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kingmagnificoofrosas · 4 months

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Ok, it's time to deep talk even more about Magnifico! Part 1.

Since my analyses have gotten so much love, support and agreement, I feel motivated to continue 💙

In my first analysis I've touched up on many things, but something I want to deepen a little more is his trauma and his responses to it. Next to his character all in one of course.

After watching and rewatching and studying while making screencaps, I found myslef being heart broken for Magnifico even more. He's so horribly misunderstood it blows my mind. People are so freaking mean and ignorant it's insane!

We know that Magnifico was deeply traumatized as a young boy. Most people focus on themselves, their pain and their healing, but Magnifico instead wanted to make sure others will never suffer like he did. Please, let that sink in for a moment. His first response isn't to look at himself but to look at others. He lost everything and what does he want to do? Give! His first impulse was - I need to learn magic, so I can be strong enough to build a place where I can make sure people will never have to endure what I had to. Not "I gotta build myself a safe place so I can never be hurt again" like a little hermit crab hiding in a new house. No, he always looked what he could do for others!

This is one of the most selfless things a human being can do! It's not happening often but it's happening. People with trauma using their trauma as a motivation to help others.

Magnifico's determination to build a save haven for others despite his situation is freaking honarable!

He loves deeply! I did explain that the trauma Magnifico suffered heavily influenced and altered his thinking, his feeling, his actions and decission making.

He loves deeply but his paranoia and fear cloud it. What I mean is, some of his decissons aren't right but this doesn't make him evil! He's like a helicopter parent! His motivation to fiercly protect and keep save is purely love driven and initially right but because of his immense fear and paranoia it's becoming overprotectiveness and that is not the right way.

He never meant harm, he never meant to hurt. He was being too selfless in way. I heard another Magnifico defender say, he did too well.

And it's true.

Magnifico has given so much in his life. Matter of fact, he was absolutely right when he said he gives and gives and gives and yet people still aren't satisfied. And I totally get it! It's real life. People are greedy beings. Give them your little finger and they soon want your whole hand.

The people of Rosas live in total peace. They get everything they could ask for and more. Enough food, good homes they don't even need to pay rent for, enough money ... they get wishes granted every month. Sometimes even more! Magnifico mentioned in the past year he's granted 14 wishes, which means he did grant more than just one every month from time to time.

Magnifico is so much more than his handsome looks and his abilities. Yet, all people saw him as was that. A very handsome genie. Not the benevolent ruler that even made this flourishing life possible in the first place!

And I mean yeah, he said "I'd love to see you try and do my job!" And he's right again. I've never ruled a whole kingdom before and successfully at that! But I can imagine it must be darn hard! Certainly not a piece of cake.

People loved and celebrated him for what he could give and do! But what if he'd been just a regular king without any magic powers to grant wishes?

We see how the people of Rosas reacted after he told them about a threat. In the end they ask for another wish ceremony. And Magnifico snaps at them. He's clearly in distress even though he tries to appear collected and sovereign, and the only thing they care about is getting more wishes granted? Dude, give this poor man a break!

I can totally understand Magnifico having a nervous, emotional breakdown. Add it all up. He's constantly on edge because of his trauma, he always means well but the pressure of his ambitions and his duties as king are weighing him down further, he's constantly triggered, constantly irritable, no one gives a toot (Amaya included) which is like fuel to the fire in his soul, he feels threatened, he's terrified, he feels not understoond, valued and respected and furthermore used and exploited.

See how he make's the wishes spin around him faster and faster here? It's literally symbolic of what's going on in his soul at that moment.

Same as this one does.

The mirror is cracking, meaning his soul is cracking further. He's starting to break.

It's no wonder he loses his cool, really. Everyone would eventually break in such a situation.

Now, back to the whole wishes situation

Stop a moment and look how Magnifico looks at this wish/dream. He adores it, he appreciates it. (It's a happy family btw.) and someone who's as good in reading emotions as I am will see the ever so slight pain swimming along.

As king, it's Magnifico's duty anyway to make sure his kingdom runs well. That his people are safe and content, that there is order. And the whole decission making rests upon his shoulders as well.

Should he be in the leading position he is in? No. No, a person as deeply traumatized as he is, shouldn't. But the fact that he still tries is admirable! He's not in power because he's a power hungry, cruel, cold-hearted, selfish, narcissistic psychopath, like a villian is! He is in power and wants to stay in it, because he wants to protect others! He cares so much more about others, that he stresses himself to the peak of breaking mentally!

His trauma keeps him in this spiral. Trauma driven motivation > stress/trigger > trauma response > desire> action > trauma result/success or failure

Yes, he doesn't grant every wish because his trauma blurrs his judgement. He's so deeply into it that he cannot judge properly. Does this make him evil? Nope. It would be laughable how rediculous the hater's arguements are if it weren't so sad.

The arguement "Magnifico sees the dreams of people as a threat to his power so he steals them and makes people forget them."

🤨 huh?

I could slam my forehead even harder against something other than my hand. 🤦🏻‍♀️ The ignorance hurts!!! Like, have this people even paid any attention? Clearly not.

He never stole anything! Neither did he manipulate, play or lie to people. He left the decission to them. It was an open fact "If you want, you can give me your wish and I will keep it save and eventually grant it." And even if one doesn't give their wish, they are more than welcome to stay in his kingdoom and live a happy life!

Now listen. Magnifico's desire to keep the wishes in the first place isn't out of any bad or ill will! To say he keeps the wishes because he simply likes to be in control over people because of selfish, cruel reasons is a big mount of bullcrap. Look at how this man treats the wishes! Which by the way, to him, resemble his people!

