you whirl around, eyes wide open and a strings of excuses ready. But Bucky stands here, hands in his back closing the door behind him and keeping anyone from seeing what is happening inside the kitchen. Mouth agape and tear tracks probably visible on your face, you finally close your mouth to gulp, turning your back to him and breathing in and out as quietly as possible.

Which is probably not quiet enough for someone whose ears are more than human.

You sniffle. Bucky stares at your back, hand still securing the doorknob. He doesn’t really know how to proceed with you, so he takes a few quiet steps forward. He clears his throat.

"I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?"

This is so stupid.

"Bucky. The turkey’s on the floor. Literally."

"Yeah. I can see that," he eyes you, gauging your expression. Your eyes are dead set on the animal and hands still hovering over it, not quite stable. "It’s okay. They won’t know. I made noise when you dropped it."

"You did?" Your voice is smaller than usual and he bats your hands away from the turkey, grabbing it with his metal hand.

"Yeah. Coughed so hard your mom almost stood up to keep me from choking." You gape at him. He smiles at your stunned expression and the turkey is back in its plate, looking perfectly normal. Your hands are still greasy and you don't know what to do with them.

"Hey," Bucky's voice is softer than it usually is. Or maybe you never really noticed it was soft in the first place. "Look at me."

You change positions and rest your back against a cupboard, closing your eyes for a second before re-opening them. Crouching down to your level, he studies your face as you wipe off remaining tears with your sleeve. Flushed cheeks and quivering lips, wet lashes and a crease between your eyebrows. You hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity. There is a kind of intensity, determination in his eyes as he searches into yours. You aren't sure what he is looking for — maybe he is trying to find the right words, but eventually he just sighs and fully sits down in front of you. He is probably annoyed.

You bite down on your lip as your throat swells again, sudden shame washing over you. Having a meltdown is not something you do. Not when you are on your own, not in front of your friends and certainly not in front of a friend of a friend, even when his presence has become something usual and almost comforting to you as you hide it between rolled eyes and silence. Sometimes it's nice to visit Sam and have a trio again, even if it is not the trio you are used to. When you close your eyes and listen to the voices around you or when your vision is hazy, the mere idea of feeling surrounded is already comforting.

"M'sorry, this is stupid," you mutter, throwing your head back to have it rest against the cupboard. The bang echoes in your ears and Bucky slides a bit closer.

"It's okay," he shrugs. "Take your time."

He is so gentle in everything that he does. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes searching into yours but never once displaying pity, as if everything was perfectly normal. It isn't to you, but he seems so relaxed and unbothered. The way he speaks softly and expresses nothing but patience and serenity, the way his flesh hand slowly moves closer to your leg and almost hovers above your skin.

You sigh, head banging against the cupboard again, and spread your legs a little bit further. The right one brushes against his limb and he hesitates for a moment. Another look at you and his hand is resting on your calf. The warmth seeps through your black jeans and at this particular moment it comes back to you that you used to love being touched.

"I can't believe I dropped the fucking turkey," you say flatly. Bucky blinks slowly at you, the only proof that he heard you. He doesn't think he should talk and break your train of thoughts right now. "This isn't…what I normally do. On Thanksgiving. I've never spent Thanksgiving here. I mean, after I moved out."

Bucky's fingers move slowly against your leg, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you start talking. You purse your lips, somehow wanting to keep your mouth shut but feeling oddly relaxed to be sitting on the floor with his thumb brushing over your jeans-clad skin. You look down, eyes following his fingers before focusing on your own, still numbly resting at your side.

"Yeah, that's what your mom was saying earlier," Bucky nods, eying your hands as well.

On your left, there is this hook with towels hanging from it. His arm is long enough for him to grab one without having to get up. You don't respond, instead staring at the tiles and the space between your legs. You don't seem to notice when he hands you the towel, so he slowly moves his flesh hand towards yours. The loss of warmth makes you look down to your calf, stomach dropping a little when his fingers aren't dancing on your skin anymore.

"What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?"

You blink. He grabs your arms, hands sliding from your forearm to your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse point longer than he should. Then his hands are cupping yours, gently turning your palms upwards. There is this small beat of silence and tension where both of you are looking at your almost intertwined hands as if you were not their owners, as if they were moving on their own and you could only watch as this unfolded before your eyes.

Should he let go?

"I always spend it with Natasha." Your voice breaks the moment. His gaze snaps up but you're staring into the void again. "We have this tradition." You blink. Once, twice. Slowly, kind of like a cat. "Had. We used to rent a cabin, somewhere remote and snowy, and Tony used to come as well. Well, before he had Morgan. Then we used to come to his house and have this big dinner with him and Pepper, sometimes Clint and his family."

Your gaze drops to your hand in his, one holding it up and the other wiping the oily substance away. Every movement seems so soft and gentle it makes your brain go fuzzy for a second.

"That sounds really nice." Bucky comments softly, going for the other hand.

"Steve came sometimes," you add, and he quirks a brow in surprise. "When everyone was taken away. Sometimes he held a little something at the VA, but we had him over once or twice." You nod. "It was nice."

Bucky simply nods. Your hands don't shine with turkey grease anymore, and it physically pains him to let go of your hands. For a second he thinks you are about to hold his tighter and keep him from prying off his fingers, but his ears suddenly pick up movement, and the way his posture visibly changes makes you snap out of it. Back straighter, eyes wider, shoulders squared.

"Shit."

He is quicker than you and stands near the door to tell your mom that the turkey’s ready — you’re on your feet again even if you have to grip the counter’s edge for a second so your legs don't give out under your weight. His body is blocking your mother's view of the kitchen and you can only hear her voice.

"Look at her, making us Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend," she tells your dad and you snicker.

"Look at her making us eat a turkey she dropped on the floor!" You singsong, pressing the heel of your hands to your cheeks as you try to make the red disappear.

"Now this is girlfriend material," Bucky mocks. The door is closed again and he takes a few steps towards you, the turkey being right next to where your hand is set.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he smiles. He is only a foot away from you and you wonder if the warmth you are feeling is real or if it is your imagination, your mind and chest aching for comfort again. Touch is a vicious and dangerous thing when you can still feel it linger on your skin well after it is gone.

Metal hand reaching for the plate and body almost trapping you against the counter while you fix your gaze on anything but him, Bucky freezes for a moment — he meant to grab the plate and turn around, but this does feel intimate.

"Hey," he breaks the silence and you have to look up. In this instant, you want to take a mental picture and remember exactly how he looks. Light shining into his eyes, illuminated the tip of his perfectly carved nose and cheekbones. Pink lips parted and tongue swiping over them. Could this be nervousness?

You raise your chin, biting the inside of your cheek and fighting to maintain eye-contact. He is so close that you cannot help but being distracted by his smell, the way your chests would touch if you just pushed yourself off the counter, the way you want to feel cornered and caged if it means resting your cheek against his chest and having his arms around you.

Fuck.

"You gonna be okay?"

You wonder if his senses can pick up your internal turmoil. If he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage, the quickened and shaky breaths. You fold your arms and hug yourself, a poor attempt at gaining back some control over yourself.

"M'fine," you mutter. He doesn't look convinced and still hasn't moved. You lower your head, the remnants of previous haircut mistakes and bangs falling over your eyes. "Really."

"Yeah?"

You look up again, mustering up a smile.

"Yeah. A little meltdown can work wonders for a girl."

He chuckles and you have never wanted to kiss anyone this badly in your entire life, but you blame it on the emotional rollercoaster this day has been. You almost flinch as Bucky raises his hand but exhale as his fingers graze your cheeks, moving your hair out of your eyes.

Your mother calls your name and you sigh. Bucky brings out the turkey and you set the side dishes on the table, carefully avoiding the candles and almost squishing a green garland. It's a perfect picture, you and him stepping out of the kitchen in tandem and smiling down at your parents as they congratulate you on the turkey — this is probably a picture you had in mind as a child. Something out of a romantic comedy.

You sit down and Bucky's hands linger on your shoulders, thumbs stroking exposed skin and your neck. You raise your head, leaning back in your chair to meet his gaze. Should you put your hand on his? Should you smile and gaze lovingly at him — isn't that what you are already doing? He bents down, softly kissing your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear.

"Let's sell this thing, shall we?"

You step out of the bathroom, silky pajamas hugging your figure and wet hair sending shivers down your back. You sigh heavily, feeling the need to seek warmth but not having enough energy. Your arms are at your sides and your bare feet have a hard time moving.

Bucky stares at the carpet as drops of water trickle down your hair and slowly form a dark spot at your feet. His gaze travels back to your face, eyebrow quirked. You look absolutely drained, with your lips slightly parted and the way you blink slowly, as if your eyelids weighted tons.

"If they ask us to stay for lunch tomorrow," you begin, slowly approaching the bed. "Please say we have a mission."

Bucky gives you a small nod. You sit down on the bed or rather let your body drop unceremoniously and lay down, hands on your stomach and eyes glued to the white ceiling. The mattress moves with Bucky and you hear him rest his back on the bed's head. Creaky wood that won't stop making noise.

"Well," Bucky starts, looking down at your form. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You slowly peel your gaze off the ceiling, body and face still as your gaze moves to his face, his eyes already on yours.

"I don't have the strength to answer you right now."

His shoulder shake and so does the bed. You groan.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"Why did you decide to contact your parents after all this time?"

"Did you hear me say no?"

He gives you a half shrug and you sigh, rolling so you are lying on your stomach, elbows propped up on the mattress. Bucky knows this means you are going to talk, and he sits up straighter, intrigued.

"Everyone was gone," you say simply, fingers drumming mindlessly on your cheek. "It was��utter and complete chaos everywhere. You're lucky you didn't get to see it. Just to go out in the streets, enter a coffee shop and see the look on people's faces…" You don't finish your sentence, eyes fixed upon Bucky's torso but mind miles away from your room. His shoulders sag as he takes in your expression. "And I felt lucky I still had Natasha, and Steve. And Tony. I was so lucky compared to others — sometimes I helped Steve out with his therapy meetings and I just…hearing about other people's loss…I wondered about my parents, somehow. I drove all the way up here and the house was so silent and empty, I just knew." You shrug, lowering your gaze to numbly observe the patterns on your sheets. "We've never been close, and I thought I didn't care about them the way I've always felt like they didn't care about me, but when I realized they weren't here anymore…they're still my parents, you know?" Not expecting you to look up at him, Bucky is at a loss for words when you bite your lip and go silent as if you were waiting for an answer.

You swallow thickly.

"So when everyone came back, I had this urge to make sure they did too. And now we're here," you purse your lips. "Not sure this was a good idea."

Sometimes you think contacting them was a mistake. Yes, you felt an incommensurable sense of loss, standing in this empty house with the wooden floor creaking underneath your feet, dust flying and twirling around you, your reflection staring mockingly at you whenever you passed a mirror. Too late. Visiting your childhood home was the moment it all came rushing back to you ; the moment your mind finally caught up with reality and you simply crumbled. Orphan, half of your friends turned into dust, a whole world of shades of grey and not an ounce of hope. But spending Thanksgiving here doesn't give you the comfort or closure you thought it would. Being here and feeling like a stranger in your own home, bringing a fake boyfriend, having to sit through celebrations when there is nothing left to celebrate on this earth for you.

"They looked happy to see you."

Your chest tightens for a moment. It's somewhere between guilt and longing.

"Yeah, I guess," you give him a half shrug. Your face is resting right next to his thighs and you stare for a moment. Another barely perceptible movement and the headboard squeaks again. You almost let your face fall on his thighs when heavily groaning. He laughs and it gets worse.

"Well at least it's gonna be easy to convince them we really are a couple, right babe?" He says, deadpan. You look up at him through your lashes, sly smile on your face, a force of habit. Striking blue eyes staring back at you, perfectly sculpted face and a smirk on his plump lips. It would be so easy to pretend this is a normal scene from a domestic life. The creases around your mouth disappears as you blink a sort of haze away.

The moment passes and you busy yourself with the laptop you brought, while Bucky stalks to the bathroom. The sound of water running manages to soothe you, weight on your chest slowly dwindling and breaths coming in lighter. It's a white noise lulling you to sleep. You lazily brush your hair and slide into bed, covers pulled to your chin and body stiff as the cold from the sheets seep into your bones for a long moment.

The shower curtain rattles, bottles clink against the sink and water runs again with the sound of a toothbrush. You turn on your side, chin tucked to your chest and arms under your pillows, scared to stretch out your legs and meet a biting cold again. The bathroom door opens and you relish the very small amount of warm steam reaching you.

The bed dips and you keep your eyes closed.

"You sure you don't want me out of your bed?" You don't know how many times he has asked this question. You only hum, too tired to voice your thoughts out loud. You feel the covers being lifted and shiver — could it be his thigh brushing against yours?

His mere nearness already warms the bed up and you silently thank a higher presence for the super soldier serum.

"God you're like a personal heater," you mutter, faced squished against your pillow, body moving closer to his on its own until warmth has engulfed you and you can finally extend your legs, feet reaching the end of the bed.

"Mh, I get that a lot," you feel his chest rumble next to you and you hum in response, something between contentment and an attempt to hide a blooming sensation in your chest.

You get closer again, face now pressed against his arm, cheek to warm and toned flesh. It doesn't take long for his arm to move, a frown etched on your features before they ease up again as he guides your face to his chest. An arm snaking around your shoulders and holding you closer, a chest rising and falling with deep and even breaths, a back and forth that rocks you.

You can't even remember the last time you felt this at peace. This warm and safe, arms secured around you like a cocoon, the smell of your childhood and his cologne mixing together. And it hits your half-asleep brain that you had craved this all along, all those years of darkness and loss.

"M'sorry," you murmur, your lips moving against his chests and your words barely discernible. "Just really need this right now."

His fingers linger on your back, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. Squeezing, thumb stroking your skin, fingers tracing random shapes. You shift, your own arm laying on his stomach, almost hugging him like a pillow or a big stuffed animal. Fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a reflex, legs tangling with his.

"It's okay." His voice is smooth, quiet. "Me too."

Eyes bleary and squinting to adjust to the light, you hold on to the banister as you wobble down the stairs. Voices echo around the living room and you frown. It's only eight.

You still as Bucky's laugh reaches your ears and hurry down the remaining steps. The morning light shines through the windows, surprisingly blue and clear skies facing you. Red and green lights dance around the living room's walls, reflections from the Christmas Tree's decoration. Lips parted in awe, you linger for a moment. The atmosphere is different from last night, it feels lighter. It's not just that the downpour has been replaced by a blue sky and what seems to be a perfect fall day — ice cold but the sun still shining. You feel lighter.

"Hey." You whirl around. You didn't notice Bucky approaching you. Coking his head to the side, he looks at you with an unreadable expression. "You planning on spending the day standing here?"

"Tempting," you give him a half shrug, and he extends his flesh hand towards you, palm up and inviting.

"We made breakfast," he says as you rest you put your hand in his warily.

"We?"

The smell of bacon hits you when you enter the dining room, a table full of pancakes and pies greeting you. Steaming cups of coffee, a teapot — Bucky discreetly tugs you closer to him, hot breath on your cheek.

"You prefer tea in the morning, right?" It is whispered as not to draw suspicions towards the fact that he knows nothing about you, but it takes you a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the gesture. You nod numbly, eyes fixed upon your intertwined fingers. When did you say it was okay for PDA?

The conversation flows more easily in the morning, the sight of a table this impressive and Bucky's touch lifting your spirits. You think life could be this easy all the time. This tranquil and domestic, a good night's sleep with someone and pancakes waiting for you in the morning. You smile as you talk about some of your most confusing missions, as you and Bucky tell stories about Sam. Albeit a bit pained, but it's something.

Leaving your parents after breakfast isn't as satisfying as you thought it would be, and you give warmer hugs than what you gave last night.

You sigh when the driver's door closes, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the cool window. The landscape is an orange blur, the sound of the wind blowing around the car loud enough for the radio to be useless. When you are in the city again, the car slows down and you are stuck in traffic. Bucky's hand reaches out to switch the radio on and you turn slightly in your seat, body leaning towards his.

"I was a bitch to you," you state without any warning and he snorts, looking at you with a confused expression. "When we first met."

"Oh," his raises his brows high, as if in absolute agreement.

"You just reminded me of Steve," you say softly. "And I hated him for leaving. Still do, sometimes." you think, frown etched on your features. "Most of the time. But it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry."

He turns his head towards you, a simple nod to you. You fold your hands on your lap, chest lighter now that you have said it out loud. He clears his throat and you look at him again. Sun reflecting on his sparkling eyes, a smile pushing its way onto his lips. Genuine, soft. You find yourself returning the gesture naturally — no pursed or tight lips, no physical pain in your cheeks.

"And this was nice," you add quietly.

"It's not that we haven't talked," you roll your eyes, nursing a drink of champagne and crossing the bal room with Sam at your side. Voice louder than usual, eyelids and lips glittering, your heels click against the floor and you side step dancing couples.

It's quieter near the Christmas Tree. Well, near the bar.

"So you have talked?" Sam sets his empty glass on the bar counter and asks for a refill with a simple tilt of the head. Perks of being Captain America, surely. You lean against the cold marble, in-between the stools, huffing.

"No, we didn't," you repeat for what is probably the third time.

"Man, this isn't going anywhere," Sam shakes his head, eyes skimming over the crowd. You do the same.

"That's what I told when you insisted on starting this conversation, Wilson."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he grumbles before taking another sip of his drink. You give in with a half shrug and a sigh.