Ah, yes, sooo evil and selfish and ill willed!

If someone sees this, the pure love in his whole bodylanguage, and still claims that this man is evil, actually doesn't give a damn about his people, and takes the wishes just because "powerhungry" has something really wrong!

Should he decide over other peoples dreams and wishes? Not really! This is a grey area. Back to his duty as a king. A king needs to care for his people. Magnifico takes this very seriously. Thanks to his trauma, a bit too much. This might be "not ok" but it doesn't make him evil. Good grief! Urgh!

He loves his people! He keeps the wishes because he thinks that it gives him a better opportunity to keep watch over them! Why does he want to watch over them and have the control? Out of fun? To satisfy his selfish urge to rule over others? No, because -

"Everything, everyhing I do is to make sure that never happens again!"

It's the very same stupid reason people have been villainizing Abuela Alma from Encanto. It makes me fuming mad that people ignor deep trauma and the mental issues that come with it and make such people out to be villains. Abuela treated her whole family unfairly, yes. She was harsh, inconsiderate, cold, stern, overprotective, insensible etc. But why did she act like that? Because she was hecking traumatized!

After she and Mirabel reconcile, she tells her family this :

"I'm so sorry I held on to tight, just so afraid I'd lose you too!"

Aha! Now taken in consideration that she is also deeply traumatized and I mean, pfff, she saw her home town getting burned, had to flee with her 3 newborns and see her soulmate get stabbed to death or even beheaded (we don't know) right in front of her eyes.

Her desire to keep safe was always good but her trauma blinded her to a degree.

A similar case were people have been villainizing a character for having trauma would be the case of Imelda from Coco. Her trauma of losing her husband and having to raise their daughter on her own caused her to forbid music for 2 generations! She was harsh too, and even though her actions concering this might have been wrong, she meant well. Everything she did came from the good motivation to keep her family from experiencing the crushing hurt she had.

Yet another example I've seen Magnifico defenders bring up would be Elsa! Elsa has been born with ice-powers because she's actually part spirit as we've learned in the 2 movie. She got traumatized as a child when she accidentally hurt her little sister Anna. Her response to trauma brings her whole kingdom in danger, even threatens to kill them by freezing them to death, and when Hans and his guards go to find and kill her, she defends herself and almost kills one of the guards. Yet, despite everything, Elsa isn't made to be a villain! She was supposed to be but in the end recieved love and appreciation, while Magnifico didn't?

It makes absolutely no sense.

Does trauma justify wrong actions? No! But it explains them and it certainly doesn't make someone a villain! Goodness gracious! 😩🤌🏼

Alma was obsessed with having the "miracle" controlled because she was terrified if she would lose that control, her past would repeat. She would lose her family.

Elsa abandoned her kingdom because she didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

Imelda forbade music because she didn't want her family to experience the hurt she did.

All of this Sounds similar, right?

Magnifico obsessivly wanted to stay in control because he was terrified that if he would lose that control, his past would repeat. People will get hurt and lose everything like he did.

He panicked as an unknown light flooded his kingdom and made the wishes rattle.

The very first thing that came to his mind was "threat." And this was ONLY because of his trauma.

More in part 2 ⬇️

#king magnifico #disney wish #wish 2023 #team magnifico #magnifico defenders #king magnifico isn't a villain

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aceing-on-the-cake · 4 months

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Steddie Love Month Prompt Feb 1

rating: G cw: none tags: pre-slash prompt: Love is letting someone take car of you (@starryeyedjanai) word count: 804

(Honestly forgot about writing this one till this morning so it's not edited and it's written all in one go but what can you do)

Steve didn't know how you were supposed to let someone take care of you. That isn't to say that he didn't think it wasn't important to take care of others, of course that was wrong.

He was used to driving the youngest members of the party around everywhere or making sure Robin got between school and work even though he knew she should already have a license by this point. He made sure the kids always knew his door was open for impromptu rant sessions he would bitch about but always listen to. Even Nancy knew that Steve was always there if you needed him and didn't hesitate to call him up when it was so late that she absolutely shouldn't be up but the nightmares were still there and Robin already was asleep.

Eddie soon enough figured out that Steve wouldn't let the people he knew go without care. At the end of Hellfire sessions when Eddie headed to his car after waiting outside the door for his charges to move from his care to Steve's he didn't expect Steve to catch him before he left.

"Call when you're home Munson" he'd hear as Steve drove up next to his van, window rolled up as soon as Eddie nodded his head.

He certainly didn't expect the phone call that woke him up at 11:30 when he inevitably "forgot" to call Steve.

"Munson" he heard from the other end of the line.

Confused Eddie held the phone away from his face looking at it as if it would be able to explain the voice on the other end of the line.

"Steve?"

"That would be my name Munson."

"Why are you calling me at 11:30?" he finally asked when it seemed Steve wasn't going to be offering anymore explanation.

"You didn't call. I'm glad to hear you're ok man, after all you're in charge of babysitting Dustin this Saturday. I had him last week."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine man." he said hoping that Steve would either help him make sense of why this conversation was happening in the first place or let him go. He after all was not and had never been one of King Steve's loyal subjects or even feral gremlins he babysat, so he wasn't sure why Steve had actually called to check in on him when it had clearly only been a polite thing to offer.

There was a long pause on the end of the phone as Eddie contemplated whether Steve had hung up in the end.

"You know we care about you man right?"

Sighing Eddie dragged his hand down his face.

"Yeah no man, I know. Thanks for checking in I guess."

"No Eddie, I mean, yes, we care about you man," Steve said quickly, "but like, you know I care about you right?"