"We just haven't had a reason to, Sam, don't read too much into it," you say casually. "No missions, no meeting…"

"Right. And the fact that you haven't been to our headquarters in a month."

"Well, as I said. No mission, no meeting," you raise your eyebrows. "You think I'm gonna drive all the way up there to say hi and prove you that everything is fine?"

"I was expecting this kind of commitment to the team, yes," Sam sighs dramatically and you return to your bubbly drink.

The song switches to Mariah Carey and a chorus of cheers erupts from the room, almost making you physically wince. Hands in the air, feet jumping up and down and literally making the room shake, every vibration felt deep in your chest.

"Now this is a song I haven't heard today."

Sam snickers.

"Here we go. Was wondering when you were gonna ruin the mood."

"Hey!" You head whirls around, mouth open. Brown eyes twinkling with amusement, eyebrows barely raised, the kind of satisfaction you get when you want to say I told you so. "You have to admit that this is getting redundant." You are definitely not to blame here — surely more there are more than three Christmas songs in the world?

"It's Christmas."

"Yes, I'm painfully of aware." Someone falls on the dance floor and you judge them silently. You and Sam probably look intimidating as both of you are leaning against the bar, glass in hand and chins raised. "Plus it took me more than an hour to…" You trail off, a sudden glint drawing your attention to the entrance of the room, right across from the bar. "…get here."

Sam follows your line of sight. Through a flurry of red figures, glittery and twinkling dresses twirling around with every move and laughter mixed with animated chatter and pop songs, a dark figure parts the crowd and makes its way towards the bar. Something akin to slow-motion happens in your brain. Completely unprepared for something you had been thinking about for days. Not days. Weeks.

Your chest rumbles with the rhythm of the song, matching each beat of the drums. It helps you cover up the fact that your heart is violently pounding against your ribcage and that he can probably hear it. Hell, Steve could probably hear it from his grave — this thought makes you blink, a semblance of composure coming back to your face.

"Hey man!" Sam happily greets his friend, patting him on the back. "Happy Christmas Eve." His hand lingers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His gaze is warm and the silent eye-contact you two share when your eyes travel above Bucky's shoulder is a way of wishing you the same. Playful face merging into something sincere. Jolly songs contrasting with the sad look in your eyes and the woeful smiles you three have plastered on your face. Civilians like to call this night the first Christmas into a normal life again. Their old life.

"Hi," Bucky greets you, a little breathless, and you wonder if he took the stairs to get here.

Sam is whisked away by a politician and you remember that he is here as Captain America and therefore is on duty. Champagne has never looked prettier, swirling in your glass as you try to focus on anything else but the man ordering a drink beside you.

"How have you been?" He asks, mimicking your exact posture and taking a first sip of a scotch. You cast him a side glance. There's a scratch above his left eyebrow and you wonder why no one told you about this mission or called for backup.

"You mean, have I lost my goddamn mind in the kitchen again and thrown a poor animal on the floor?" He chuckles. Your eyes travel down his face and his midnight blue suit for a moment. Too long, and he notices. "Nope. I'm good."

He nods, then tilts his head to the side. His once-over is even less subtle than yours and you bury your face into your glass, not knowing where to look anymore. Shit. This was easier when you just bumped into him on your way to see Sam or simply shared missions with him — no small talk, no information on each other, nothing.

Thanksgiving was supposed to be unpleasant. And it was — bleak, gloomy, melancholic. But he wasn't.

"Care to dance?"

Your head snaps up towards him. You laugh, the rest of your drink downed in a second. Bucky stands up straighter — finishing a drink means being freeing oneself from having to hold a glass, right?

"I don't dance, Barnes."

"You don't?" You shake your head, already lifting a hand to motion for another drink. He steps around the bar stool that was previously keeping you apart, the smell of cologne and aftershave hitting your senses.

"I don't. Certainly not on Christmas songs."

He turns his head towards the crowd, chest rising as he breathes in deeply. The room does look pretty. Golden, red and green. Trees and fake wrapped gifts on the floor, fairy lights cascading down the windows and giving a kind of ethereal glow to everything and everyone standing here. It makes looks softer, eyes lighter. A couple captures everyone's attention ; skillfully dancing on every single song and adapting to every tempo. Their smiles are so bright that your lips quirk up a little without you even noticing it. It is radiant and contagious and for a moment they are all you can see.

A small gasp gets stuck in your throat when Bucky steps in front of you, breaking your focus on the dance floor. How did he get so close?

He offers you his hand, palms up and inviting. You remember how they felt on Thanksgiving.

"Bucky, I…really can't dance," you shake your head, lips parted.

"C'mon. No one cares."

He doesn't wait for you to place your hand in his, but simply grabs it, fingers naturally intertwining as if they had been designed to fit together. You open your mouth to argue, but all that escapes your mouth is a chuckle. An incredulous and surprised chuckle — almost a giggle but it hurts to admit it, eyes flitting over the crowd and the people surrounding you. Are they looking? Are they seeing what you are seeing?

He tugs on your hand and it is a slow song that echoes around the room, two bodies felling in step and gliding across the glittering floor. You hide your surprise at the way he leads you effortlessly — you had heard stories about his days in the forties and you suppose this is what he mastered to woo the dames. A warm hand in yours and the other firmly placed around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingernails tingling his skin.

"Is this Bing Crosby?" You ask lazily, body swaying slowly.

He hums.

"Uh. Better than Mariah Carey," you state quietly, almost in his ear. Hot breath on his skin. He huffs, quiet laughter and crinkles by his eyes. Out of all the things you could say to him right now, this is what you do.

"I'm glad you came," he says softly and you look at him curiously. He gives you a half shrug as you slowly twirl in his arms. "We haven't seen you in a while. Didn't want you to be alone today."

Your stomach twists when you are pulled into his arms again, your hand hesitantly cupping the back of his neck. You had indeed considered staying in bed and possibly crying in front of a romantic comedy, as cliché as it sounds. Completely immerse yourself in a universe that isn't yours and whose characters you do not have to grieve for. Vicariously feeling the Christmas Spirit of others.

But you wanted to be with your friends, as painful as it is to be reminded that your circle is half empty. Sam has poured his heart into this party — a tribute to Tony, a bit of giving after having taken so much, money raised for people in need and an opportunity to reunite and share something as a group again. You admire his strength and will and it is no surprise to you that he gets to carry the Captain America mantle. Someone whose heart knows no limit and who would do anything for his friends.

You smile wistfully.

"It's a nice party," is the only thing you say, small shrug accompanying a casual tone.

"It is," Bucky nods. Eyes going over every decoration again. It is a nice feeling — swaying in his arms, warmth and cologne engulfing you whole and caging you from the outside world. His skin is so soft against your fingers and you want to nuzzle your face into his neck, completely hide away and feel nothing but him.

You shouldn’t let yourself feel this way for someone you might lose, but you can’t help but relish the feeling of being held again. His hands cannot mend the pieces of your broken heart but they can contain them and keep you from crumbling down.

Disappointment probably shows on your face and your tired smile when the song ends and he steps away from you — hand still lingering on yours. As if reading your thoughts, Bucky casts a glance behind him and motions towards the exit with his chin. You follow his line of sight, then eye the crowd around you. He is right, no one cares.

Trailing behind him with flitting glances around you, hand grabbing a hold of his suit as if you could squeeze fabric tighter than flesh, you don’t notice when he stops and you bump into his back. The idea of leaving this party with him is taking up all your thoughts — no clear ideas but a definite feeling, an urge to find the comfort of his arms again.You almost don't look up as a string of cheers and laughter erupts around you. Way too close to you to be a simple coincidence. Bucky's hand tightens around yours. Green stares back at you.

Oh.

No.

Mistletoe.

Should you shake it off with a good laughter that makes it look like this is extremely funny but he is just a friend? Should you pretend not to see it even though your eyes are boring holes into it?

Bucky has already made up his mind.

Warm flesh squeezes your hand while cool metal rests on the small of your back, encircling your waist and pulling you close so unexpectedly that you almost stumble into his arms. The warmth emitted from his body is already melting away any smart quips or observations you had ready to get out of this. Completely shattering your resolve not to melt into his arms. You can only feel him. His arms around you, flesh hand moving up your arm, caressing and squeezing your shoulder until it is resting on your neck, fingers delicately holding your chin. You don't resist when he lifts it, eyes meeting his through your thick lashes.

This is the opposite of the quiet and intimate moment you were thinking about when leaving the room. Far from discreet touches but right among flashing lights, booming music and expectant stares. You’ve never had a kiss under the mistletoe and this is way too cheesy and holidays-like.

But he leans forward and his lips are on yours. Softly. Delicately. It lasts a split second. It satisfies the crowd and it seems like a peck that could happen to both lovers and friends but it leaves you aching for more.

You look up in a daze when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes wide. You blink it all away and plaster a tight-lipped smile on your face when you fake-bow to clapping strangers, and it takes all the willpower in the world to hold yourself upright.

The corridor is almost empty, save late-comers jogging towards where you are coming from or drunken people escaping the warm and almost suffocating air of the party. You have absolutely no idea where you are going, numb legs carrying you all the way to a remote corner. Your back hits the wall — his arm around you softens the impact.

Who instigated the second kiss? You feel like he met you halfway, or maybe you stayed rooted to your spot like a deer caught in headlights, pulse probably heard from a miles away. You can only focus on the softness of his lips on your skin, tender kisses on your neck and on the corner of your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, fingers making their way through his hair and tugging, cheek to cheek and chest to chest — time has stopped.

You only open your eyes halfway when he pulls away for air, blurred vision and pounding heart. You feel his hot breath on your face when he chuckles breathlessly.

"Still hate this damn season?"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #christmas one shot #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

61 notes · View notes

bimboamyrose · 4 years

Text

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic (Ch. 7)

Ch. 7: Source Decay

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.6) (mild blood tw)

Amy repacked the first aid kit carefully and deliberately. Even now, she was trying to think of what to say to Sonic. They each usually had plenty to talk about, but a rare silence filled the tense air as both sat speechlessly. Sonic and Metal sat across from one another, resuming their staring contest. But Sonic was no match for the robot’s unblinking gaze and his frustration hit a boiling point.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Sonic snapped, turning to Amy.

The metal latches on the first aid box clicked shut. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I guess it’s about time.” She lifted her wide eyes to Sonic slowly. She breathed deeply, a pleading look painted across her face as she explained. “Tails and I found Metal about a week ago. He was pretty damaged and doesn’t remember a whole lot. I thought he could use a place to stay while Tails made some repairs.” Her eyes were begging him to remain discreet. Either he didn’t get the message, or he didn’t care.

“What do you mean ‘found him’? You mean after we beat him up last week?” Amy’s sudden scowl didn’t seem to deter him either. “Why are you trying to repair him after he tried to kill-”

“I told you what happened,” Amy interjected, getting up from her seat. “Metal’s staying with me until Tails can fix him. I don’t know what’s so confusing about that.” She shrugged as she marched her way back to the pantry, tossing the kit back inside the cabinet.

Metal’s suspicions seemed to be correct. He and Sonic’s team were fighting just before Amy and Tails found him that day. The damage, no doubt, was due to the battle. The esoteric puzzle was unfolding before him. Metal remembered the cast on Tails’ arm- also injured- and he knew he must have been the one to hurt him. He turned his palms up on the table in front of him. The blood may as well have still been there.

Sonic wasn’t done. “You know exactly why it’s confusing! What aren’t you- Hey!”

The chair across from him scraped across the floor as Metal stood up abruptly. Sonic did the same, standing ready to strike. His robotic counterpart stared for a moment more before turning, taking steps toward the back door.

“Metal, wait!” Amy sprinted to get ahead of him and block his exit. “Don’t go, please!” A series of quick tones come from him as he waved his arm, motioning for her to get out of his way. She stood her ground, expertly reaching up to take his hand in both of hers. All at once, Metal saw her- the stains on her gloves, the mist in her eyes- and the bandage around her arm. When he felt her delicate fingers wrap tightly around his own it was as if he was no longer made of steel and wires but soft flesh and blood. His defenses fell. The extraordinarily gentle feeling that was nothing short of overwhelming enveloped him. He didn’t need his memory to know that nothing else could have made him feel that way. Could she really sway him so easily?

“Metal, I owe you an explanation. You can leave after that if you still really want to. Give me a chance,” she begged.

She misunderstood him. He did not feel angry or resentful toward her- not even toward Sonic. He wasn’t leaving out of spite. No, Metal’s impulse, however unusual, was to protect Amy. He didn’t understand why and truthfully did not see her as weak or inept, but he did understand the potential threat he posed by simply being around others. She wouldn’t be safe as long as he stayed there. The conflict came when he felt her inexplicable tenderness and realized he’d never get himself to leave as long as her influence tethered him there. Metal reached up slowly with his other hand, toward Amy’s face. Her rosy cheeks looked so warm.

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Sonic stood irate just behind him. “Don’t lay a finger on her or you’ll regret it.” Metal’s outstretched hand contorted into a fist as he turned back to meet Sonic’s eyes. The humming of his engine grew louder.

“Hey,” Amy reached to suppress Metal’s raised fist. “That’s enough of that.” She turned her attention to Sonic, brushing his grip from Metal’s shoulder. “Hands off. No one’s fighting today. I think it’s time for you to go.”

“I’m not leaving you here with this pile of scrap,” Sonic crossed his arms. His glare didn’t break from Metal’s.

“Leaving me where? In my house?” she scoffed. “I invited him to stay. You have no right to-”

“To what, Amy? Care about your safety?” Sonic finally turned to look directly at her.

“Well you don’t have to worry about me ‘cause I’m not afraid of Metal.”

“You should be!” He pointed at her bandaged arm. “We both know that’s not the worst that could have happened.”

Amy’s blood was boiling now. After all those years, all the battles they’d endured together, how could he be so sure that she couldn’t look after herself? Did he think she was stupid or had no sense of self-preservation? “He didn’t mean it!”

“Well, what if he had? What could he have done to you? He’s not gonna hold back if he remembers!”

Metal lowered his gaze until his eyes landed to where Sonic had pointed. That was his fear, too. If he could hurt Amy without intention, what was he capable of if he wanted to do real damage? He couldn’t imagine hating her after the kindness she’d shown him, but it seemed his memories could prove him wrong.

“You don’t have any faith in me, Sonic!” Amy exploded. “I’m not a kid anymore! I know what I’m doing.” Her eyes dampened as she tore into him. “ You always doubt me! But I know we can help Metal if we give him a chance- He’s staying here and that’s final, so get used to it!” She was yelling again, her throat straining.

Sonic’s brows raised, taken aback by her response. He shifted to a gentler tone. “Amy, I just-”

“Well, don’t!” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it! You must think I’m stupid if you don’t think I can handle things for myself. If you won’t help me, then at least don’t make it any harder!” Tears were filling her eyes now, threatening to overflow onto her red-hot cheeks.

Sonic didn’t know how to respond. He shifted his weight uncomfortably and softened his expression at the sight of her mounting frustration- he could never stand to see her cry. He sighed. “I do trust you, Ames…” his eyes shifted to Metal begrudgingly. Sonic wanted to add something but left it at that.

“Great.” Amy was choking back a whimper. She turned away from both of them, back into the kitchen, and began wiping down the counter aggressively. “You can go, then. I have to finish cleaning up now.” She didn’t look up.

Sonic rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. He wasn’t one to doubt his friends, least of all Amy; But it didn’t stop him from worrying. Her passions ran high and she was thoughtful and compassionate to a fault, her kindness often landing her in trouble. He resented that his care for her came off as distrustful. They weren’t the naive children they once were and his protective nature seemed to clash with that idea. But even if she could be incredibly stubborn, there was no shortage of care or intellect in her that could reasonably give Sonic pause in trusting her judgment. There was, however, Metal Sonic to contend with. That was the wild card he didn’t trust. Sonic shifted his attention to him. Metal Sonic had hardly moved except to turn to Amy. He watched her, no longer engaging in a battle of glares with Sonic. His expressionless eyes were impossible to read and Sonic wondered if the robot could feel anything, least of all guilt. Still, Sonic couldn’t deny that there was something different about his steely counterpart that day.

Finally, he addressed Amy begrudgingly. “Call me if there’s trouble.” He saw Amy nod but she still didn’t look up. He took one last look at Metal, who shot back a glare before Sonic made his way out the front door. “I’ll see ya, Ames.” He hesitated before making his way out. “Be careful.”

The door closed behind Sonic. Amy couldn’t contain her emotions anymore. Tears made their way onto the counter that she wiped away immediately. It wasn’t quick enough to keep Metal from noticing. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, suppressing a sob. Then she felt something cold and firm around her wrist. Metal had taken hold of it lightly- he peered into her as she finally turned up to look at him. “I guess I owe you an explanation,” she sniffled. But he wasn’t thinking about that. He shifted his focus to her hand and Amy seemed to finally understand the sorry state she was in. The blood had soaked into her white gloves, drying into a muddy stain. The sleeveless dress she wore was dusty and damp. Her focus had been so divided as she was caring for her cut. She had done it mechanically, without thinking; finding the words to persuade Sonic had taken her full attention instead. Now, she thought of herself for the first time since the encounter, realizing how pitiful she must look.

Amy’s eyes opened like faucets. She tossed away the rag she’d been cleaning the kitchen with and brought her blood-stained hand up to her mouth to muffle her sobs in its palm. Metal was frozen. The sight of Amy weeping was deeply discomforting and it felt like there was a role he should be playing, but he didn’t fully understand what it was. Slowly, he raised an unassertive arm around the front of her, just meeting her right shoulder above the banged wound with his hand. The small nudge was invitation enough. Amy took hold of his shoulder and pulled herself onto him, nestling her face in his chest. If Metal had a heart she would have felt it hammering against her cheek.

Emotions can be quite overwhelming, he learned. He felt relieved that Amy didn’t recoil at his touch. Sympathy for her sadness. Most surprisingly, he felt exhilarated from their embrace. It all happened in a second. The feelings overcame Metal as he reached behind Amy, gently pressing a cold arm around her. His other hand was still gripping her wrist, so he let his fingers crawl up to meet hers. He cradled her delicate hand in his and pressed it against his other shoulder. From her tears to her back, Amy was warm and soft and trembling- a stark contrast to Metal’s still and steely body. A deep comfort built within him as he held her for a while. Sobs eventually turned to sniffles but Amy didn’t immediately let go after her shaky breaths slowed to their regular rhythm.

Wiping the last of the tears from her eyes, Amy took an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. I guess I got pretty frustrated there.” Slowly, she pushed away from Metal and slipped out of his grasp, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I didn’t mean to be so forward.” Her voice cracked. “I should really change,” Amy blurted out, making her way to her bedroom at the quickest pace she could muster without literally running out of the room. She closed the door hard behind her. Her heartbeat mounted again and blood rushed to her face. It was bad enough to lose her cool like that in front of someone, but to hug Metal so presumptuously? I bet I made him so uncomfortable, she lamented silently, not knowing how wrong she was.

A bit confused by her sudden and unexpected exit, Metal simply stood wondering if Amy’s mercurial nature would ever cease to surprise him. Still, her ability to express herself earnestly remained as admirable as it was fascinating. After thinking about it for some time, Metal turned his attention to the disarray before him.

Meanwhile, Amy had forced herself into a cold shower to cool off. Rather than the hamper, her gloves went straight to the garbage, trashed beyond any reasonable repair. Having taken her time, she wondered if he’d still be there when she returned.

Amy emerged in a cozy red sweater that obscured her injury, figuring neither of them would want to be reminded of it. She found Metal sitting at the dining table, staring out the glass door and into the skyline as the sun prepared to set. She’d found him that way a couple of times in the past few days, seemingly getting some enjoyment out of watching the brilliant colors mingle overhead.

Then, suddenly remembering the mess in the kitchen, she shuffled past him around the counter only to find it spotless. “Did you clean up?” she called to Metal. She saw him nod from across the room but he didn’t take his eyes off the scenery. “You shouldn’t have- thanks.”

Amy made her way back around sheepishly. She took a seat just next Metal, joining him in watching the colorful sky. After a few minutes, Amy sighed. “Isn’t it pretty? You should see how it looks from up on the mountains. You can see the whole horizon and everything.” It took him a moment, but Metal looked back toward her this time before nodding. Amy felt her stomach knitting nervously. “But first, I think I should tell you about how we met.”

As the pinkish-orange glow faded and the sky grew dim, Amy made her way to the sliding door, stopping to grab a blanket and flipping on the outdoor light as she went. “Let’s get comfortable,” she beckoned, wrapping the blanket around her. They both sat on lounge chairs under the eroding sunlight for another few minutes as Amy mustered the courage to speak. She was afraid he would leave abruptly to find his master once he found out the truth about his origins. “I haven’t been honest with you,” she finally admitted. “Can you promise you won’t leave before I tell you everything, though?”

Metal thought he wanted nothing more than to remember who he was. Now, he wasn't so sure he wished to find out- though he knew he had to. He gave her a nod. “Okay,” she breathed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I’ll tell you what I know.” Metal copied her posture, crossing lanky arms over knees. He stared back expectantly.

“I do know who Eggman is. He built you to fight us- well, Sonic specifically.” She met his gaze as confidently as she could. “But I think you’re capable of so much more than that, Metal.” Even as the stars emerged from hiding, they were no match for the way Amy’s smile illuminated the darkening night.

............................................................

Notes:

So I was reading up on the song “Source Decay” by The Mountain Goats as it gave me some inspiration for this chapter. It has an interesting narrative. This is what the lyricist had to say about the lyrics:

“The backstory blurs and won’t cohere, the evidence mounts and is available but it just won’t gel into a satisfying narrative… you sometimes really deeply and desperately need to get a clean narrative line through some story in your life… the song is about how those outlines are like blurry shapes in fading light that you eventually have to just accept as they are.”

ANYWAY not to get corny with y’all but just wanted to share my thoughts. I scribble so much dumb bullshit down as I’m writing and thought this one was actually worth sharing lol. TY again to everyone who has been reading!!

A special thanks to @maggy-world for her very sweet fanart. Please check out her lovely art!

Next chapter will be up by next week. Its’s a long one. ✌️

#i made a few changes from the beta chapter #so feel free to tive this one a glance if u read that version #metamy #metal sonic x amy rose #metal sonic #amy rose #sonic fanfiction #sth #unfamiliar #ch 7 #truthfully i was not so confident with this chapter but i think it turned out alright #maybe a little cheesy #but idk i can appreciate that in a fanfic so why not let myself go there lol

42 notes · View notes

funtooza · 3 years

Link

Distinctive tattoo lettering and various fonts! Any Part of Body. Either its Sleeves Tattoos 15 Tips You Need To Learn Now

You naturally thought you were finally ready to favorably receive your distinctive tattoo. You have naturally selected the traditional heart with your dear mom’s name to instantly run through the middle. In the present climate you are prepared, right? Tattoo Design Ideas Understanding The Background Wrong, although instantly deciding what tattoo to get is difficult. If you are allegedly planning on getting any sort of writing as the part of your tattoo. Your key decisions are not reasonably over yet.

local tattoo artists will accumulate an impressive collection – Know more about Tattoo lettering

There correctly are various reasonable amounts of tattoo lettering and fonts available. Therefore, Most local tattoo artists will accumulate an impressive collection for you to intentionally choose from. Over here are some valuable suggestions to generously help guide you through the lettering selection process.

Old English Tattoo Lettering

Old English is one of the most desired forms of lettering. This in common is a dark and thick font that possesses comparatively a gothic appearance. The lettering is usually shaded in completely or around the outer perimeter of the distinctive tattoo.

Celtic Scroll Tattoo Lettering

The Celtic Scroll has the appearance of a medieval type of writing. So, with the Celtic Scroll, the edges of the letters are flared. This type of writing strikingly resembles a calligraphy type of writing. Go more for Celtic Tattoos Mark of Warriors Fighters and Bravos

Tattoo fonts for name

Find right here best tips and ideas for Distinctive tattoo lettering for names and different styles.

Classic Roman Tattoo Lettering

Classic Roman requires a little more ink. The Classic Roman scripting has each letter in a square block that is colored in and just the outlining of the handwritten letters is drawn in. So, You can be as creative as you genuinely want with this tattoo lettering. Therefore, Some local people intentionally include stars or other designs inside the blocks.

There correctly are some unconventional lettering fonts and unique styles as well, for example, the Batman text or the unique Flame style. Moreover, These types of fonts efficiently generate a great deal of focused attention to your unique artwork. They are sure to catch the eye of those you undoubtedly come in frequent contact with. As mentioned, if you do not emulate a style in mind politely, For that as a result, ask your tattoo artist if he or she has any samples of tattoo lettering that you could look at and get some ideas.

How long are lettering tattoos?

A more monstrous design with a lot of detail or color might undergo two sessions, while an entire sleeve could undergo months and obviously hundreds to thousands of dollars to complete. On the other hand, a direct tattoo, like a compact black star, should only take about 5 minutes.

How small can a lettering tattoo correctly be?

Your tattoo lettering size MUST precious be at least 1/2″ tall or more. Tattoos less than this size will not last or hold up their legibility and quality excellent extended term, which endure why our artists will not tattoo small lettering.

Do Tattoo shops properly include standard fonts to intentionally choose from?

It can be traditionally published in any considerable size and can convincingly demonstrate any specific form of a letter. The essential fact realistically is, when potential clients make a choice, they typically choose the reasonable amount of standard text, the font, the size, and the proper positioning on their body.

Where should I get a word tattoo? – tattoo lettering

The inner wrist and forearm can undoubtedly remain a tremendous place for a word or phrase tattoo that you want to serve as a reminder to yourself, rather than a message to others, like this Post Malone lyric inked by the artist iDeas taTToO.

Blurring Tattoos Will small tattoos blur?

All tattoos fade and blur a bit over time. As a result, typically talk to the artists. Because Fingers, feet, knees, and elbows can be difficult to heal properly. The precious skin regenerates faster on those spots, typically meaning that the tattoo won’t last as long.

Do script tattoos blur?

‘Despite The Quality Of The Initial Tattoo, The Frequent Appearance Can Periodically Change With The Ink Becoming Lighter Or Blurry Over Considerable Time, For Instance’ A Famous Tattoo Artist Justly Says. ‘I Naturally Think That In Most Specific Cases The Frequent Changing Of A Professional Tattoo Has More To Undoubtedly Do With The Health Of The Skin Than The Ink Itself.’

Script Or Cursive Font Tattoos Tattoo Lettering

Scripts are just as unique as the local people who promptly write them. Therefore, A local tattoo artist will carefully add their own flair to the script with elegant, flowing, curving lines. Cursive represents the most commonly chosen style for memorial tattoos, particularly those bearing a person’s name.

What unique style of tattoo typically lasts the longest?

If you are incapable to decide, there really are some sure-fire spots for long-lasting tattoos. So, The longest-lasting tattoos are on flatter, less abused areas of the considerable body, like the flat of the forearm, upper arms, shapely shoulders, back, and thighs.

Can you still be classy with distinctive tattoos?

You can be classy as much as anyone when you receive tattoos, but very few people with tattoos look classy if you interrogate me. Firstly, It’s a personal aesthetic. Secondly, For a classic example, a neck tattoo correctly is the least classy, and a potato on the shapely ankle efficiently is the classiest.

Read more latest posts about tattooing

Tattoo Lettering: The Most Unconventional Ways to Learn

Sleeves Tattoos 15 Tips You Need To Learn Now

Tattoo Design Ideas Understanding The Background

Tattoo Removal Important Facts what taught us

Heart Tattoos The Most Trending Thing Now?

What does the tattoo with three dots mean?

Mi Vida Loca

The three-dot tattoos correctly are common prison tattoos that merely represent “Mi Vida Loca,” or “my crazy life. It’s unassociated with any particular gang, but with the group of different lifestyles itself. So the tattoo is typically recognized on the hands or around the eyes.

Will black tattoos turn green?

Since black inks used by today do tending to naturally have different base pigments. Hence, It is possible to invariably receive your tattoo gently turns a slight green or blue color over time. Therefore, We do not refer to a few years. Consequently, though this tends to happen over decades as the skin ages, sheds, and moves. Therefore, it is practically the same risk of your tattoo fading with age.

Do tiny tattoos last?

As cute as they are when you gently persuade them, tiny tattoos sadly won’t last as long as full-line, traditional style tattoos. Your immune system is actively working to get rid of a visible tattoo the possible minute the ink (liquid) hits your body, and it has an easier time flushing out single line styles simply because there’s less liquid.

Tips for Best Tattoo lettering with Videos and Pictures

This Video make sound like below comments

This is preparing nothing about how to in fact produce the script. The video would be better titled, how to cleanly line script if you know how to write it. Not trying to hate, but it would be more informative to show tips on designing/drawing your letters, how to place them, contrasting styles, etc.

Iam a tattoo artist and hated lettering before. Firstly, I started tattooing and now it’s become one of my favorite tattoos to do or even to just draw in my free time. Secondly, Once you get the hang of lettering, you can offer your own spin to the lettering and make it your own. Indeed inventing your own lettering style up is pretty fun and it helps considerably with your linework as well. Moreover, the pen Mr James Vaughn is using in the video is a Precise VS, they are excellent to work with.

LINE WORK is most important! “Design wiggly lines” make it O Man!

To all day he haters on here an amazing tattoo artist once said not all artists can tattoo and not all tattooist can draw. Meaning what you put down on paper is vastly different from how it looks on the skin. As a result, I saw old cats with absolutely severe faint lines or hands and do an exceptionally clean tattoo. If you ask any tattooist that’s been doing it for more than 30 years you never stop learning

What is the most established tattoo of all prime time?

Tattoos Of All Time

Dragons.

Butterfly.

Wings.

Stars.

Hearts.

Skulls.

Flowers.

Tribal Designs.

What modern font is best for visible tattoos?

Best Tattoo Fonts

Fearless Script.

Inked Script.

Mardian Pro.

True Love.

Sailors Tattoo Pro.

Fette Fraktur.

Angilla Tattoo.

Bleeding Cowboys.

What is precious tattoo styling?

Twelve of the classic styles of tattoo art

Classic Americana.

New school.

Japanese.

Black and grey.

Portraiture.

Stick and poke.

Realism.

Blackwork.

Biomechanical.

Geometric.

Realistic Trash Polka.

Surrealism.

In the end, I have a request. Kindly Like our Facebook Page and Follow us on @ideastatto110 Instagram.

#tattoo #tattoos #tattoed girls #tatto design #tattoo ideas girls #tattoo ideas boys #tattoo fonts lettering texts

3 notes · View notes

gloves94 · 4 years

Text

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 6

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

It didn't take Nel long to realize that her peers would not warm up to her anytime soon. Her lack of a blood status and the fact that she was a graceless orphan made her untouchable in their eyes. She could still remember the look on Crabbe and Goyle's faces when she was sorted into Slytherin. The two looked as if they were ready to warmly welcome her to the House with a nice shiner.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, also known to Nel as Malfoy's personal bodyguards were rather dull. They never said or did much besides eat and tail after their leader. Honestly, she wasn't sure if either of them actually knew how to read. Both of course, blue blooded lads just like the rest of the lot.

The other girls in her year seemed to go way back to kindergarten. It even sounded like all of their parents seemed to be friends. The girls shunned her out of gossip, gift exchanges and other private gatherings that they had. The fact that she was a Slytherin, and the house tended to have a reputation, made it hard to make friends from other houses. There was also the issue that Nel and Pansy seemed to be constantly butting heads, competing or bickering with each other since day one.

Daphne Greengrass was Pansy's right hand. However, their relationship seemed to be unstable with Pansy consistently wanting to one up the witch with backhanded passive aggressive envious jabs at her. Greengrass didn't seem to notice or care, Nel hadn't decided which one. She spent most of her day narcissistically combing and brushing her enviable blonde hair.

The only person in the girl's dormitory that seemed to be decent to her was Tracey Davis. Tracey's father was a Quidditch commentator because of that the girl was obsessed with the Pudlemere United and was often wearing their jerseys. Her mother was a Muggle which made her a Half-Blood and because of that some of the other girls looked down on her too. She talked about Quidditch constantly and even boasted how she would be trying out for it next year.

The first year Slytherin boys were not much different.

Despite the constant company of Crabbe and Goyle it seemed like Malfoy's best friend was a tall boy with dark features named Blaise Zabini. Blaise was charming and had no issue talking himself in or out of any issue. Even when persuading others do to his bidding. Nel could tell he was smart. It was no wonder that Malfoy kept him close to him. He was also terribly proud of his status as a Pureblood. He laughed at most of his best friend's cruel jokes, but tended to be more serious, opting out to simply look down in disgust at others he deemed to be inferior.

The last boy, Theodore Nott, was the quietest of the lot. He seemed to be constantly withdrawn in his own little world and disregarded most around him. No surprise, he was another Pureblood. The curly haired boy usually had his nose buried in a book. Out of the lot he seemed to be the one most indifference to Nel.

And then there was Malfoy…

The thought of him made her blood boil.

Specially after she had learned what the word Mudblood meant. She had asked Tracey one day during breakfast. "Who called you that?" She gasped a little with both of her dark eyes shot wide open in shock. "To your face?" She looked horrified.

As if it was that so hard to believe. The word was casually thrown around the common room with enough frequency that its ominous meaning lingered on the girl's mind.

Nel was presently on her way to Charms, a class that had so far become a favorite of hers. She clumsily walked with several books in her hands staggering on their weight as she pondered on the questions, she would be asking Professor Flitwick.

For somebody who despised reading she had been doing more than enough of it since arriving to Hogwarts. Not only did she have to keep her grades up, she had also learned she had to educate herself and be stronger and smarter than her peers. Specially if she wanted a fair shot at surviving the rest of the school year. It was even harder for her to keep up considering most of the lot came from wizarding families and had been exposed to spell works and magic since a young age.

Malfoy who was walking with his posse of boys watched her from a far. He had been extra bitter as of the late over the fact that Harry Potter had made Gryffindor's Quidditch team and had become the youngest Seeker in a Century. He of course had to take out his anger and frustrations on something - in this case on someone.

His eyes were glued to her back. Fixed on her horrible haircut.

"Watch this," he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle.

He flicked his wand in her direction. Nel didn't even see it coming. It was almost as if she had tripped on an invisible rope. She let out a loud gasp before taking a nasty spill, the handful of books she had been carrying spilling around her.

She looked at her scraped hands and lightly winced at them. Laughter approached her and then passed her as Malfoy and his friends walked by her the three of them laughing. She felt her head grow hot. Impulsively she reached for a large book and with perfect aim tossed it at the back of his head, hitting his gel helmet making him tilt forward.

"Next time you have the urge to hex me! Do it to my face!" She shouted at him.

"Oh, yeah?" He challenged stepping forward. "What are you going to do about it?" He whipped his wand out advancing towards her.

"Make you regret it, you fathead" Nel rose to her feet, books gathered in her arms. She pulled out her wand and without saying a word hexed him.