Stunned Eddie pulled the phone away from his face once more in confusion.

"Uh, what?" he finally said.

"Apparently not," he heard muttered from the other end of the line which made him laugh.

"I didn't even think you liked me!" Eddie blurted out.

Cringing Eddie slammed his head against the wall the phone was on. Stupid Munson, stupid, what are you a teenage girl?

"I thought we worked past all that in the upside down man. Of course I like you!" Steve said back. Eddie picked his face off of the wall and stared really hard at the receiver thinking what to say in response to that.

"Steve" Eddie finally said in response. "Are we…are we having a moment here man?"

He heard laughter on the other end of the line which made his stomach do something complicated he wasn't going to look into this close to the middle of the night.

"Apparently we are Munson. Next time just let me know when you get home and we can avoid it."

"Who knew King Steve cared about his subjects this much," Eddie couldn't help joking back.

"For my favorite court jester? He's irreplaceable."

"Uh, right, yeah, that," Eddie stammered back. "I'm at your beck and call your majesty," he finally managed to fully get out.

More laughter greeted him and when Eddie's stomach rolled for a second time he knew he was fucked.

"I'm gonna let you go then man if that was all you needed. Some of us are not yet free from the clutches of Algebra your highness."

"Sure Munson."

Placing the receiver back on the wall Eddie stared at it in betrayal. Shaking his head he walked back to his bed shaking his head.

"Goddamn Steve Harrington" he said before faceplanting down on his bed. Smiling to himself Eddie wondered if he'd be able to turn this into a regular thing if he kept "forgetting" to call when he was home. He'd had to try next session.

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(might turn this into something later or leave it as the ficlet it is)

Prompt completed for @steddielovemonth

#steddie #steddielovemonth #pre slash #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic

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sunshine-for-serotonin · 1 year

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Can I get Headcannons of Erik with a voice kink, auralism, or scent kink please, Mlle. Sunshine? Thank youuuuu!!!

Why not all three? This is cannon now in my opinion-

Warnings: yandere Erik, stalking, male masturbation, desperate Erik, clothes stealing, general kinkiness, unestablished relationship shenanigans, Erik’s mommy kink makes a brief appearance, I think that’s it

VOICE KINK

Let’s start off with the voice kink aspect, shall we?

Erik loves your voice no matter what! It’s so uniquely you, he finds it addictive to listen to you talk about anything and everything.

Come up behind him and speak into his ear. Watch Erik squirm, trying not to give away the fact you turned him on and how his pants feel unbearably tight.

He’s embarrassed to admit that even just you saying “yes?” In a certain way is enough to make him needy for you.

Call yourself mommy for any reason and he’s coming undone, the poor man can’t handle how sultry your voice is and you’re just feeding into his fantasies at this point.

You could literally just read a dictionary out loud and Erik’s curled up with you mentally ranting about how much he loves you and your voice while looking up at you like you hung the stars.

We already know Erik likes pet names, but have I ever told you his reaction when you first called him sugar in a teasing tone? No? Ok-

I N S T A N T T U R N O N

Erik had to excuse himself saying he forgot something somewhere and that it may take him a few minutes to find it. His actual reason? He had a raging boner.

Erik locked himself in his chambers and started pumping himself like his life depended on it, the sound of your voice overwhelmingly seductive in Erik’s mind. Biting down on his hand to keep gasps and moans from escaping his mouth, rhythmic wet sounds filled the room as precum was smeared up and down Erik’s cock, only halting as your voice echoed through his door.

“Erik, sugar, are you ok?”

Oh God- Erik knew continuing while you were right outside the door was risky at best, but he couldn’t deny the throbbing heat in his cock as you called for him so sweetly.

“O-Oui, yes, I am w-well!”

Slowly, Erik resumed making twisting strokes around his dick, doing his best to muffle any sounds he made and swiping his thumb across the slit of his tip every so often as his climax started to build once more.

“Are you so sure, sugar? I can help you if you need it.”

Erik knew you weren’t talking about his current ‘situation’, but God- did he wish you were. Your voice sounded so alluring when you called him sugar, and Erik wanted nothing more than to let you in and let you do with him whatever you pleased.

Letting out a shaky reply, Erik listened as your footsteps faded from his door before going absolutely feral, shoving his fingers into his mouth to suck on and once again stroking himself rapidly.

So yeah- Erik really, really, likes your voice, and that’s just one of an uncountable number of times he’s cum to the sound of you. AURALISM

Auralism is next!!! WARNING: Erik watches you having solo sexy time without your knowledge!

Erik honestly discovered this kink by accident. He was really missing you, but when he had asked you to come visit him you politely yet firmly told Erik to wait about an hour.

Erik is nothing if not impatient when it comes to his time with you, he needs to be with you during his every waking moment, even if you’re not aware of it.

Erik watched from the shadows as you stole away to your room, your fingers massaging your neck to try and relieve some of the pain in the stiff muscles, something Erik would be more than happy to do for you if given the chance, he thought to himself.

From his passage way inside your rooms mirror, Erik let out a gasp and his face turned red as you began to strip before him.

While Erik was thankful for the view you were giving him, he was puzzled. You had been wearing clothes that were fine for visiting in and it certainly wouldn’t have taken you an hour to put on new ones, but the realization hit him like the sky fell on him as you laid your nude form onto your bed.

Oh. Oh. Erik was all too aware that his pulse was dangerously high and that his blood was violently thrumming beneath the surface of his skin further down, begging for him too touch himself.

His eyes were glued to your frame as Erik took himself out of his pants doing his best to be quiet and avoid your detection, only for you to get up and blow out most of the candles in your room.