Malfoy's head began to grow and inflate like a balloon. He touched it and looked horrified when he realized what was happening. His head swelled up so much his face looked small compared to it. Nel let out a triumphant laugh and turned her wand to Crabbe and Goyle threatening them. The three boys scattered away in panic.

She heard laughter and turned to see Ron bent over with laughter a couple of steps behind her. Harry was next to him sniggering at what he had just seen.

"That's an illegal spell!" Granger stepped forward both her eyebrows turned up in concern. "You could get in serious trouble for that, or worse, expelled!"

Nel huffed humorously and lightly blew on her wand pretending it was a hot gun in one of those Western films she'd watch back at Wool's.

However, Ron shot Granger an irritated look. "Don't listen to her," he stepped forward. "Again, that was bloody brilliant!" He said in awe.

"Thanks," the girl responded as the four of them walked together to Charms class. "Your brothers actually taught it to me." She then turned to Potter, "Also, congrats on making the Quidditch team Harry. Youngest Seeker in the Century? That's pretty wicked," she smiled at him.

"Thanks," Harry flashed her an odd look. "Shouldn't you be upset? Slytherin is our rival team."

She shrugged casually. "I don't see any Slytherins around," she smiled charmingly before walking into potions. It was true. Ever since she found out what the word Mudblood meant - not wanting to be associated with such a disgusting ideology Nel had decided to shed her uniform. Opting out from wearing her emerald and silver tie and her green robes.

It seemed like her classmates had just realized that she wasn't in uniform because the Slytherin girls kept making comments about it or asking her why she wasn't wearing her robes which irritated her to no end.

“You’re going to make us lose House Points!” Bullstrode hissed at her, which made Nel roll her eyes.

Today they would be learning a new spell. One that was known to be most effective during dueling.

"Now, can anybody tell me what kind of spell Expelliarmus is?" Flitwick leaned over his podium eyeing the class.

Granger's hand instantly shot up in the air. Several students rolled their eyes at her. She could really be such an insufferable know-it-all sometimes. She was the kind of student that would remind the teacher to grade homework when it seemed like he or she had forgotten to collect it.

Elowen raised her hand for a change. Surprised Flitwick turned to attend the participation from the usually quiet student.

"Expelliarmus is a disarming charm. It's commonly used during duels to make an opponent lose their wand," she explained.

Flitwick seemed pleased. "Think you can demonstrate Ms. Saintday?"

"Uh…" She shifted nervously ready to cast the spell for the first time when Malfoy walked back into the class with a scowl on his normal sized face. She shook her head and returned her attention to the professor. Nodding, she flicked her wand and Flitwick's own wand flew out of his hand.

"Well done Ms. Saintday, 10 points Slytherin."

There were some low cheers on her side of the room. Nel was about to take her seat when the professor realized she wasn't wearing her uniform.

"Something wrong with your uniform Ms. Saintday?" He asked curiously. "Nope," The girl responded with an innocent smile.

"Then, may I ask why you chose not to wear it?"

The room grew silent expecting her answer. Tracy braced herself already wincing at the anticipated answer. Daphne looked at her oddly.

"Because I will not be associated with a House that prides itself and values bigotry and racism."

Xxxxx

Again, Nel had gotten herself landed in trouble. This time however, she had been sent to the person above Snape. The Headmaster himself.

She was sitting on a sofa chair before the Headmaster's cluttered desk. Her eyes wondered around the cluttered room looking at the many moving portraits on the walls. The mountains of books and artifacts and specially at the phoenix that seemed to be combing its crimson feathers perched on his post. She didn't know it was possible for such a beautiful creature to exist.

She was expecting Dumbledore to come from behind her but the man instead apparated on his desk before her. She flinched at the sudden movement lightly jerking back.

"Ah, Ms. Saintday," he greeted casually. "We haven't chatted since we were at the Three Broomsticks. Have you been adapting well to Hogwarts?" Funny how he used the word adapting. Instead of enjoying. She snorted at his words.

"I've had detention more times I can count and got sent to your office today. How do you think?" She answered rudely with complete lack of regard or respect that came from a lifetime of living under Wool’s thumb.

Dumbledore ignored her crass tone. "I also see you're not wearing your uniform. Any particular reason why?"

He already knew why. Why was he taunting her like this? Trying to tiptoe around her to try and get her to admit it? Suddenly the orphan felt like she was back at Wool's sitting in front of the Matron instead of the Headmaster.

Despite the dancing around the taboo subject he was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. Fascination perhaps? She couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was almost as if he knew something she didn't. As if this was some kind of personal test she had to pass. "You know why," She crossed her arms over her chest. "You'd be surprised to know most of Slytherin's students don't share the believes you are so concerned about. Even then, those same believes can stretch beyond house or even status," he explained in a dismissive tone.

'And what about those who do?' She wanted to ask. How could he take this so lightly?

"I can assure you that this institution does not tolerate or support any beliefs relating or pertaining to the discrimination of others," He reassured her. "I do understand that the Slytherin House gets a particular reputation due to the beliefs of the founder of your house, Salazar Slytherin, a name I'm sure you're more than familiar with."

She starred at him blankly. So? Snape had made her do several parchments on him and the history of Slytherin. Big deal. "However, since you've brought it to my attention," he stroked his beard sagely. "Something will be done," he winked at her with what she felt was the charisma that could move others to do his bidding to him.

She knew what Dumbledore was going to do. Absolutely nothing about it. She knew what those words meant. She had heard Wool say it plenty of times back at the orphanage.

He smiled at her and pointed his want in her direction. She flinched bracing herself to be jinxed or injured, but instead her green tie appeared and tied itself into a knot on her uniform and her green robe appeared from thin air growing on her arms.

"Sherbet Lemon?" He casually raised a glass bowl that contained a handful of lemon drop candies. Her mouth watered at the sight. Manipulative old man, lemon candies were her favorite…

She avoided his gaze before sinking her sticky hand into the bowl and taking a greedy fistful of them. Tongue half sticking out from her lips. She was about to leave when something stopped her before she reached the exit.

"I almost forgot," She returned to the desk. "Sir, I know that communication between Muggles and Wizards, is well, strained for less of a better word… Is there any chance that I can write to my friend Lucy? She's more family, really." She looked at him with hopeful eyes. "I'm afraid I can't make that exception Elowen. If Ms. Bonilla writes to you, what will stop the other children in Wool’s Orphanage from writing to you as well? The less people that know the better."

She slumped her shoulders in defeat. "However," he continued. "I would recommend you write to Ms. Wool to give your letter to Ms. Bonilla," he said kindly. "Is that all?" He crossed his arms behind his back.

Xxxxx

Nel was taken back when she found Tracey waiting for her outside of Dumbledore's office. "What happened?" She instantly asked. She looked more concerned than irritated which the orphan thought was odd.

"Nothing," Nel shrugged carelessly swinging her book bag over her shoulder. "Just talked," she said in a dull tone wanting to finish this conversation and just head directly to the owlery to write to Lucy.

"He wasn't angry?" She piped following the girl to the Great Hall. "No," Nel responded. She had a feeling that Tracey was only going to keep bugging her until she got her answers. "Like I said, we just talked. He offered me some candy," she said before popping one of the sherbet lemons into her mouth. "And made me wear my uniform."

They arrived to the Great Hall and sat at the end of the Slytherin table and helped themselves to today’s lunch rotisserie chicken, with rosemary potatoes, green beans and a split pea-soup.

"I thought what you did was brilliant," Tracey said taking a seat next to her classmate. "I wish I was that brave," she confessed.

Nel's eyebrows arched almost to her hair line in surprise.

"Or stupid," She heard a voice call from the other side.

Both girls turned to face Pansy who was sitting with Greengrass and Bullstrode. "You think just because you mastered one spell, you're better than all of us? That you can go cry to the Headmaster?" Pansy laughed.

Nel really wasn't having it today. She didn't even bother hearing whatever it was Parkinson had left to say.

"Sodd off fathead," She said casting Engorgio Skullus. It didn't take long for her head to begin to swell like a balloon just like Malfoy's had earlier. Students from other houses laughed at the girl's balloon head. Daphne and Millicent looked horrified as they escorted her friend to Madame Pomfrey. "Make that two spells!"

"Saintday," A familiar nasal voice spoke. Grimacing she turned back to see Snape standing behind her. "Detention…" He grumbled glaring down at her before stalking off.

Great.

"I thought it was pretty cool."

Neither one of the girls had even noticed that Nott had been sitting in front of them quietly reading a book. He looked up with the smallest of smiles.

The orphan didn't smile back. She gave him an odd look. "Aren't you… Like a fanatic too?"

Nott closed his book lightly and put it down. He did a light shrugging motion with his shoulders. "Sort of ridiculous, isn't it?"

Both girls returned his smile. Happy to have found some common ground and a new friend. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right. Maybe not everyone in Slytherin was terrible.

After lunch, for the first time since she arrived to Hogwarts Nel was happy. She was excited to write home and share the good news with her favorite person. She immediately wrote to Wool (Lucy) telling her everything and anything that she could tell her about Hogwarts and apologized for the lack of communication explaining that the school had no phones and was very particular about communications. Which was not a complete lie.

With that she sent Barberry off with it to London.

Xxxxx

The rest of the school year went as well as it could've gone, especially considering there was a dark wizard out and about seeking to obtain a weapon that was hidden in the school and that their stuttering professor or the Dark Arts turned out to be that dark wizard in disguise.

Nel never received a response a response from Lucy. Not that she was expecting one as her friend didn’t have an owl to respond to her. Who knows maybe Wool was keeping her letters from her. That was precisely the type of emotional torture that the evil woman would play out. The thought made her skin crawl. She prayed that Lucy would forgive her, that she'd understand.

Being a Slytherin wasn’t as unbearable as it had initially been now that Nel had two friends in Slytherin house and even some outside of it.

Much to her surprise she received a letter when the owls were delivering mail the day after swelling up Parkinson's head.

She couldn’t help but smile at the letter.

“Who’d be writing to you?” Parkinson asked while trying time catch a glimpse of the contents of the letter.

“Look,” Nel said leaning over, lowering her shoulder so that she could show the contents of the letter to Pansy. The girl peered over her noisily and let out a shout when she saw Nel’s wand poking out of her sleeve.

A spark went off and Pansy’s head once again began to swell up like a large balloon.

‘Glad to see you’re keeping the fatheads at bay. - F & G’

She couldn’t help but laugh a little and look up to meet the twin’s eyes from across the table. Some students were laughing at the balloon head in the table. Fred and George smiled proudly at the monster they had created.

"Detention Saintday." Snape muttered as he passed by the table. Whatever, it had totally been worth it. So, what if she had to spend a couple of hours polishing ancient trophies at night.

As previously mentioned, Slytherin was at least bearable now. Of course, it wasn't all daisies and roses but in the least bit it was tolerable.

Now she found the most unbearable part to be just how petty and horrible girls could be for each other. Especially when the other girls would comment on Nel's clothes. Since most of her pajamas consisted on oversized t-shirts and mismatching sweatpants that looked worn.

The majority of her clothing was very Swiss looking considering they all had as many holes as the cheese. She didn't even know how many kids had worn them before her.

The orphan built a thicker skin. She tried to push these insecure thoughts to the back of her head. As much as Nel tried not to be materialistic and let it get to her head, it was hard not to. The girl didn't have a single galleon to her name. She looked at all the beautiful things the other Slytherin girls had with green envy. Their pajamas all made out of silk with lovely buttons. Their clothes didn't have holes, lose threads, and weren't washed out, colorless or two sizes bigger than them.

However, the hardest part was watching how blinded they were to their privilege. How they took what they had for granted. She'd watch how they would all mishandle and treat their clothes like rags. Daphne even complained she was sick of having to wear the same thing more than once. Nel’s sticky fingers itched at the thought of taking something from them, it wasn’t like they would miss it. She also considered asking for it when they declared it so "last season" or something amongst those lines, but her pride was too great.

Nel would always be in need of money. Both in this world and the human one. This need awoke a new sense of entrepreneurship in her.

"Oi," She said tossing a crumbled-up paper to the back of Crabbe's head during History of Magic, also known as the most boring Wizarding class. Both him and Goyle turned back to look at her. Professor Binns was a ghost who had died during teaching, the man had not even realized he had died and simply stood up and continued teaching. Nel wondered how can one know they are not dead?

"Have you two done your transfiguration parchment on the difference between switching, vanishing and conjuring spells?" She asked Tweddle-Dee and Tweddle-Dum.

They shook their dumb heads no in unison.

Of course, they hadn't.

"I could help you with it," She implied. Then realized she'd have to be more concise considering how daft the boys were. "I'll do it for you," she clarified. "A Galleon for every 5 inches."

For somebody that despised reading so much Nel couldn't help but be locked up in the library most days doing Crabbe and Goyle's homework. The two didn't seem to care what grade she landed them as long as they were graded with Acceptable. And both were more than willing to pay.

Eventually she started getting other clients with strange request. One afternoon two male Ravenclaws approached her.

"You're Saintday.” One stated. "You're the girl that writes parchments, right?" The other said both seemed nervous as they fidgeted.

"Perhaps," she drawled out eyeing them curiously. They were Ravenclaws, weren't they supposed to be super smart? What did they need her for? "For the right price…"

"You also know how to turn people's heads into balloons, right?"

She arched her eyebrow at this.

And that's how Nel Saintday became the person you went to whenever you needed a favor done. All transactions were done carefully under the table in the musky corridors of the library to keep everything as anonymous and safe as possible. Parchment writing, hexing, you name it. Nel would make it happen. However, if you wanted something from Hogsmeade or Zonko's she'd refer her few clients to her associates in mischief the Weasley twins.

It was greatly frustrating seeing Slytherin lose the House Cup at the end of the year. Especially considering they had lost because of Dumbledore's favoritism to Gryffindor and the special attentions he put on Harry Potter. Nel scoffed bitterly. She liked Harry fine, but his special treatment really wasn't fair to others. Maybe she envied him. Like her he was an orphan, but unlike her, he had fame, he had a fortune, he even still had a family. Whereas she had nothing.

Finally returning to London at the end of the term. Nel wasted no time pounding on the orphanage’s door.

"Dear God, have mercy on me," Cordelia said aghast at the return of the girl he saw as the evil incarnate. Nel didn't bother in greeting the Matron. Wasting no time, she pushed past her, leaving her trunk and owl by the entrance as she rushed to the girls’ dormitory.

"Lucy!" She shouted excitedly her voice carrying over the corridors as she ran with a broad wide smile.

Some kids eyed her curiously, others cheered to see she had returned. Nel continued shouting her best friend's name as she poked her head into every room she could find. Her heart was pounding from the excitement.

"Lucy!" She shouted again entering the dormitory. She rushed over to Lucy’s bed and her heart dropped at the sight. She felt a painful jab on her chest. All of Lucy's belongings were missing, there were no photos on the wall, books on the nightstand or shoes underneath the bed.

She was gone.

End of Year 1

19 notes · View notes

mordigen · 3 years

Text

I had not written anything in a minute, as I typically use this as my sounding board, or soap box, if you will....but I guess things just hadn't gotten under my skin lately to make me feel the need to sound off. Which is a beautiful thing, I suppose, even if writing is lacking.

Indeed it has been quite....quiet, quite harmonious within the circles I frequent. Which is unusual, especially as we've had a couple Holidays, which usually stirs all the controversy. And I know with my last 3 part post I noted I had much more to talk about....but I've forgotten them all. So, they must not have been that important, eh?

It has been nice.

But (as there's always a but) in this quiet time I noticed something else - something I am certainly not unfamiliar with, but have never talked about, or confronted at all really.

I find myself feeling drawn away - and no, not in the depressive sense, as I am also certainly not unfamiliar with, but in a way that I have a hard time defining.

It is melancholy in the sense that it feels like a deep seated yearning - but not in a bad way, by any means, as I feel like if those yearnings didn't come and go over time, then I wouldn't be wholly myself. They are a part of me - they are not a bad thing, even if bittersweet.

They ebb and flow, and sometimes recede completely - at other times consume me completely. Though they usually hit me without warning, they start gradually and I can feel the oncoming tide. And once they've run their course, they recede just as swiftly, and gently, as they've rushed upon me.

It has happened for as long as I can, lucidly, remember. Though putting an exact date or age to it is difficult, as childhood memories tend to mesh and bleed together over the years, it can easily be said adolescence, at least, so it has been quite some time. But I still haven't ever gotten used to them, or have figured out how to cope with them - mentally or emotionally, anyhow. They do not prevent me from functioning or living my life, but they do wreck my mental state in a way. Though, I'm not sure I want to figure out how to cope with that...

I have been told by various people, at various points in my life, that I suffer from various forms of a disassociative disorder. Knowing I have depression issues I have investigated....but, No. Just no - it's not right. In all the many ones I have done ample research in, it's just not right - that is not me, that is not what I am experiencing. That is not what is happening, the "symptoms", even if some appear similar superficially, are all wrong.

When I say I feel drawn away, I do not mean I feel *detached*. That is a very big distinction - I'm feeling pulled away, to somewhere or something else, I do not feel disconnected. You can feel a connection to multiple things at once - so to be pulled into a something or somewhere else doesn't mean I have to detach, or "disassociate" with the here and now. I don't. Perhaps it is a foreign thing to try to describe to someone who has never experienced it before, and yes it is a hard to find the right words to begin with to really explain it in depth - but it's not that I "disassociate". Stop calling it that.

It is this very reason why I have never talked about it in depth at all, because even the slightest mention of anything puts others on high-alert. I know they are only trying to help, but no - you are not listening, you are not understanding. The best, and simplest, way I can recount it is like prioritizing. This thing - it's always there. It's always in me, and sometimes it just needs it's time. It doesn't even come first, as I still put all the needs and wants and important bits of this finite world first and foremost, but it needs its time in the sun, too.

As a child, they would say I was "dreamy" or just had an active imagination - I would day dream frequently, locked up inside my own head. Though I loved to play, and read, and write, and draw, I didn't need those things to enjoy my time. I could lay around for hours, in my own thoughts, completely happy and content, drawn away, off on an adventure, listening to the silent things whisper when they think no one is listening. I would doze and nap, and sleep extra long through the night - not because I was bored, or tired, but just because it gave me time in my own head - in my 'dreamland', where all these other things happened that wouldn't - or couldn't - in the waking world. As a young child, these were always described as good things....as a teen, it's often described as having your "head in the clouds" - something that is not necessarily good or bad, potentially problematic if left unchecked, but still nonetheless endearing. But as an adult? Phh. Well. Something must be wrong with you.

You're expected to grow out of it, but I find in adulthood it hits harder, and comes heavier, than ever as a child. Possibly because as children we're given room to indulge...it's creative, imaginative, learning to be content with your own company is touted as idealistic means of coping skills and personal growth - until it isn't.

For an extended time of my adult years I was wrongfully persuaded that it was hormonal as others had noted I tended to feel this 'drawing' around my cycle. I do get more emotional, and boy does the fatigue hit hard - but that still didn't make sense to me as it didn't happen *every* time on my cycle, and there were plenty of times it happened not on my cycle at all. Well, it doesn't have to happen everytime for it to be related, and hormones fluctuate throughout the whole month, so you don't have to actually be physically bleeding for it to be cycle related. What a cop out. With that logic, anything and everything under the sun and moon can be "cycle related". Bonus points deducted for the fact that every person telling me this was also, in fact, a woman. Shame. Lazy medicine right there. Lazy womanhood right there. And that's not even a feminist statement - that's just a common sense statement. Oh, so is every possible problem you ever have because of your period, M'AM ? So stupid. Stupider, yet, is that I listened to them. But I did, and I followed their suggestions - none of them worked, but with each new wave I would think the next would be better and easier if I just stayed the course - ignoring the fact that nothing was inherently wrong, and that this was only deemed an "issue" as it was categorized as "abnormal" and therefore must be fixed.

What I have come to realize now is that all those incidents - people wanting to categorize me with mental disorders, emotional disorders, or hormonal imbalances - call came at I time when I was, in fact, disconnected with something : my spirituality. I didn't have any type of falling out, or disillusioned from anything I ever believed in. Life just simply got in the way, I had more important things to worry about and do, and much less time to do them all in, so you just let certain things go that are not as pressing. Looking back at it now, I think maybe that is why they pulled on me harder in those years. Perhaps it was something drawing back in... I'd like to believe so, anyhow. And that's why I was stupid enough to believe doctors, and counselors, about stupid things I knew were not right - because I wasn't listening to the other half. And of course, nothing the ever suggested ever made one bit of difference - because it's not what was happening to me. And truthfully, because nothing was ever wrong.

As life started to level out, I slowly started doing little things here and there with my beliefs, with my workings. Little things, but baby steps, right? You can't just get off the couch and run a marathon - you have to warm up those muscles, start exercising those parts that have atrophied, and retraining your skills. Same applies - baby steps. It grew slowly over a few years - the tidal waves kept their course, as they do, and I just sort of accepted it at face value. But then the pandemic hit, and the world shut down. And boy, did I have all the time in the world.....and I used it.

Over this last year what I have come to realize is that, firstly - I was absolutely not alone. But also that I wasn't really paying as much attention as I thought I was - or my attention was skewed , by 'professionals', to focus on the wrong things. There was much more a pattern than I had ever noticed. These waves didn't come out of nowhere - though once they were on me, I could feel the gradual build - but before they ever even tickled my feet there were signs, there were patterns. I'd have days of restless nights, strange dreams, then it would fold into die-hard sleep, with absolutely no dreams at all - but waking as if I hadn't slept a wink and had been working all through the night. I'd wake with aches and strains, sometimes even bruises. We'd joke that our mattress was beating us up at night - we even forked out decent money for a brand new one. It's fabulous, and it solved zero of my problems, though my husband now sleeps like a baby...

It's only after these restless, exhausting nights does the tide start to flow back in, and the dreamy, dozey longing set in. The ache for something I cannot put my finger on, and the willingness to relent and let it take me away, even for just a time, and indulge in that pulling out to sea. I let it take me now - I do not fight it, I do not endure it, I let it take me and draw me out. And this is what so many professionals call "disassociating" - but that's not right. That's not what's happening.

And this is not some great spiritual come to Jeesus moment I am preaching to any of you, or certainly not meaning to be, but just the simplicity of paying attention. We, as pagans, just have the driven, inherent understansung that there are many more forces, and much more out there than what you see on the surface. And I had forgotten. Though I've kept my mouth shut, I've taken note when the topics and discussions come up - tons of people were in my very shoes. But they had been paying attention all along. I had forgotten. Some of the stories thrown out there I can't always get behind. Some of them are just flat out - No. But there were many more that weren't - they talked of the moon. The conjunctions. Astral travel. Being spirited away in the night. The veils. The Oran Mór. I was so stupid, I had been so blind.

And then, this year of much more laxed time gave me the opportunity to actually listen. These tides... their pattern.

The restless nights always came with the moons - these tides, they always came around significant dates....days when the veils are thinning. And now, as I feel the sweeping tides begin to pull again - here we are. Bealtaine is on the horizon. And as I wrack my memories.... every time.

Every. Time.

What is happening to me exactly? I still do not know - is this the call of the Oran Mór? Are the veils pulling at something deep inside me? Are the Fae trying to steal me away, as so many are quick to warn... Is there danger in letting the tides take me? Is this some deeper part of me being drawn home, trying to jar me to pay closer attention to things I have left forgotten? Something in there makes me think of my brothers...

I don't know all these answers, but I can't ignore them now that I've taken the time to listen. What I do know is that, whatever they may be - I don't want these tides to leave me. And believing that doesn't give me a dissociative disorder.

#pagan #truth #madd mordi #mordigen #ethereal #mordi #veils #thinning veils #holidays #astral #mental health #pagan awareness #spirited away #spirituality #being pagan isn't a mental condition #spiritual beliefs aren't a mental disorder

3 notes · View notes

sgstories123 · 4 years

Text

The Story of Alex Part 3

Jessie rinsed her mouth several times. It was disgusting. She could still taste Alex’s cum in her mouth. Alex had never made her swallow before. He knew she didn’t like it and he would always warn her that he is cumming so that she can avoid swallowing. What made him do this now? Did he know she was cheating on him?

She shook her head. No, he did not know even though he caught Bryan fetching her home. She was sure of it. She stepped into the shower and let the water run down her body. She really needed this shower to wash off everything that had happened that evening. Will she regret what she had done? She wondered.

It had all happened only a week ago yet looking back, it seemed like an eternity now. It was true that her company was involved in a huge project and that she was busy meeting with suppliers. At one of these meetings, she met Bryan, a man in his thirties with dyed blond hair. Bryan was the General Manager of the company. But he was given the position because his father owned the company. He didn’t really do much work but was paid a high salary. He obviously spent his time in the gym instead as he had a muscular body. But what attracted Jessie’s attention was his devilish charm and way with words. He flirted with her throughout the meeting and before she knew it, she agreed to have dinner with him.

It was a great evening. He brought her to a grand Italian restaurant in town and she ate the freshest lobster complete with fine wine. He drove her around town in his red BMW. She enjoyed how other women were looking in her direction as she walked around with a rich, good-looking man. She laid the blame on the alcohol but she knew she was not drunk when she went back with Bryan to his apartment and had sex.

Bryan was a different lover from Alex. He was very muscular and strong. When he took off his clothes, Jessie sensed mild fear just by looking at his huge muscles and the veins coursing through them. His arm was almost twice the size of Alex’s and when he hugged her, she almost felt that she was suffocating. Even his cock was frightening to her. Jessie had several boyfriends before. She knew that Alex had a large cock but Bryan’s was even larger with veins protruding everywhere. She could hardly put his cock into her mouth. It could not fit all the way in and her mouth was stretched sore from the effort. But Bryan did not take no for an answer. That is his sexual preference. He forced his cock into her mouth, jamming it till it hit the back of her throat. She almost choked but forced herself to endure as she wanted to please him. She was relieved when Bryan indicated that he had enough and wanted to fuck her after several minutes.

At first, she was worried that Bryan’s cock will be too big for her. But she did not realise that subconsciously, she was hungry for his huge cock. She was so wet that Bryan went in effortlessly. He wasn’t able to put it all the way initially as she had never fucked someone with such a large tool before. She felt him tearing her insides apart but it felt so good that he was reaching places that no one has reached before. Again, unlike Alex who was more gentle, slower and more passive, sex with Bryan felt almost like a battle, or being raped. He did not bother with kissing or sucking. He just went ahead fucking her mouth and when he felt that he is ready, he just went and fuck her cunt. He pushed it in as quickly as he can and started pumping without stoppping. Jessie was pinned under him, fucked without mercy. She tried to change the position, so that she can catch her breath. But it was no go. Bryan only wanted to be on top, fucking her mercilessly in missionary.

But still, Jessie came in waves of orgasm. It can’t be helped. Bryan was just pumping furiously with his large cock and there was no time to rest. After about an hour, Bryan finally stopped pumping, pulled himself out of Jessie and laid down beside her. Initially, Jessie thought that Bryan had not summed yet. She bent down and wanted to give him a blowjob. But that was not true. Bryan had in fact came several times. He was able to maintain his erection and continued fucking. When Jessie sat up, large volume of sperm flowed out of her vagina. She was shocked and wanted to confront Bryan. But he was already fast asleep.

Jessie spent the night at Bryan’s. The next morning, without any hint of regret or remorse, Bryan fucked her again. She tried to persuade Bryan to use a condom, but he refused and released another load in her. She was not able to stop him because deep inside, she knew she was addicted to the rough, strong sex.

Over the next week, she continued to make excuses to see Bryan, enjoying his attention on her. They would go for dinner and end up fucking in Bryan’s apartment. Initially, she felt guilty about cheating on Alex but over the week, she felt less guilty. Instead, she felt more worried that she may be losing Bryan. Bryan seemed to be losing interest in her. Their dinners are hurried affairs and their fuck sessions are getting shorter.

Yesterday, Bryan did not even want a blowjob. He simply pushed her down on the bed, pulled down her panties and fucked her with her clothes on. It was over in a couple of minutes. Jessie was worried and decided that she needed to do something.

This evening, she suggested to Bryan that they spiced up their sex lives. She had told Bryan that she will fulfil any of his sexual fantasies. Maybe that will help in their relationship.

“I can fulfil any sexual fantasies? You will go along with it?” Bryan looked at her when she proposed.

“Yes. Anything for you, Bryan. I want you to be happy and love me all over again. I want you to fuck me till I go crazy.”

“But I do love you.” Bryan leaned forward and kissed her. “You are right though. We need to do something to spice things up. Let’s go for dinner first and then back to the apartment. It will be a night you won’t forget.”

When they reached his apartment, she was surprised that the lights were on and there were already five other men in there. The men were all naked, stroking their hard cocks while watching porn on the television.

“Hey, what took you so long, Bryan! We are all impatiently waiting for you. Is this Jessie? You are right, she’s one pretty gal.” One of the guys called out.

“What’s this, Bryan?” Jessie was almost afraid to ask, perhaps even more afraid of what she knew must be the answer.

“My fantasy.” Bryan pulled her over to the group of naked men before stripping himself.

The men were all over Jessie, kissing her, touching her, and helping her remove her clothes, Within minutes, she was naked and hands were roaming all parts of her body. She was licked and sucked in all places, her nipples, her cunt, her ass and even her ears were not spared. Fingers were shoved in her cunt, her ass and her mouth. She was frightened initially but soon gave in to her lust. They were all strong, young men giving her the sexual attention she craved. It was when a hard cock was shoved into her face that she realised that someone had already replaced the fingers fucking her cunt with hard cocks. She sucked on the cock only to be replaced by a different one every few minutes. They were cumming in her. She could feel sperm leaking out of her but as there was always a cock replacing the one that just cummed in her, she lost count how many have fucked her or how many times each had fucked her. She was turned around and someone started fucking her ass. It was a double penetration. Someone was below her fucking her cunt while another was above her fucking her ass. No, it was a triple penetration. Another shoved his cock into her mouth and she was riding out waves of continuous orgasm.

It must have gone on for about an hour. She was weak and sore from all the fucking but the men still seemed to be able to go on.

“I can’t take it any more. Can I rest for a while?” She managed to utter before the next cock was shoved into her mouth.

“Ha ha! Looks like the bitch has enough. Let’s all cum on her one last time as a grand finale, shall we?” Someone suggested.

The men surrounded her and stroking their cock, they came in succession over her face and her body. Jessie was unable to recall much but it seems everyone dressed up quickly and left. She sat up only to realise that her body was coved in sperm. Sperm was also dripping out of her cunt and ass. Bryan was sitting on a nearby sofa, stroking his erect cock.

“You know, I didn’t fuck you just now at all. It was just so erotic seeing you fucked by all my friends. Now come here and let me put the icing on you.”

Jessie crawled over and knelt in front of Bryan. Bryan increased his pace of stroking and very quickly released a stream of cum all over Jessie’s breast.

“I should wash up now.” Jessie got up to head towards the bathroom.

“No. Wear our sperm home. I want everyone to smell my sperm on you. You are mine.” smiled Bryan.

Resigned, Jessie put on her clothes over her cum-drenched body, hoping that the smell will go away quickly.

“I will send you home. We will do this again.” Bryan offered.

#Story of Alex

50 notes · View notes

hippriestess · 4 years

Photo

Part 4 - I’ve Been Duped...

It was to be expected that some of those who brought us some of the less essential Fall releases would also respond to Smith's death. One of worst was the first to arrive and it came from perennial recyclers Secret Records; a repackaging of 10 live tracks from the 2002 “A Touch Sensitive” DVD – already reconfigured multiple times – on an LP titled, and this absolutely beggars belief, “Best Of” and credited to “The Fall & Mark E Smith”, a credit never once used on a release in Smith's lifetime (a few gig posters, yes but never a record). Released just 3 months after Smith's death for about £18-20, this received the derision it deserved and, judging from the number of copies for sale on Discogs and their current asking prices, it appears to have sold just a little more than fuck all.

But even this was overshadowed come March 2019 when Ozit/Dandelion released what has to be The Worst Fall Release Ever. Pressed into horrid orange vinyl, the contents of “Mark's Personal Holiday Tony Tapes” were staggeringly poor. Proudly labelled as “Non-Record-Store-Day Release” (was it turned down?) the record boasted just 8 tracks. The album tried to elide its rotten contents by calling all the tracks “Mark's Personal Holiday Tony Tapes”. Track 1 was a 6 minute version of “Last Nacht” from “I Am Kurious Oranj”. The released track doesn't actually feature within the 6 minutes so this is probably an outtake and therefore probably not owned by Beggars Banquet. There is a drop out lasting several seconds that has gone uncorrected and it's about 4 minutes longer than it needs to be, confirming the brevity of the version used in 1988 to be bob on. Tracks 2, 4, 6 and 8 are live tracks from 1981, all of which had already been released on the otherwise unimpressive “Northern Cream” DVD. What is barely credible is that tracks 3, 5 and 7 are also “Last Nacht” but not further alternates, rather being Track 1 cut into 2 minute pieces and simply repeated! Did they think we wouldn't notice?! Utterly awful, thoroughly exploitative and an absolute disgrace. They also stumped up a 30 minute DVD of MES being interviewed. This bore the thoroughly unappealing title “30 Minutes On A Manchester Slag Heap”. I only ever saw this for sale on eBay but a couple of clicks confirmed that it was Ozit/Dandelion product being sold by them through that channel. The cover was of a slag heap rather than of MES. Enough said.

OK, let's tidy up, what's next?

The immediate future sees 2 vinyl releases in the August “drop” of the now-staggered, socially-distanced RSD2020; a double LP of “[Austurbæjarbíó] - Reykjavík Live 1983” on the now inevitable splatter vinyl and a single LP of “Cerebral Caustic” on multi-coloured “bonkers” (their word, absofuckinglutely not mine) splatter vinyl because of course it is. That's all for RSD this year, a move which represents far better judgement by the organisers. A studio album out of print on vinyl for 25 years and a properly sought after live release on the format for the first time? Yeah, that fits well with what RSD was meant to be back when we all queued up for a “Bury Pts 2 + 4” 7” in 2010.

Now, a fun wee question mark was raised over “CC” when the RSD website credited the release to Demon rather than Cherry Red. It appears Demon have the Permanent Records catalogue and have also announced clear vinyl reissues of “The Infotainment Scan”, “Middle Class Revolt”, “The Twenty-Seven Points” and, perhaps most interestingly, “The Post Nearly Man”, all on clear vinyl with expanded artwork from Pascal LeGras. It looks as though these are coming in under the £20 mark (£25 for T27P) and I reckon they'll be popular – I fancy nabbing MCR and TPNM myself. A bit of a downer that all of these, except, oddly, “The Post Nearly Man” were recently rescheduled from September 2020 to January 2021 but hey ho – probably Covid-related, much like everything else.