Erik felt like he was on the verge of a meltdown as darkness obscured his vision of you, that was until he realized how much better he could hear you.

Every little breath sent shivers down Erik’s body, and you hadn’t even truly started touching yourself yet. He could hear you lay back on your bed as Erik’s hand instinctively traveled lower, a small whimper leaving his throat as he traced his tip with featherlight touches.

And then it started. Erik listened as your hand traced the curves of your body, the sound of your skin igniting all the erectile tissue in Erik’s body.

He felt his eyes flutter closed as he gripped himself fully and bit his lip, slowly moving his hand up and down with the image of you in his head.

If the sound of you tracing your skin was having such a profound effect on Erik, the sound of you beginning to gasp and moan was nothing other than heavenly. Desperately slapping a hand over his mouth Erik started to time his hand in sync with every vocalization you made, fantasizing that it was him making you feel so good.

Focusing his hearing even more if possible, Erik picked up on the final noise he needed to push him over the edge. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he flushed further as Erik picked up on the wet, lewd, sounds of you fingering yourself.

A chorus of ‘ah!’s And ‘mhmm!’s were muffled behind Erik’s palm as his orgasm rocked his body, tears leaving his eyes at the sheer amount of pleasure.

Embarrassed and ashamed after, but now he’s figured out that your sounds take his pleasure to another level, so this will not be just a one time experience.

Eriks favorite sound is definitely a tie between your moans and any wet noise you make.

SCENT KINK

Oh boy-

Erik is admittedly gross with the extent he enjoys your scent.

To the point where he has to keep a pair of your dirty underwear on him or he gets anxious because he can’t smell you.

Erik steals your perfume, clothes, pillows, even things like your hairbrush, just so he can enjoy himself and assuage his negative emotions when they get too volatile.

He gets off while holding your underwear to his face ninety-five percent of the time, and he will wear your clothes no matter how badly they fit him.

Because of how often he masturbates with things that smell like you, Erik actually begins to develop a bit of a Pavlov response. What I mean by that is now whenever he catches your scent, he gets aroused. On that note, since most of Erik ‘sessions’ have drawn out imagines of him eating you out, he starts to salivate and needs something to put in his mouth to hold him over.

Hold Erik over to what exactly? Hold him over until he’s alone and he can put your underwear in his mouth sucking like his life depends on it and his hips rolling into the air desperately seeking friction.

Is definitely one to sneak into your room when you aren’t around so he can bask in being surrounded by things that smell like you, letting out happy little hums all the while.

Stole your sheets one day and replaced them with his own, leaving a note to make you think that your room was just cleaned by management. Eriks on cloud nine, this does lead to him having frequent wet dreams about you, however. Not that he’s complaining-

———————————————————————————

@sloppyzengarden

Thats all for now darlings! Enjoy!!!

#Yandere Erik Destler #erik destler #erik destler smut #phantom of the opera #poto x reader #yandere poto #fem darling #phantom of the opera smut

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triplexdoublex · 26 days

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Promise

Pairing: (Virgin) Chase Hudson x (Virgin) Reader

Warnings/tags : virginity, loosing virginity, mild blood, Sharing past memories of them being just friends as children. brief mention of underage drinking (Chase and reader DO NOT par take), brief off page mention of them kissing and getting to 2nd base( kiss/touch breasts) in the past prior to them turning 18. , NO SEX including ORAL happens before they are 18 only after!!!

“Pinky Promise,” you and Chase said in unison, hooking your little twelve year old pinkies together. “And I promise to never break a promise… EVER!” You both followed, in tradition with your usual promise making ritual the two of you had developed over your lifetime of being neighbors and best friends.

********

And you never did break a promise to each other, not once… and you certainly weren’t going to start now.

“Ugh, if I could go back in time and punch twelve year old me in the face right now I would!” Chase grumbles in sexual frustration, pausing his steamy make out session with you, and moving to sit at the end of his bed before things go any further. This is the closest the two of you have ever been to breaking the promise you made to eachother that fateful day after watching a video on STDs and teen pregnancy in sixth grade health class.

“I’d punch twelve year old me too, if I could,” you match his level of frustration. You grab your bra and fasten it back on before joining him at the end of the bed. “I should have known coming over here when your parents aren’t home was gonna make it nearly impossible to stick to our stupid ‘no sex until after highschool graduation’ pact.”

“If we’re being honest you should probably punch yourself twice,” he elbows you playfully.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

“Because you’re the one who decided we should add ‘no oral sex or touching below the waist’ to the pact.” He runs his painted fingertips through his deep brown hair.

“It sounded gross at the time!” You exclaim in playful defense. “Plus neither of us knew we’d end up together.” You add. “It wasn’t until we were fifteen when you kissed me during our weekly Friday movie night that I even knew you liked me like that. I still remember the surge of electricity that went through me the second your lips touched mine, and how it made me lose my grip on the bowl of popcorn— what a mess!” You smile at him.

“Yeah,” he smiles back at you, reminiscing. “We kissed until the credits rolled. I still don’t know how ‘I’m Thinking of Ending Things’ actually ends.” He laughs.

“It ended with your tongue down my throat,” you giggle. “But it’s three years later — we’re eighteen now — and that’s still all we’ve really done, besides you kissing and touching my breasts. There’s gotta be something we can do to get some release without breaking our promise. The overwhelming desire to make eachother cum, is absolutely killing me lately.”

“It’s killing me too—Fuck, especially hearing you talk like that— you’re not helping you know,” he jokes, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Sorry,” you blush. “But ummm, I think I might know something we could try though,” you say softly, hesitant to admit what you’re about to.