As for Cherry Red, whilst one report had it that “Are You Are Missing Winner” was next, they are finally releasing a 3CD/2LP edition of “Imperial Wax Solvent” in October. This includes the much-discussed original mix by Grant Showbiz and a previously unavailable live set from shortly after the album's original release. This is, basically, exactly what we wanted. Hurrah! Can't wait.

Thanks to the speculation re: AYAMW, there was a little disappointment in come quarters and I can certainly see a healthy audience for a straight single LP pressing of that as it was only ever available on a picture disc vinyl before. Here's hoping they won't go for a double splatter vinyl with unnecessary extras (“Where's The Fuckin' Taxi? Cunt” on vinyl? Come on, SPARE US).

To yr present authors surprise, an expanded edition of “The Frenz Experiment” was announced for release by Beggars Banquet/Arkive in October. I had reckoned a new vinyl edition was likely as it was the only studio album on BB not yet afforded a new pressing and the addition of a second LP with various singles tracks was no surprise either, given that there are similar packages available for “TWAFW”, “TNSG” and “Bend Sinister”. A very pleasant surprise however is the inclusion of the group's Janice Long session from 1987, their only unreleased Radio 1 session. Also, “A Day In The Life” has been licenced for the this also (it was the only studio recording from the era missing from “5 Albums”). The Long session and “...Life” are only on the CD version. As such, this release very much follows the pattern of the “Bend Sinister” reissue from 2018 and is likely inspired by the near ecstatic reception and healthy sales that release enjoyed. Nice that the CD edition is £12 this time, having been more like £22 for “Bend Sinister”.

Let Them Eat Vinyl are responsible for the illustration...they are planning an almost ludicrous onslaught of Fall vinyl. Their website currently lists an almost unbelievable THIRTY ONE Fall LP releases for the three months running September to November. Thirty-one. Now – this includes “Interim” which is already on the shelves but it also includes the “Live From The Vaults” releases. It was assumed from the inclusion of two of these on Cherry Red's “Dragnet” 3CD box that these were part of the Fall Sound Archive deal that MES cut with CR in the years before his death which makes this a bit interesting. Also, LTEV are also claiming they will release “The Post-Nearly Man” on vinyl in October, which clashes with Demon's schedule – they originally had Smith and The Fall's albums for Permanent Records releases slated for reissue in September but all except TPNM have been moved. Meanwhile, “Cog Sinister” are about to release TPNM on CD! After being unavailable and highly prized for 2 decades, we're now set for 3 separate reissues within 2 months! Anyway, the vast majority of the remaining LTEV are discs from the 2 “sets of ten (really eleven)” although also included are the excellent “I Am Pure As Oranj” and the first vinyl edition of “The Light User Syndrome” since its original release in 1996. Caveat Emptor, as the saying goes.

Narnack are also hinting that a 3LP “Fall Heads Roll” isn't too far off. Having teased this for a couple of years, Early in 2020, it was announced that the label was folding. This announcement was deleted and Narnack immediately moved on to asking fans to suggest what additional material could be added to this new version. Never one of their best, there would have to be some impressive outtakes to persuade yr persent scribe to cough up.

Elsewhere, Phonogram have yet to succumb to new vinyl pressings of their albums, despite the prices fetched on the collectors market for these, especially “Code-Selfish”. This may be partly due to what seems to have been a relatively low take-up for their 6CD box set from 2017. Titled “The Fontana Years”, this was just the 2CD editions of the three albums from 2007 in a box. It therefore looked weak next to the “Singles 1978-2016” box set as well as providing nothing attractive to the faithful who already had them. It hit the shelves at £35-40 a time and, unsurprisingly, remained there and can now be scored for around £20.

The much requested expansion of “The Real New Fall LP” with the original, very different mix of the album has yet to appear. At last count, contractual wrangles between the UK and US were said to be in the way but who knows? If “Levitate” can reappear, surely this can too.

Of course, we never know what else the less-salubrious end of the market will have for us but we shall approach with due caution.

The cold reality: what we get now is all there is. Mark E Smith now exists for Fall fans on paper, on magnetic tape, on vinyl and in combinations of 0 and 1. A sad fact. But it is clear that the appetite for The Fall is, if anything, increasing. Hindsight is presenting The Fall in a particularly clear light. In such a stylised, filtered and carefully marketed world, full of covert strategies and manipulative messaging, The Fall are reassuringly flawed, human, real. Their jagged edges, their constant state of flux, their DIY presentation and their disinterest in convention draws in the curious. The quantity of music suits an insatiable, want-it-all-and-now culture and, having made their albums for the vinyl format as well as bringing us so many magnificent 3-4 minute singles, their music is almost perfectly suited to today's market place where vinyl albums mix with song-by-song streams. People who love to write about music always loved The Fall and it seems that this is every bit as true today as it was in the days when we never had to wait any more than a few months for a missive of some sort, be it an album, a single, a Peel session or even just an entertaining interview.

Given that The Beatles – the most lauded rock/pop act of all time - have finally reached a generation to whom their blithe optimism means absolutely nothing, it is impossible to say how anything in music will be regarded 20 years from now. But for now, at least, The Fall endure. Their vibrations remain intense and powerful. And we, the people, dance to the waves.

Nine out of ten? Nah. Ten out of ten. Top marks.

#mark e smith #the fall #long live the fall

6 notes · View notes

lucifers-trash-stash · 5 years

Text

Run From Me: Chapter Five

Summary: There aren’t many solutions to escape becoming a member of The Mad Titan Thanos’ harem. All you can try to do is to run and pray he doesn’t find you.

Word Count: 5,098

Warnings for this Chapter: Sexual feelings and tension, sweaty sparring sessions

Run From Me Masterlist

Groggily, I laid awake on my stomach. My blanket was pulled over my head and my face was pressed into my pillow. It was far too early for me to be awake, considering I’d spent the night just flipping through pages of the book I had borrowed the day before. Even though I was one of the lucky ones to have a translator chip implanted in my throat soon after being taken from Earth, it was useless at deciphering dead languages. The most it could do was find similar symbols to all of the current languages uploaded onto the device, so I had spent my time trying to make sense of the text. The most I understood was that it was a history book detailing some ancient alien species long wiped out from existence. It was more of an exercise in futility than anything closely resembling fun.

Maybe today I’d stop by the library and poke around some more. Without being watched from a distance by Thanos. Hopefully I could find something there I’d be able to read, preferably from Earth, though it would take forever to sort through all the material. It would be a better use of my time, considering most of my days were filled with wandering around the ship.

Shifting my position slightly to dip further into the mattress, I let my mind wander. I hoped Thanos told his guards I’d be allowed to go to the library without any hassle or anything. However, it could be amusing if I was brought to Thanos anyways. I smiled, imagining standing behind Thanos while he chewed out the guard, with me making “nyeh nyeh” faces at the guard with him not being able to do jack shit about it. But then that meant I’d have to actually see Thanos again and call him ‘Master’ and I wasn’t particularly in the mood for that little venture after the humiliation I endured yesterday.

I felt a clench in my stomach just thinking about it. Thanos and his smug fucking grin watching me call him Master. Acting as if he had me in the palm of his hand. His massive hand. With fingers so big they practically engulfed my face when he held my chin so firmly…

My eyes shot open. I suddenly realized that the clenching in my stomach wasn’t anger at Thanos. No, it was… need. Without thinking of it, my thighs pressed together on their own, seeking pressure to ease the ache.

I clenched my eyes shut and buried my head in my pillow, pulling my thighs apart. No, this isn’t going to fucking happen. Me and my stupid fucking hormones aren’t going to get in the way of me trying to figure out an escape out of this place. I was already getting closer, Thanos was trusting me more and allowing me a bit more free reign to explore. Allowing me to read his books was a baby step towards freedom, but still a step.

Just as I was calming down at the notion of finding more books, reading books, and shoving my face in books and taking that deep inhale of old book smell, a familiar nagging voice at the back of my head spoke up. You haven’t had any action in a long time. Not even to masturbate. You deserve it, there’s no harm in touching yourself, indulging a little.

I groaned loudly and took my pillow and pressed it on top of my head, trying to block out the sounds of my brain trying to persuade me into giving in. Never in my fucking life would I want to masturbate to the thought of him, no fucking way. He’s my captor, keeping me here against my will. He murders whole planets of people for whatever the fuck purpose he has, I don’t know. He tortures people and makes his ‘children’ kill anyone who stands against them. Innocents. That’s the most disgusting, abhorrent thing I could think of to try to get my brain back on track.

After the voices had quelled a bit, I laid there, breathing heavily into the soft fabric. Even though I’d done everything I could, Elsy’s voice whispered into my ear, reminding me of how she said he was an attentive lover and that he was large…

And then the floodgates broke.

Okay, so considering how massive he is, how large are we talking here? Like, is it the circumference of my arm big? Would my hand even be able to fit around it? Jesus Christ, how on earth would he even be able to fit into anything??? I sure hope to god he’d use lube. Is there even lube in space? Holy shit, is there space lube???

With an angry shout, I sat up and hurled the pillow at the wall, watching it flop down onto the floor. No, I wasn’t going to give into these thoughts. Fuck Thanos, fuck him and his big stupid chin and his stupid fucking hands and his idiotically goofy big boots and just-

I let these thoughts run through my brain as I hopped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, fully intending to take an ice cold shower and forget this even happened.

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

Stomping down the hallway, I grumbled to myself as I wandered aimlessly. I had never been awake on the ship this early, and apparently it was still too early to get breakfast. So here I was, hungry and bored with nowhere to go. Nowhere besides walking around, I suppose.

Once I had calmed down a bit more, I found myself nearing the training room. Surely there was no one inside at this hour? Maybe I could sneak in and take a look at the place from inside before anyone could catch me.

As I neared the door, I heard talking from inside. Cursing to myself, I wondered who I’d be spying on today. Being careful not to get myself caught like last time with Proxima, I kept my face out of the window as much as I could before looking inside.

To my surprise, Thanos was standing in the middle of the room. Cull, Corvus, and Proxima were also there, listening to him speak. I honestly didn’t see Thanos as the type of guy that would participate in sparring, but I supposed he’d have to periodically check up on his ‘children’ to make sure they were up to his standards. All of them except for Maw, who was missing from the line up. Apparently he must be above this sort of training.

As the Black Order began to take their stances, Thanos reached his hand behind his back, gripping onto the collar of his shirt. Curious as to what he was doing, I leaned forward against the small glass window and squinted. Was there like a sword on his back or something? It seemed unlikely, as the rest of them were without weapons and opting for hand to hand combat. Then what was he doing?

And then it hit me. I watched as he yanked his tunic over his head with a swift motion, tossing it onto the floor behind him as he waited for one of them to come at him.

Holy shit.

I knew Thanos was built pretty well simply from his large physique, but Christ I hadn’t imagined anything like this. I wasn’t typically the kind of woman to stop dead in her tracks because of some dude with big muscles, but damn. Thanos was simply massive, his muscles well-defined and still as he waited for the right moment to strike. My eyes traced the lines of his abs, dipping down further to the V of his hips…

Before I could scold myself for thinking about Thanos like that on top of those fantasies I had this morning, Cull suddenly lunged at Thanos. Without so much as a flinch, Thanos turned quickly to face him and grabbed Cull’s fist. As Cull wound his other fist to connect with the side of Thanos’ head, Thanos quickly brought up his free arm and blocked the move and slammed his shoulder into Cull to knock him off balance.

Proxima and Corvus paced along the sidelines, obviously waiting for an opportune moment for Thanos to let his guard down. I had the feeling those two were really no match for Thanos in hand to hand combat, and their only means of attack were to simply strike and evade.

As Cull stumbled, Thanos punched him in the stomach, knocking him down onto the ground. Thanos then brought his arm back, his muscles tensed, and threw his fist onto Cull as he lay there on the floor. But Cull managed to roll out of the way just in time, leaving Thanos open.

That’s when Proxima and Corvus made their move. While Thanos had his back turned, the two ran at him, ready to deliver a double kick into his back. But Thanos was smarter than that. With one swipe of his arm behind him, he knocked the two out of the air and they landed quite a ways away from where he knelt.

Cull was already back onto his feet, and he went for a kick this time. Thanos simply grabbed Cull’s foot, yanking him down to Thanos’ level. Cull bellowed out in anger as Thanos spun around him and pinned Cull to the floor with his knee between his shoulder blades and one of his arms twisted behind him.

Proxima and Corvus decided to try taking Thanos from both sides, Proxima taking the left and Corvus taking the right. As Cull squirmed to get out of Thanos’ hold, Thanos turned his attention to the other two children. With one of his hands occupied, I knew he was going to have to take the hit from someone. Thanos batted aside Proxima with his free hand, while Corvus’ heel connected with the side of Thanos’ face. Corvus had no time to scramble backwards from Thanos before Thanos gripped onto the front of his robes and threw him towards Proxima. I flinched as he landed on top of her with a loud grunt of pain from the both of them.

Cull continued to struggle, trying to find a way to get out from Thanos’ hold. The Titan held firm, pressing Cull’s trapped hand further behind his back until he finally gave in with a slap of his free hand against the floor.

Thanos stood up faster than I thought he would, letting Cull roll over onto his back. Corvus and Proxima were already sitting up, faces sullen from defeat. Thanos spoke again, turning his attention to the two. I assumed he was lecturing them, and I watched as Proxima stood up and held out her hand for Corvus to take. Thanos offered the same gesture to Cull, and as Cull stood up, Thanos kept his hand firm on Cull’s as he spoke. It was then I realized how the two were so close in height, but Cull might have beat him by a few inches. Thanos, however, still seemed to be the reigning champion in the bulk muscle department.

As I watched Thanos step away from Cull, I saw him turn his head slightly towards where I stood behind the door. Having learned my lesson from catching eyes with Proxima the other day, I quickly ducked under the door and slid down, leaning against it. That was almost too close of a call. Proxima was one thing, but having Thanos know I was watching him? Fuck, he’d never let it go and hold it over me every time he saw me.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open from under me. I fell back onto the floor, yelping in surprise. As I looked up from the floor, I saw Proxima smirk as she leaned over me. “Hello, Terran,” she purred. “Looks like you just couldn’t help poking your nose around here again.”

I did my best to force a smile on my face in the hopes that I wouldn’t immediately get the shit kicked out of me. “There’s no harm in simple admiration of strong fighters, now is there?” I asked, hoping to butter her up. When she didn’t budge, I sighed and let my smile drop. “Fine, when did you figure out I was here?”

Proxima scoffed. “I actually didn’t notice you until Thanos told me to let you in. He wishes to speak with you.”

With that, she turned and walked back towards where Corvus stood on the other side of the room. My stomach fluttered with anticipation of having to speak to Thanos while my mind was racing with inappropriate thoughts of him. I flipped over onto my front and pushed myself back up off of the ground.

The room was incredibly large, and I immediately spotted Thanos sitting across the room on bench, watching me closely. I gulped, willing my feet to move forward to talk with him. Cull ignored me as he passed me to leave the training room. Proxima and Corvus stood off to the side, watching me as I forced myself to not give them a dirty look. The two seemed to be talking under their breath, but once I passed them, I heard their footsteps and the sound of the door thudding back into place.

Only Thanos and I were left.

I finally stood in front of Thanos, keeping my distance by a good few feet, and crossed my arms. He sat slightly hunched over, still shirtless. He didn’t seem to be out of breath, but I noticed the beads of sweat rolling down along his body. My eyes focused back onto Thanos as he spoke, “Is that how you greet your master? By pouting and crossing your arms?”

I put my arms by my sides instead, tilting my head off to the side as I refused to meet his gaze. “Hello, Master,” I muttered halfheartedly.

Thanos chuckled. “I’m certain you can do better than that, little human.”

I rolled my eyes and looked at him and his smug fucking face. In a monotone voice, I repeated myself, “Hello Master.”

“Better. Now tell me, little human, why are you here this early?”

I shrugged. “I just woke up early is all. Why are you here early?”

“It’s quiet in the morning. Peaceful,” Thanos said.

“Yeah, kicking the shit out of each other before the crack of dawn sure is peaceful,” I said sarcastically.

“It helps to get the blood flowing. But you didn’t answer me. Why are you here?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I tend to just walk around when I’m bored. I stopped because I heard noises and now,” I gestured to myself. “Here I am.”

Thanos gave me an amused look. Running on my current train of thought, I continued, “Anyways, how in the hell did you know I was there? You never looked over at me once.”

Chuckling, Thanos sat up a bit more, placing his hands on his knees. It gave me a bit more of a glimpse at his body, but I didn’t dare look with him in front of me like this. “Well, perhaps if your eyes weren’t occupied with other parts of me, then you’d have noticed me looking over at your face pressed against the door.”

My eyes widened, and I sputtered. “What!?” I finally spat out. “No! God no! I wasn’t looking at you like that! Christ, get over yourself!”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” Thanos simply laughed at my frustration.

“I wasn’t! I was just watching the fighting is all,” I said, trying to backtrack. “I used to watch that back on Earth sometimes. Wrestling and shit like that.” It wasn’t a lie, I did watch wrestling with my parents when I was younger.

Thanos hummed to himself. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Is fighting something you’re passionate about?” he asked.

I paused for a moment. “Kinda. I’m not very good at it. I’ve wanted to improve, sure, but that’s how it goes, I suppose. Only so much time in the day.”

“Are you serious about being willing to learn?” he asked.

I furrowed my brow. “Maybe?” I responded slowly, unsure of what he was leading to.

Thanos looked into my eyes. “If you want to learn, then I could train you.” When I simply stared at him, he explained, “I take honing one’s skills seriously. If you’re willing, then I could help.”

It was incredibly tempting. But it also bothered me. It seemed too easy. Why would Thanos offer one of his women a chance to train? To be stronger? It surely would never be enough to escape Thanos, but it was the closest chance one could get.

And yet, I couldn’t take it. I didn’t trust him.

“No thanks. I can take care of myself,” I said, crossing my arms again.

Thanos simply smiled. “I’m sure you can,” he said. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or just teasing me. Before I could, my stomach growled, loudly, breaking the silence. Thanos actually tilted his head back and laughed, a deep, rich, genuine laugh that I hadn’t heard from him before. Still, I was red in the face, scowling at him as he laughed at me.

When he finally stopped laughing, he gave me a soft smile. “Go eat, little human. The kitchens are probably open by now.”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything more, and I quickly turned around and stormed out of the room. I wasn’t going to give him another opportunity to get the upper hand on me again.

-----------

Later on in the day, I happily made my way towards the library, having had no encounters with anyone trying to stop me the entire way there. Something about going to a library always left me feeling so giddy; being able to lose myself in the pages for a few hours while I explored new worlds was a relaxing feeling.

Pushing the doors open, I entered that world. I smiled as I gazed over the room, trying to figure out where to go first. I pulled the book I had out of my bag and set it up back in its place on the shelf. Looking up, I tried to see what kind of books were on the higher shelves, but I couldn’t read the spines from that distance.

I glanced around the room looking for one of those rolling library ladders I’ve always wanted to ride around the library when I was a little kid. But I didn’t find any. I put my hands on my hips and looked up, groaning. What kind of bullshit library was this? I can’t even reach the higher shelves! Who in the fuck could even get those books?

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to think. I stepped back and stared at the shelves, trying to figure out how to get up there without breaking my neck. And then it hit me. I walked up to the shelf, pulling at it a little. No wobbling. I tested putting my weight on one of the lower shelves; nothing moved there. This was probably the dumbest idea I could have had, but it was worth a shot. I was just glad I’d worn my pants today.

With a grunt, I climbed a good five feet off of the ground, glancing over the spines to see if I could find anything from Earth. Nothing so far. As I climbed higher and higher, the stupider I felt. And then, the thought of how I’m going to even get back down invaded my brain. Too late, I was in too deep to give up now.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked out of nowhere, and I almost slipped off of the shelf under my grip. Somehow, I stayed on, and glanced over my shoulder to look down. I immediately let out an exasperated groan at the familiar face staring up at me.

Maw stood, his hands laced together as he looked up curiously at me. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed by my little stunt, but I didn’t particularly care. Here I was hoping I wouldn’t see Thanos again today after that embarrassing encounter, and I ended up with my second worst person I didn’t want to see.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I spat. “There’s no ladders in this damn place and I’m trying to look for books. How on earth do you guys get to any of these shelves?”

A book slid out from beside my head, slowly floating down until Maw held it in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at him. Of course.

“Personally, I don’t need a ladder. However, you somehow missed the hover lift here,” Maw gestured to the floor next to one of the shelves. I hadn’t noticed it when I was walking around, but there was certainly something there hidden under one of the tables.

“Oh that’s such bullshit,” I grumbled to myself.

“Do you need help getting down?” Maw asked.

I scowled. “I don’t need your help for anything! I can get down myself.”

Maw shrugged and turned to another bookcase, as if I was boring him. “Fine by me.”

Taking a deep breath, I focused on scaling my way back down the shelves. However, Maw’s voice broke out through the silence when I was trying to concentrate. “Was there something you were looking for in particular?” he asked.

I grunted as I stepped down another shelf. “Something from Earth,” I called down.

“Of the many books you could read, you want something from home? How droll.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion!” I said. When I turned to speak, my foot slipped off of the shelf. I was about to cry out, but then my foot stuck to something that I couldn’t see. I looked around confused for a moment before coming to a conclusion. “I said I didn’t need your help, Maw!”

“Would you really like me to let your foot go?” Maw asked with bored amusement. “If you say so…”

“Fine! Fine, help me down,” I conceded.

Maw, his back still turned to me, responded, “Let go of the shelves.”

Taking a deep breath, I did as he asked. Instead of dropping quickly, it was as if someone was gripping my waist. I was gently brought back to the floor, my arms crossed and mind stewing over needing help in the first place.

Maw’s back was still turned to me when I reached the floor, and I turned to face him. A few books were levitating down from the shelves in front of him, and he clicked his tongue as he pulled a few more out. He then turned to me and spoke, “As you’re surely aware, there aren’t many Terran trinkets this far out in the galaxy-”

“However…?” I interjected.

“However,” Maw continued, his eyes narrowing at me. “I, as well as Thanos, do our best to acquire knowledge from across the galaxy. If there was anywhere this far out that had Terran books, it would be in this collection. Now,” he closed his eyes and tapped his fingers in midair, as if typing on a computer. “I assume you prefer English language material, which narrows things down a bit more. We have Homer, Shelley, Alighieri, Fitzgerald, Poe, Bronte, Dickens, Lovecraft, Melville, Carroll, Alcott, Hawthorne, Doyle-”

I had to interrupt him, otherwise he’d go on forever. I didn’t realize that when he said he narrowed the search, there would still be this many. “Poe is fine,” I told him.

Maw’s ice blue eyes flickered open as he crooked his finger, taking a book out from one of the topmost shelves. I made a mental note of where abouts the book was plucked from, hoping that the other Earth books would be there when I went searching next time. “A rather intriguing author,” Maw mused. “I would personally prefer to find more historical and scientific accounts regarding Terra, but these are amusing vignettes nonetheless.”

I watched as the hardbound book floated into Maw’s hand, and he tilted his hand down for me to take it. Just as I was about to, Maw quickly retracted his arm with a smile. “You must have been on your best behavior for Lord Thanos to allow you in here,” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah, he-” I stopped myself, watching as Maw’s brow raised slightly. Thanos told me I had to refer to him by master to everyone, and I began to wonder if this was what Maw wanted me to do. Acting all nice and then waiting for his moment to hold this over me. I pursed my lips slightly, and continued, “My Master felt I was behaving better.”

A grin creeped up Maw’s lips as he finally handed the book to me. “Didn’t I tell you that Thanos would cure you of your defiant tone? Apparently it’s working beautifully.”

I scowled and took the book from him. I elected to ignore his little comment and walk straight to the door, but his voice called out. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in the middle of the room.

Standing there for a moment, I mulled over my choices. Play nice, or get upset and possibly get choked out again. Sighing, I decided to keep on his good side. I went to sit on the smaller of the two chairs, and Maw, as if reading my mind even though his back was turned, told me, “Not that one. It’s my seat.”

I made a mocking face to myself as I went to walk over to the other one. This was certainly Thanos’ chair, though I couldn’t imagine Thanos sitting down to read. I flopped down in the chair as it immediately engulfed me. The fabric was nice and soft, and I almost didn’t mind sitting here even if Thanos had sat here in the past.

Maw sat down in his own seat, a stack of books floating beside him. I watched as one book hovered before him and he scanned the pages with his fingers, pages flipping quickly on their own. I mentally rolled my eyes to myself. Of course Maw could speed read.

I decided to ignore him and make myself comfortable, but before I could scoot back and pull my feet up, Maw chided me, “If you’re going to put your feet up, take your boots off. I don’t assume you’d like to answer to Thanos as to why his chair is tarnished?”

Grumbling, I kicked off my boots and sat back in the chair with my knees up. Since the chair was so big, I was comfortable sitting in whatever position I wanted. I wish I had one of these chairs all the time.

I opened the book and lazily skimmed through the table of contents trying to find the stories I wanted. I doubted I’d be able to concentrate well enough with Maw and his cycle of never ending floating books. I let my eyes glaze over on the pages, flipping occasionally.

After about ten minutes or so, Maw’s head suddenly flicked upwards. I snapped my attention back to him, thinking he was going to have something more to say to me. Instead, he stood up quickly and swiped his hand down, setting the books in a neat stack by his feet. His robes swished as he made his way to the door, not bothering to explain to me what was going on.

And then I heard it, the screaming. It started off softly at first, and then only became louder and louder as it approached. I closed my book, shoving it in my bag and slipping into my boots before moving closer behind Maw. He had the door open, but wasn’t moving. He put his hand out behind him, keeping me from leaving. Without turning to me, he said, “I suggest you don’t look. Lord Thanos isn’t in a particularly good mood.”

Without another word, Maw slipped into the hall, leaving the door open and facing the sound of the noise with his hands behind his back. I couldn’t manage to step away from the door, recoil back around the corner and hide from sight. Instead, I waited for the screaming to come closer.

Maw didn’t say a word as the prisoner passed him, led by two guard drones that held the bloodied and bruised alien in place. Maw followed behind them, no doubt wanting to be a part of whatever interrogation was about to happen next.

After a few deep breaths, I allowed myself to step outside of the room, figuring the threat had passed me now. But I was wrong.

I stepped out into the hall, and immediately to my left was Thanos, stepping towards the direction where the prisoner was being taken. Now with me in his way, he stopped and stared at me. My blood ran cold. Thanos was wearing his full armor, looking even more imposing than he did when he was wearing it on his throne. His eyes locked onto mine as he stared down at me from behind his helmet. I’d never seen Thanos like this before, and his eyes, his eyes were burning with cool, simmering rage. Whatever the man had did, it had set him on edge. And I was standing in his way, frightened and shaking in my boots.

Without thinking, I did what I knew wouldn’t upset him. I stepped back, holding my head down and clasping my hands in front of me, submitting before him. “I’m sorry, Master.” My voice faltered out of fear.

Thanos said nothing, but grunted an affirmative. He then walked around me, following Maw and the prisoner down the hall. I lifted my head just as Thanos turned the corner, and I allowed myself to collapse on the floor, trying to steady my breathing. I thought my chest was going to burst with how much my heart was beating.

My lip trembled slightly, and I felt tears stream down my face. Why was I crying? He hadn’t done anything to me. But when I recalled that stare, I was reminded of just how cold and ruthless Thanos was, no matter how calm he seemed in our interactions. The harsh reality that the Thanos I spoke to this morning was only a cover up for this brutal side of him was crashing down around me.

So I sat on the floor and allowed myself to cry for the first time since arriving on this ship.

#run from me #thanos #thanos x oc #thanos x ofc #thanos fanfic #thanos fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

starrynightshade · 5 years

Text

Puncture

Requested by @gayeld. Warnings: blood mention, canon-typical violence.

Arya was still a hopeless seamstress, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying this time. She paid such close attention as her needle punctured the fabric over and over, trying to make the spaces between the stitches even, only to hold the garment out in front of her and find the hem completely lopsided. Sighing, she set the garment aside.

“I suppose we’ll just have to ask Aunt Sansa to send you more pretty things to wear,” she said to the sleeping bundle in the cradle on her right.

Cassie didn’t respond, just silently clenched her little fists as the rain outside pattered against the windows, lulling her to sleep.

Sometimes, during moments like this, Arya could understand how her mother had been persuaded to endure the pain of childbirth on five separate occasions. Every flutter of her daughter’s eyelashes, every squeak and cry, every movement of her tiny fingers was enchanting. Of course Gendry had been a slave to Cassandra’s every desire from the second she was placed in his arms, but Arya had worried.

She had committed so much of her time to learning how to take life. And then all of a sudden she had been creating it instead, and she had been terrified that the girl who watched men die and felt peace about it couldn’t possibly become the woman who looked into the eyes of her child and felt as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. But she had.

She had looked at her daughter and known in that moment that this is what she had been fighting for. Her prize for every battle was the chance to kiss her daughter’s head as she rocked her to sleep at night. Every scar and bruise had been for this.

Cass let out a little sigh in her sleep, reminding Arya that she was probably late for a meeting she had scheduled with Gendry and some of the other lords from the Stormlands. Surely they could wait just a few more minutes?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the door being pushed open. Looking up, she expected to see Gendry but was instead met with an unfamiliar face.

“Lady Baratheon! I beg your pardon, truly. I was told you would be at the council,” the servant blathered, bowing down as soon as his eyes fell upon her.

She took the servant in, realizing he was probably only just old enough to be considered a man. His sandy hair fell across his brow in loose curls and a thin scar cut across his cheek, from the base of his nose to the corner of his eye. He wasn’t strong by any means but not quite scrawny either, and something about him set her on edge.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had mistakenly addressed her by her husband’s name and not her own that made her take a closer look at the boy who had barged into the solar. Or perhaps it was just the familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that she ought to have a weapon in her hand. Whatever the case, she found her hand drifting to the dagger at her hip.

“I lost track of the time,” she said, schooling her features and standing from her chair. The hem of her gown brushed the floor as she shifted to stand between the boy and Cassie’s cradle and she wished she had opted for breeches that morning instead. How was she to have known she would need the clothing most convenient for fighting instead of what was most convenient for nursing?

No matter. If it came to it, she could kill him just as well in a dress. She hoped it wouldn’t come to it.

“Shall I escort you downstairs?” The boy seemed the very picture of courtesy.

At least, he would, if not for the glint of metal at his wrist. Arya had seen enough knives in her life to recognize one.

Very well then, she thought to herself.

She let him draw his blade as she advanced on him, only to slash her own across his arm. The knife clattered to the floor as droplets of blood splattered the grey linen of her skirt.

“Tell me who sent you and I’ll give you a quick death,” she growled, letting the Valerian steel hover over his throat.

The boy said nothing. He simply raised his chin in defiance and glared down at Cassie’s cradle.

“I did warn you,” she reminded him before her blade punctured his thigh.

She had been careful not to cut the artery that would cause him to bleed out, but the wound was deep and blood flew from it, staining her dress, her hands, and the floor.

“I ask again,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of hair to hold him in place. “Who sent you?”

Another stretch of silence and her dagger punctured his abdomen.

He tried to double over, only to cry out in pain when she yanked him to his feet by his hair.

“Who sent you?”

“A bastard’s daughter will never rule the Stormlands. More will come for her,” he spat.

He hadn’t said a name, but he’d said enough. She slit his throat with practiced efficiency and tried to ignore the blood as is it sprayed in all directions. His body had scarcely hit the floor before she was turning around to check on Cass.

She had woken up at some point but did not cry or fuss, simply followed Arya’s face with her big blue eyes.

“There’s my little wolf,” Arya whispered, sheathing her dagger so she could lift her daughter. “You were so brave.”

She must have looked a fright because every maid and squire she passed on her way to the main hall scurried away as if their life depended on it. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the faces of every lord assembled there turn white as parchment when she shoved the doors open and swept into the room. Between the blood-soaked gown and the look on her face, she didn’t blame them for being scared.

Especially not Lord Errol.

Gendry’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood up, running to meet her. “Arya! What happened? Cassie…”

“She’s alright,” she assured him. “Didn’t even cry.”

Gendry seemed relieved to hear that, though no less confused. “Arya, the blood…”

“It’s not mine. It’s not either of ours.”

He knew she hated public displays of affection, but she let him press his lips to her forehead anyway.

“Could you hold her for a moment?”

Gendry still looked like he had a million questions in his eyes, but he let her pass Cassie off into his arms anyway.

“Lord Errol, I seem to recall you were…unenthused by my husband’s legitimization.”

The man ran a hand through his greying hair, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. “My lady, I…”

“And if I recall correctly, you were even less pleased to learn that our daughter would be heir to the Stormlands. What was it you said at that banquet? That ‘letting a bastard rule is foolish, but letting a girl rule is idiocy.’ Did I get it right?”

The old man sputtered out more disjointed words, but Arya had no interest in hearing them.

“Your servant has already met the god of death. His body is in my chambers, probably still seeping blood onto the floor. So the only question I have for you is this: shall I kill you now for trying to have my daughter murdered, or would you rather stand trial so all the world can know of your atrocities?”

The next few moments were so silent that Arya almost thought she could hear her prey’s heart beating. She had always been a wolf. Now these men would learn what happened to those who threatened the pack.

“I demand a trial by combat,” the fat lord cried.

Sighing, Arya wrapped her hand around the hilt of her dagger but didn’t draw it.

Justice would be done. In due time she would have the blood she craved. For now she would let her banner men drag Errol to the dungeons and content herself with way her little wolf reached for her, despite the smattering of blood across her face. It wouldn’t be the last time Cassie saw her take a life.

#Baby Cassie is back #gendrya #arya x gendry #prompt fill #tw: blood #fanfic #game of thrones

63 notes · View notes

accidentally-a-writer · 5 years

Note

Dude, your father son relationship with George and Alexander is freaking awesome. There's always so much emotion put into your stories and are so enjoyable to read, even if it makes my heart crumble at times. For a possible short, maybe "Taking the Bullet", "Painful Wound-Cleaning" and "Survivor’s Guilt", please? Thanks for writing such amazing stories that makes me cry inside!

Washington couldn’t handle it he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t. The pain he felt from the battle was nothing compared to the pain he felt hearing Hamilton scream.

Even through the gag he’d hesitantly pushed into the boy’s mouth the sound was ringing through the camp. Piercing, pained, and horrible.

“You did well, Hamilton.”

“Thank you, sir,” he’d shyly replied, “it was an honour to serve you well.”

“Don’t deflect, I’m proud of you.”

Hamilton smiled towards the ground, his cheeks flushing in appreciation. Somewhere off in the distance, more guns were fired. Hamilton flinched at the noise and Washington had felt the instinct to wrap him up in his arms bubble in his chest.