“Please, What? Anything!” Chase practically begs.

“Ok, I’m kinda embarrassed to say this, and you’re probably gonna think I’m weird but umm…so obviously, sometimes I masturbate thinking about you, and I’m sure you do it thinking about me too—” you pause to take a deep breath. “—but sometimes it’s not enough so i’ll like hump my pillow and pretend it’s you and- and, I can get off like that,” you hide your face in your hands.

“Hey, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” he peels your hands away from your face. “I actually think that’s hott as fuck. I’m honored. He smiles, blushing. “I’m not sure how that helps us now though?”

“Y-you can be like my pillow — we’ll both keep our clothes on of course, well the necessary ones anyway.

“Ok, I’m totally down to try that,” he says with a flirtatious smile as he scoots himself back on the bed and lays down. “I’m all yours,” he smirks, gripping his erection through his tight jeans.

The depths of your abdomen are already warm with desire as you straddle him. As luck would have it, you’re wearing a skirt; the thin fabric of your panties are the only thing separating your plump and eager clit from the hard bulge of denim beneath you, as you begin the slow roll of your hips.

“Mmmhahamm,” Chase moans out a satisfied, smug, little laugh as he slides his hands up your thighs and under your skirt to grip your hips. “This just might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he smirks, using his grip to push and pull you against him, intensifying the friction for you both.

The feeling is far more intense than the soft cushion of your pillow and you relish in it, appreciating the way his twitching cock excites your sensitive bud.

“Goddd, I wish you were inside me right now!” you whine out, adding a slight bounce to your movements so you can pretend.

“Trust me, I know, I wish I was too,” he bucks his pelvis up to play into the fantasy of it all.

The only thing missing is a fullness inside of you and a tight warmth around Chase, but this will do for now. You can feel how slick you're getting and wonder if Chase can feel the dampness through his denim. And as if he can read your mind he slides his hands back down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up to take a peek underneath.

“Mm-Fuck that’s so hott! You’re soaking through your panties babe,” he exclaims, watching in awe as wet spot blooms.

“That’s because this feels s-sooo fucking good, baby! Mmmhhm.” You moan, looking directly into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Yeah?” He asks rhetorically and bites his lip, as his body moves in unison with yours. “Let’s get this back off you, huh?” He sits up slightly supporting himself with one hand as he expertly unhooks your bra with the other . It’s one of the only things he’s been allowed to take off of you for the last three years, so of course he’s mastered it by now. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he sits up fully now, gently cupping your face with partial sweater paws —his painted finger tips resting gently on the apples of your cheeks. He pulls you in and begins kissing you, your tongues embracing each others in sensual rhythm.

You grab the hem of his oversized sweater and begin to pull it up, only parting your mouths long enough to tug it over his head. The second it’s discarded, you’re at it again; desperate, hungry kisses moaning into eachothers mouth.

“C-can I try be-being on top now,?” he breaks the kiss to ask, panting and out of breath.

“Of course,” you roll off him and lay on your back, letting him climb on top.

Somehow this position makes everything feel more real; the weight of him between your legs; the skin to skin contact of your bare, sweat-slicked chests gliding against each other with every roll of Chase’s hips.

“Mmmhm— Fuck, baby! Can’t wait to do this for real,” he kisses the words into the flesh right below your ear; he knows it’s your favorite spot. As usual it sends a wave of pleasure straight to your core.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Chase! Don’t stop!”you cry out. But your words excite him too much…

“Shit! No no no no NO! Not yet!” He pleads with himself, shortly following with a defeated “I’m cumming.” With a heavy sigh he rolls off of you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Chase, don’t worry about it, besides I can take care of myself,” you reassure him, giving him a peck on the lips, and shift to get out of bed to head to the bathroom.

“Wait!” He reaches out grabbing you by the wrist. “I wanna watch …if that’s ok with you of course.”

“Umm.. yeah, okay,” you reply timidly, knowing you're about to star in a private show of one of your most intimate moments; all eyes on you, even if they are just Chase’s.

You position yourself back on the bed—legs spread and skirt lifted for Chase’s viewing pleasure— and slip your hand into your panties. It was never an official part of the original promise you made, but at some point in your relationship it became like an unspoken rule that seeing those parts of each other were off limits until after graduation as well. Your fingers move in circles over your clit, shielded only by the thin, delicate, wet fabric of your panties. It doesn’t take long before Chase is hard again; his own hand tucked into his boxer briefs, as he watches you.

“So sexy, playing with yourself for me,” he stares in awe. “Thinking about this dick inside you baby?” He says, as he strokes himself, his jeans now unzipped to allow him more range of motion.

“Mmmhm, you know it, Cha—“ your orgasm cuts off your words as it surges through you. Chase can’t take his eyes off you as your legs tremble and thighs clamp close around your hand— he’s never seen anything so arousing in his life.

“Baby, give me your hand,” he requests, when your body stops seizing in pleasure. You give him a quizzical look. “Trust me,” he elaborates. And you do—you trust him, you trust him with every cell in your body —so you extend your free hand out to him , the other still resting lazily in your panties. “No, the other one,” he specifies. In confused silence you pull out your hand—fingers still sleek with your essence—and give it to Chase who brings it to his lips. “Wanna taste you,” he takes two of your fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling over, around and between them.

His dick twitches at his first taste of your flavor. You feel the buzz of his moans briefly around your fingers before they fall from his slack jaw as he cums hard in his pants, again.

“Can I?” You ask, nodding down to the mess seeping through his boxers.

He knows exactly what you’re asking and thumbs a drop of cum from his tip, and brings it to your lips. You open your mouth and he pushes his thumb in allowing you a taste of his salty release.

“Do I taste good, baby?” He asks. With his thumb still in your mouth you coyly nod yes. “You do too,” he smirks before slipping out his thumb. “God, I can’t wait until graduation.”

************************

By the time graduation rolls around the two of you have practically worn a hole in the crotch of every pair of pants and underwear you own.

After diplomas are received and caps thrown you sneak off to a hotel party with Chase, telling your mom you’re at sleepover with your friend, because even though you’re eighteen your moms one of those ‘you live under my roof, you live under my rules’ kind of mom. Technically you’re not really lying since your friend is here at the party too, but you doubt anyone’s gonna be sleeping, unless they just blackout; Another friend's older brother is stupidly supplying alcohol. You and Chase will not be partaking — another sixth grade health class promise to each other— no drinking until the legal age of 21.

Chase has been acting slightly off all night, he seems distracted, like his mind is completely somewhere else right now. It’s so unlike him and you're a little concerned.

“Earth to Chase,” you call out, grabbing his attention. “You okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He takes a big breath before answering “Sorry it was supposed to be a surprise after the party but I can’t get it off my mind …..I got us our own room,” he says handing you a key card.

“Oh..OHH!” It suddenly hits you as to why he’s been acting so odd. “I’m gonna go tell my friends I’m not feeling well, so we’re leaving early.”

***********

Once alone inside the room with Chase, your nerves start to kick in but you try not to show it. You and Chase are on the bed— still fully clothed sans socks and shoes— kissing softly when he pauses to ask…

“So how do you wanna do this?”

“Umm, however you want to I guess.” You respond sounding unsure.

“Are you okay? We don’t have to do this tonight if you’re not ready yet,” he says sensing your nerves. “I’ll be just as happy sleeping next to you as I’ll be sleeping with you. No pressure.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Everyone makes such a huge deal out of virginity , I think I’m just psyching myself out even though I know it's just a social construct. I’m mostly just worried about it hurting,” you admit.

“Promise I’ll be as gentle as possible, and we can stop anytime you want or need too,” he reassures you. Just let me know—I’m your best friend before anything else, before being your boyfriend, and certainly before my own pleasure— the last thing I wanna do is hurt you in any way shape or form.

“Thank you, I really appreciate that. You make me feel so safe, I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone but you,” you give him a slow, sensual kiss, before pausing to speak again, “I really appreciate you going to the gyno with me to get birth control last month too,”

“Of course, birth control is just as much my responsibility as it is yours—which reminds me, I wasn't sure if you still wanted to use condoms or not, but I brought some,” he reaches into his small cross body bag on the floor by the bed and pulls out a three pack. “Completely up to you, I’m fine either way.”

“I’m okay doing it without one. I mean, I’m on birth control and we’re both virgins.”

“ That’s what I was thinking too, but I wanted to bring them just in case you didn’t feel the same way,”

“You’re the best,” you smile at him. “So umm I was thinking like, missionary— at least to start.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“And umm, if you don’t mind, can we like skip the other stuff for now? I’m just really anxious to finally have sex with you,” you blush.

“Same,” he smiles. “I’m completely fine with that,”

Slowly, you begin undressing each other: first tugging Chase’s form fitting black T-shirt up and over his head, followed by him pulling you to your feet so he can unzip the back of your dress. He stands behind you, kissing the base of your neck before taking his time lowering the zipper, and continuing to kiss down your vertebrae as he goes. Once fully unzipped you shrug the garment from your shoulders, letting it cascade down your body and pool at your feet. Chase lends you a hand, helping you step out of the swirl of fabric and then gently lays you down on the bed. You’re only in your panties; your graduation dress not requiring a bra. Chase stands at the foot of the bed and begins to unbuckle the belt of his dress pants. It’s by far one of the hottest sights you’ve ever seen, reminiscent of the cover of one of your guilty pleasure steamy romance novels. After he’s fully removed his pants, he climbs onto the bed, the both of you in just your underwear.

“Can I take these off you?” He hooks his thumbs under the skinny strap of fabric at your hips. You respond with a nod and your bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth. You lift your hips for him as Chase makes quick work of tugging them down and off. He marvels at the sight before him; you completely nude for the very first time in his presence. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he lightly traces a single finger over your slit, just barely parting your lips. “Ready for me?” He strokes himself through the confines of his boxers and then quickly removes them when you respond with another nod. He spreads your legs then positions himself between them. “Try to relax for me, okay.”

He attempts to run his tip through your folds to lubricate himself before pushing in but it seems your arousal isn’t quite as plentiful as the times that the two of you have simulated sex. You can feel the friction from the lack of wetness as Chase tries to navigate his way through your folds, and embarrassingly, you know he can feel it too.

“I’m sorry,” you cover your face in shame. “I want this. I’m in the mood and everything, I swear. I’m turned on, you turn me on—-” you ramble in a panic, thinking Chase is going to be offended.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. I know it’s probably just because you’re nervous. Don’t worry about it, I brought some lube, just in case,” Chase reaches down to his bag once again, and pulls out a small colorful bottle. “Is it okay if I rub some on you?”

“Of course,.………Chase,—I love you, seriously, you’re the best.” You’ve heard some of your other friends' first time stories and you know how lucky you are to have someone who cares as much about your level of pleasure and comfort as their own.

“I love you, too,” he smiles, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “I know you said you wanted to skip the other stuff for now, but I think it might be a good idea if I get you warmed up with my fingers a little first. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you involuntarily squirm with anticipation.