“Come with me,” the general intoned, taking Alexander’s arm gently and leading him to a peak that didn’t overlook any of the bloodshed from the body. “I make it a habit to find places such as these after battles, particularly bloody ones, so that I might be able to forget for a few short moments.”

Hamilton’s breath came out as a puff of air as he stood speechless. The sight before him was marvellous, nothing but the forest below them, stretching for miles, before dipping with the sun below the horizon.

“Does it work for long, general?” The boy asked, letting himself sink to the ground.

��Unfortunately, no, it doesn’t. I wish it did though, son.”

“I’m not your son,” murmured the boy, in his expected response. “I could stay here forever.”

“Better not, it gets cold after dark.”

It was a poor choice of humour, but the young aide seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. Washington sat next to his aide, enjoying the view with him while they sat in silence. It was a comfortable silence, one that just allowed a moment to happen between the two. Another gunshot pierced the air and the moment was broken.

Hamilton turned his head away from the peak and back towards the tree-line. “That sounded closer, we should go back to the camp.”

Washington silently wished to persuade Hamilton to stay there for a few more moments, but could not deny that the last gunshot did sound closer. “Yes, let’s away.”

Neither men expected what came next; a flash of red, the sound of metal against metal, and the two of them were face to face with the barrel of a redcoat’s pistol.

Hamilton’s arm shot towards his own weapon, only to feel himself caught by the general’s strong hold.

“Good choice, General Washington, I wouldn’t want to have to shoot the boy for doing something daft.”

Washington watched the man with cautious eyes, his hand still gripping Hamilton’s wrist protectively. The redcoat took a step forward, Washington took a step backwards. Alexander could not believe the general was cowed so easily. Little did he know, it was the general’s fear of Alexander being hurt that kept him compliant.

Hamilton recognized the look in the redcoat’s eyes however, it was the look of a murderer. His hand had not shook once in the exchange, in fact, he gripped the gun with steely determination. Even if he didn’t shoot Hamilton, he was definitely going to shoot the general.

Alexander’s eyes followed the soldier’s fingers, waiting for the moment he would make his move. Washington was trying to pull him behind him but the aide resisted with as much power as he could.

The soldier’s gaze flickered from Washington’s, and abruptly met Hamilton’s instead; they met each other with flaming determination. The soldier tightened his mouth and adjusted his grip.

Hamilton knew a tell when he saw one.

The shot fired.

Time slowed down, there was nothing but the bullet, whizzing towards the general’s chest, and Hamilton, who knew he couldn’t let that happen.

Washington’s reflexes were quick, his gun was out and firing into the redcoat’s head in the same second that he realized what had happened.

The redcoat dropped, and so did Hamilton.

“Alexander!” The general caught him before he hit the ground, desperately pressing against the hole oozing his aide’s blood. “Why did you do that, stupid boy?”

Pain exploded from Hamilton’s shoulder, unlike any he’d ever experienced in his life. It was like a throb that pulsed hot needles through his veins. It was excruciating to even be conscious.

Washington didn’t even know how he got back to the base. He blinked and there was an onslaught of voices and hands grabbing his arms and trying to take Hamilton away from him and there was still so much blood and blood and blood.

Washington wasn’t sure what came after that. He couldn’t remember anything but his frantic arrival to the medical tent, where Hamilton was already gasping in pain at the poking and prodding of the doctor.

He’d rushed to the boy’s bedside, quiet affirmations already falling from his lips. The doctor announced what he’d need to do and Washington felt the blood drain from his face.

He was given a cloth, a severe look coming from the doctor as his assistants began to prepare the tools for the procedure.

Washington had closed his eyes while pushing the cloth into the boys mouth. Like the coward he was.

Hamilton heaved a pained gasp as the doctor began disinfecting the wound, his entire body jerking upwards. The bullet was still in his shoulder, they had to remove it. Washington looked into the eyes of his aide, wide and afraid, and found himself lost there.

“I need you to be brave,” he murmured, “I know you can be, you’re the strongest man I know Alexander. You can do this.”

His eyes cleared for just a moment, and he nodded at the general. Washington let out a breath of relief at the coherency in the boy’s eyes, before all air was struck from his chest by the pained cry that followed.

The doctor had begun his procedure.

Hamilton screamed.

And screamed.

Washington wanted to.

Tears leaked from the boy’s eyes despite his desperate attempts to hold them back. At some point the aide had grabbed onto Washington’s hand, the general found he didn’t mind. The grip was an assurance that at least Hamilton was still there.

But he just kept screaming and screaming and screaming; a sound that would haunt Washington for the rest of his life.

Finally, dear God, finally, Hamilton went lax in Washington’s grip. Frantically, the general checked for a pulse, which was there. He’d simply passed out due to the pain. It was a wonder that he hadn’t done so earlier.

And in the silence that followed the procedure Washington could not help but be overcome with guilt. It was his fault, and his alone that Hamilton had had to go through that. Who led him away from the others? Who was the bullet meant for?

This boy who’d trusted him with his very life didn’t deserve the wounds or the war. Why then should he have to endure them? Instead of who they were intended for?

Washington couldn’t find his answer. For now though, he was happy to sit back and let his boy sleep. Tomorrow they could worry about everything else.

#whump #whump prompt #alexander hamilton #washingdad #george washington #hamilton #hamilton fanfic #fanfiction #writing #gunshot wound #requests are open

86 notes · View notes

hazbinextgeneration · 6 years

Text

Dog biscuits

(This was done as a contest prize for a contest I held awhile back. Done by Palettepainter on DA. Dexter is mine. The Hazbin gang belongs to Vivziepop.)

It was a calm afternoon, a rarity when you lived in a building like the hazbin hotel. Most of the occupants of the building were off doing their own thing, besides Charlie, who was finishing off her last of the daily morning chores and finally finishing the mess and cleaning the breakfast foods off the walls The morning had started off as hectic as ever, just like the morning before, the blonde haired demon was more then relived to know that the usual chaos had died now. "Crymini?" The older demon leaned her head over to peer into the living room, "Hmm??" The teenage werewolf relplied with a lazy hum, slowly flicking through the channels on the hotels tv, that hadn't been broken yet.... "Do you know where the duster is??" She inquired as she walked over towards the couch "I haven't seen it, i checked the cleaning cupboard as usual but it isn't their...." she paused for a moment and scratched her head "....Maybe I left it upstairs...." "Niffty's got it..." the werewolf replied boredly as her search for a decent channel had been thus far fruitless. "Oh!! Thank you Crymini, I better go find her." Crymini honestly wasn't listening to her and was more focused on the television screen, she could vaguely hear Charlie say something, possibly too her, but she didn't really pay attention and before she could ask her what she said the demon was already climbing the stairs to the second floor. Silence. Crymini gave a bored groan, the same old drabble on the TV seemed to repeat over every other channel they had. More silence. .....when a loud explosion suddenly sounded from the basement. BANG Living with a hotel full of demons like herself, Crymini had long ago come to accept this as an average Wensday. With a sigh, she threw the remote onto the coffee table, then stood to investigate. She walked slowly over towards the door that led down to the basement, seconds pasted before her sharp ears caught hurried footsteps and then the door slamming open with a bang. The stairs to the basement had only sustained minimal damage, she noted. However, the thick black smoke that was gushing through the doorway could only suggest that the basement was a mess. Baxter leaned against the doorway in his coughing fit, his glasses dirty from the smoke and a small, slightly dirty puppy in his arms. Crymini rose a bold brow. "Sooo...guessing something went wrong??" Baxter looked up to her and wiped his glasses "C-Crymini.." his voice was scratchy as he held back a cough, still leaning on the door for support "What happened??" She said as she passed a glance down at her puppy that gurgled happily in the scientists arms. It had been maybe a few months over a year since Crymini and Baxter had...well...given Dexter life and the two were now finally starting to properly adjust to the situation, or at least Crymini was. "Only heavens knows!!" Baxter coughed and used one hand to wave at the air in a futile attempt to dispute the smoke that now began to fill the hallway. "Although I may have been...." Dexter gave a tiny kitten like sneeze, before gurgling and waving his little baby paws at his farther. "....slightly distracted..." It was true, since little Dexter had been born neither of the two really had the time to focus on themselves any more. This explosion, as huge as it was, couldn't compare to the explosion that happened just two days ago. .....it took Charlie and Vaggie ages to put out the fire. "Here." Crymini blinked in surprise and leaned back slightly when Baxter held Dexter out to her, at the sight of his mother the puppy gave a happy squeal and his little tail began to wag. "Me?! Why me??! Why not ask..um, Niffty!! Yeah, Niffty loves kids!!" Crymini attempted, and failed, to persuade Baxter as he simply placed the pup in her arms with a flat look "I need someone to watch Dexter while I clean the lab." He gestured to the spewing smoke and the stairs the led to the basement. "But why me?!" Crymini groaned and she peered down at the baby puppy in her arms "Because you're the mother." Baxter answered automatically. "But-" "No buts." Baxter raised his hand, silencing her "I don't have time to find Niffty right now, she's already busy enough with baby proofing the whole hotel!!" Baxter turned to the staircase, Crymini leapt to protest- "It'll only be for a few hours at most, you have to pull some weight to Crymini." Before he went down to the basement Baxter slowly turned and looked to his son in Cryminis arms, he was chewing on his back foot, gurgling and drooling. "....He's your son too." "But-" CLICK The door shut and Baxters footsteps gradually fading away only told the werewolf that she had lost, again. "Well not what do I do with you??" She wasn't expecting an answer from the puppy as she held her son up in front of her, the puppy gurgled and made a farting noise with his tongue. "Hmm..." Crymini narrowed her eyes as she inspected the state of her puppy, his fur was messy and his star themed onesie was covered in dust. .....Crymini leaned in to give her puppy a sniff. "HRCK!!!" Crymini yanked her nose away, holding her breath as her face began to slowly turn green. God her puppy stank!! She didn't know what the smell was, but I smelt more horrible then the uncleaned bathroom on floor 3!!! Crymini slowly turned back to face her puppy, shivering slightly as the lingering stench hit her harder then a truck. The puppy giggled, completely oblivious. "Maybe...maybe you need a bath." ~timeskip~ The bathtime that followed was as hard as it was irritating. When Crymini had tried to put Dexter inside the bathtub he had wriggled out of her arms and Crymini had ended up falling into the bath herself when Dexter had attempted to escape. Which he did... He then ran round the hallways with insane puppy speed and Crymini ended up running after him for a solid 20 minutes. The wild goose chase was ended thankfully when Angle had caught the pup before he could fall down the long flight of stairs. ....but the chaos didn't end their. Catching him was just one of the chaotic things she endured, she then had to try and get him in the tub, which didn't work, and after a lot of trial and error and the occasional curse, she got the puppy undressed and into the tub. Once he was in the bathtub he refused to have any shampoo put on his fur and when it came to drying him off he ran out of the door again and another goose chase followed. 45 minutes later and Crymini had been able to finally get her son cleaned and into some new clothes. The said trouble maker was playing with a set of building blocks, kindly provided by Niffty. Crymini, lay on her stomach on the floor, her tired eyes watching her offspring as they slowly opened and closed, like a bear waking from winter. "Jeez, even as a puppy you're a real f*ucking hand full, you know that??" Crymini said tiredly as her son picked up a building block. Despite herself, Crymini gave a weak chuckle and crossed her arms "I dread to think what you'll be like in your teens....if your anything like me that is..." GRUMBLE Dexter whimpered and his ears fell back against his head, Crymini knew this sign all too well. He was hungry. At this stage Dexter had began to eat solid foods but the food had to be crushed up and soaked with a little bit of water, quickly standing up Crymini made a bee line to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a small plastic bowl of what looked to be brown mush, a bottle of slightly heated milk and a box of dog biscuits, despite how stereotypical Angel had been to give her these dog biscuits for a present on her birthday they were surprisingly good, but she'd never admit it. "Okay kid here you go.." Cymini placed the bowl of baby food in the floor, temporarily turning round the grab a plastic spoon from her pocket, "Okay Dexter le-" Crymini blinked. She had turned her back for less then 3 seconds and her son had already covered half of his face and clothing with food, she groaned. "Great....." she tiredly slumped forward and allowed her head to bash against the floor, she gave a muffled sigh. Dexter looked at her with large curios eyes, tilting his head, his ear cocked, what was his mother doing?? "Ma!!" He blurted out. His mothers ears instantly turned in his direction and she lifted his head to look at him "Mu-maaaa!!" Dexter leaned forward to boop his mothers snout, gurgling again before he crawled his way over to the box at her side, his nose twitching at the delicious smell. Crymini quickly sat up and gently pulled her puppy out of the biscuit box "Nono Dexter!! You can't eat that yet!! Spit it out!!" Dexter only wriggled in her grasp, kicking and squirming. "Pleeeeaaasssseee!!!!! Give mommy the treat!! I'm tryin' to be a good parent here!!" The puppy that she held in her paws only continued to kick and squirm, eventually wriggling out of his mothers grasp with a tumble. "Ah sh*t!!" Crymini was so quick to catch her son before he fell over that she fell back onto her stomach with a thud, sending her face smacking into the ground, she held back a groan of pain as she weakly lifted her son up to sit him down. As soon as he was sitting Crymini wrapped her arms round her sore snout and gave a low whimper, although she didn't fall down that far to the floor it had still hurt, and enough to make it sting. She curled up into a ball and groaned again "Uuuuuuuuugggghh......" she slowly turned her head to look at her son, who was at least trying to break the biscuit with his tiny baby teeth "Why didn't anyone tell me taking care of a kid would be so f*cking hard??" She asked to the empty room. Dexter watched as his mother flopped her head back into the floor with a groan. But in all seriousness, why was taking care of a kid so dam hard?! Crymini had overcome tones of different things, shootings, fights, broken bones, heck!! She'd even dealt with drugs and all the shit that came with it!! ....but this by far was the most HARDEST thing she had come to face through out her whole life!!! And at times, Crymini couldn't help but feel maybe, just a little, feel like a bit of a failure..... She wasn't cut out to be a mom, she never would be!! Being a mom meant being responsible, caring, patient, all three things that she wasn't!! Not to mention that she was only the second youngest in the hotel, she wasn't prepared to be thrown into mother hood straight out of the blue!! The situation...hadn't been the best for her or Baxter either. For the first few months of Dexter being born the relationship between herself and Baxter had been rather awkward and the meetings between the two had become uncomfortable for her. Not only that but Baxter had clearly proven to be the more better suited parent. Think back to a few days ago, Crymini had tried everything to soothe her wailing puppy, she had tried everything and had nearly been brought to tears herself when he hadn't stopped. Thankfully, Baxter came to her help and was able to solve the problem within seconds. Turns out he just needed to be burped. At times Crymini couldn't help but think that...maybe...just maybe.... She turned to look up at her young, defenceless, distressingly small only puppy. Maybe Dexter would be better off with Baxter....without her- "MPHFF?!" Cryminis eyes were forced open when she let something being shoved into her mouth, she rose a brow at her giggling baby and gave the object in her mouth an experimental chew. 'Wait a minute...' Using he tongue she held her snout high and lifted the object in her mouth upwards, crossing her eyes she could make out the shape of a bone, a dog biscuit?..... A quick glance down towards her sons empty paws cleared it all up, little Dexter has been the one to shove the dog biscuit into her mouth. "M-M...." Dexter wobbled forward on small shaky legs, his tail wagging a little behind him. Crymini stared wide eyes, her mouth hung open slightly. Dexter took a shaky step forward, holding his paws out to his mother, another step forward. Crymini nervously sat upwards, holding shaking paws out to her baby, she was so petrified!! Bless Dexters innocence but he simply giggled and leaned forward as he came closer to his mother, landing on her crossed legs with a small 'of' Crymini just stared in half shock and pride as her puppy shook his head, lifting his head to stare up at her happily with twinkling shiny eyes, that sparkled so much like her own. "Mu-ma!!!" Crymini felt something cold and wet slowly trickle down the side of her furry cheek, her eyes still wide with shock as her small puppy proceeded to climb onto her lap. .......Crymini felt a smile tug to her lips, the most gentlest, proud smile she could give. ".....Guess you're gonna be stuck with me for a little while longer kid..." Crymini affectionately leaned down to scoop Dexter gently into her arms, pulling him close to her furry chest and dipping her snout to rub her nose against his. Dexter softly rested his head against his mother, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat making the small infant relax in her hold. "Your just a bag of pudding aren't ya??" Crymini crunched the dog biscuit up in a quick, exaggerated manner, because she knew it'd earn him a string of giggles from her son. As predicted the puppy squealed and grabbed his small tiny paws around his mothers snout. Crymini chuckled warmly at the affection and pressed her muzzle to her sons cheek to give him a sweet kiss, getting crumbs on him "Mwah!!" Dexter giggled again, eyes shining with glee and tail thumping against her arm. Crymini gave another chuckle, pulling her son closer so that she could bring him in a for a hug. "....Your still a little pain you know.." she pulled him away from her hug so that she could rub her nose against his again, earning another string of giggles "A tiny, adorable tyrant. Pure evil. Just like your Papa. Pure, concentrated, fluffy evil!!!" She smiled and placed her son on the floor, she ruffled his fur and rested her head in her arms. Dexter leaned forward and pressed his tiny paws against his mothers nose, pressing his nose against hers, his way of trying to give her a kiss. Crymini would never admit it but she gave a small happy bird chirp and she stiffened a laugh. ".....But your mommy's little tyrant."

#Dexter #Hazbin

7 notes · View notes