Chase cracks open the bottle of lube, and squeezes out a moderate amount onto his fingertips. He warms the clear, cool, jelly between his thumb and forefingers before gently applying it to your opening.

“Ready?” He waits for your nod of approval before sliding a slicked finger inside of you. The sensation causes you to softly breathe out his name. “You okay?” He asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Keep going.” And he does, working them in a ‘come hither’ motion and adding a second finger when you say it’s okay. You wouldn’t say it hurts by any means, but you can definitely feel the pressure and stretch of his long, slender fingers working inside you. But the pleasure is there as well; that special spot you also learned about in health class—Chase has undeniably found it. “Mmmm, Chase—fuck…so good — kiss me.”

“Anything you want, baby,” Chase leans over your body— his fingers still getting you ready for him— and connects his mouth to yours, devouring your moans. Every kiss fills you with the same electric surge as it did during that Friday movie night, three years ago. That’s how it always is with you and Chase; every kiss feels like the first time —everytime.

“Want you…now,” you whimper as he moves the kisses to your neck.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m all yours,” he breathes against your flesh.

“Inside me,” you clarify, grabbing his hard dick.

“Yeah?” He perks his head up smiling at you. “Think you can take me now?”

“Yeah, go slow though,”

“I will, baby,” he slips out his fingers and uses the mixture of lube and arousal to coat himself before lining up between your legs again. “Let me know if I’m hurting you or you need me to stop, okay.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath and slowly release it, trying to calm your nerves, while he lines himself up again.

This time he’s able penetrate you, and delicately begins sinking further in. He places his hands down on the mattress near your shoulders to support himself and you instantly grip his arms, slightly digging in your fingernails.

“You alright?” He pauses pushing in.

“I’m ok… k-keep going.”

“You sure ?”

“I’m sure.”

He continues to caringly inch his way inside you until his pelvis is flush with your body.

“Mhmm—fuck!.. i-it’s, it’s all the way in, baby. Feels so good…too good. Mmmmh, shit, gimme a minute.” He closes his eyes and sinks his teeth into his lip.

“It’s okay, I need one too.” You distract yourself from the twinge of pain between your legs by fiddling with one of his necklaces. “I still can’t believe you’ve kept this all these years,” you say, holding the dog tag that hovers above your body like a pendulum at rest; Chase’s name engraved on the front.

“Of course I do. You gave it to me,” he strokes the side of your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, for your tenth birthday!” You giggle.

“I loved you then—even if I didn’t know it yet—and I love you now,” he leans down, kissing you softly. The cold metal of the tag now touching your breasts excites you, and you let out a small moan that buzzes against Chase's lips. “I should be good now, are you?”

You silently nod and Chase—paying close attention to where your bodies are joined — slowly draws his hips back and gently pushes in again, but this time when he pulls back his hips he notices a bright red streak down his length.

“Shit, you're bleeding!” he sounds panicked.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You go to cover your face again, but Chases intercepts, instead, interlocking your fingers together

“Baby, it’s okay. I know it’s common the first time. I don’t care about the blood, I’m worried I’m hurting you.”

“I mean yeah, it hurts a little, but it's gonna hurt whether we do this now, later, or another year from now; It just comes with the territory. I trust you and I know you're being as gentle as you possibly can. I’ll be okay, I promise.” You reassure him. Besides, from what your friends have told you it should begin hurting less and start to feel good soon.

“Soo continue?” He asks, to be sure.

“Yes, make love to me, Chase!

With his hands still interlaced with yours, he resumes the slow and careful roll of his hips and gently pins them to the mattress just slightly above your head. It’s not a dominance thing though , it’s not like the movies, or the spicy romance novels you read — it’s an assurance thing, a silent way of letting you know he’s got you, you’re in good hands and he’s gonna take good care of you. He dips his head, planting a garden of kisses along your throat as he delicately pivots his hips. It takes a bit to adjust to the intense stretch but Chase coaches you through it—reminding you to breathe, and distracting you with sensual praise and eye contact— until the ache eventually fades away. The sensation that replaces it is akin to the feeling of the way your heart skipped a beat the first time Chase said ‘I love you.” The memory of it playing on repeat inside of you everytime he glides over your g-spot.

“Ohh… Chase!” You pant breathily.

“You alrig—?“

“ You feel so fucking good,” you cry out, cutting off his question of concern.

“Mmmghh, he grunts at the pleasure your words bring him. “Happy you… mmhm finally get to enjoy this as mmmuch as I am,” he speaks through broken moans. “Don't know how mmmuch longer I can last though”

“Ss’okay, babe. It’s your first time too, I-I understand.”

T he next few minutes are filled with mutual pleasure, love-laden moans and passionate kisses. And even though a part of him is literally inside you, and your bodies are pressed together, you desire him impossibly closer still; your hands gripping and grabbing at his slender body as if you could just crawl into his chest and stay there for all of eternity. You call out his name as a familiar feeling begins to brew within you. But before you can reach your climax …

“Can I… in you?” Chase asks through heavy breathing. And with your nod of consent, he begins to pulse inside you, a warm sensation filling you up. “Ughhm, Holy Fuck!” Chase calls out, a shiver of ecstasy running through his body. He collapses on top of you, boneless as a jellyfish while he comes down from his high and catches his breath. “That was the best orgasm of my fucking life!” He manages to lift himself up to speak, making eye contact with you. “Wanna make you feel good too, Can I finish you off?” He sensually runs his tongue over his top lip.

“I’d like that,” you squirm, on the brink of orgasm already.

With no prior experience with oral sex you silently wonder to yourself if he’ll be able to make you cum, but the second his tongue traces a counter-clockwise half circle around your clit, you know he will—and soon! He continues licking a stripe down the side of your sensitive bud, then halfway back up, over and down. When he circles your clit next, you realize what he’s doing before he even finishes the letter.

“Chase!” You blurt out as if you were supposed to guess the word his tongue is spelling out in calligraphy.

Your hand rides atop his head as he softly zigzags the letter ‘S’ over your clit. Somewhere in the middle of the final letter your body starts convulsing in pleasure and Chase proudly wears your thighs as earmuffs as he makes you cum.

“God, I fucking love you,” he kisses his way back up your body, when your thighs finally release their hold on him. He gives you one last kiss on your mouth before he settles down on his back besides you. He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips placing a gentle peck on the backside. “That was amazing,” he says with his head turned, looking in your eyes as he softly strokes your hair. “Finally getting to be with you like that after so long was….was everything!” He struggles to find a word special enough to encompass the way he’s feeling. “I swear the wait just intensified the experience as a whole; so many new and exciting sensations we got to explore together for the first time ,” he kisses you lightly on your forehead.

“I agree, and I’m so lucky to have a man so deserving of sharing my body with. I felt so safe, respected and loved the entire time; so thank you for that.”

“Of course,” he gives you another forehead kiss and starts to get up.

“Mmghh,” you grumble playfully “Where you going? Stay with me.”

“I’m gonna draw you a nice cool bath, it should help with any remaining soreness…and here take two of these,” he pulls out a travel size bottle of Tylenol from his bag.

“Thanks,” you smile, getting up from the bed and grabbing a water from the mini fridge. You wash the pills down your throat with a sip of water, and make your way into the bathroom.

“Oh, and don’t forget to pee!” He calls out as you close the bathroom door.

“Okay, you reply, laughing to yourself. You think it’s adorable how he obviously did his research; from the lube, to spelling his name between your thighs, the Tylenol, the cool bath, and reminding you to empty your bladder. You wouldn’t dare call him out on it though.

**************

After your bath, you wrap yourself in the white robe provided by the hotel and open the bathroom door only to find Chase sitting on the bed in his boxers, a bleach pen in hand, scrubbing at the small— mostly gone— crimson patch on the sheets.

“ You can sleep on that side. I’ll sleep on the wet spot… think I got it out though.” Chase says, tucking the stain remover back into his little ‘first time’ kit.

“Oh, Chase, you say playfully. You’re such a dork sometimes, but I totally love you for it,” you pick up one of his balled up socks off the floor, and throw it at him.

“Hey, what was that for!” He smiles at you, tossing it back.

“Nothing,” you say, not wanting to embarrass him. “I just appreciate everything that went into tonight,” you leave it at that, and take a seat on the bed.

“Wait, hold that thought,” he sounds both elated and nervous all of a sudden. “I have one more surprise for tonight.” He pulls a small wrapped box out of his bag and hands it to you. You look at him quizzically. “Go ahead, open it!” He’s so excited that if he were a dog, his tail would be wagging. You removed the wrapping paper to find a black velvet ring box.

“Chase,” you let out in a barely audible breath, your eyes already welling with happy tears. With unsteady hands you pry open the hinged box to reveal a conservative sized diamond ring. You drop the box into your lap and throw your arms around Chase. “Yes, yes— a million times yes, baby!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t get you anything bigger right now, it’s just a promise ring but I didn’t wanna wait any longer trying to save up, I figured tonight would be the perfect night to ask you.”

“ It’s beautiful, Chase, I love it!” You retrieve the box from your lap to admire the dainty melee diamonds that surround a slightly larger Marquise cut diamond in the center.

“Here, let me put it on you,” he gently takes the box from your hand, removes the ring and begins sliding it on the ring finger of your left hand. “A promise solidifies the bond between two people and with this promise ring, I vow to honor that bond forever. This ring is a symbol of my love for you and my promise to marry you… after College graduation,” he adds with a laugh.

“Oh we’re playing that game again?” You return his laughter.

“It will be worth the wait, just like it was this time, promise.”

#chase Hudson #huddy #lil huddy #chase hudson fanfic #chase hudson x reader #chase Hudson smut #huddy x reader #huddy fanfic #huddy smut

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kjack89 · 2 years

Text

Kill the Messenger

For @themiserablesmonth Day 26: Message.

Modern AU, established E/R, all hijinks, all shenanigans, all the time.

Read on AO3.

To say that the mood in the backroom of the Musain was tense was probably an understatement. Tense would be the way to describe the vibe after Marius had brightly told Enjolras that he was fiscally conservative and socially liberal. This was perhaps more aptly described as fraught.

The various members of Les Amis had arrived for a regularly scheduled meeting to instead be party to the tail-end of what certainly sounded from outside the door where everyone was absolutely not eavesdropping as a knock-down, drag-out fight between Enjolras and Grantaire, the kind that had Grantaire storming from the room, slamming the door after him.

“Should we…?” Joly muttered to Bossuet, who just shook his head.

Of course, going after Grantaire would probably have been preferable to sitting through Enjolras delivering his usual meeting remarks while glowering at everyone in attendance as if daring them to even think of breathing Grantaire’s name.

No one would have been that stupid.

Not even Marius.

Speaking of, Marius leaned over to whisper to Courfeyrac, “Is this going to go on for much longer?”

He didn’t need to elaborate on what the ‘this’ was. Courfeyrac made a face. “They’ll make up eventually,” he told Marius in an undertone. “They always do.”

Marius eyed Enjolras warily. “I thought things were supposed to be better once they started dating.”

“Better, sure,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “But they’re still them, so…”

He trailed off, somewhat ominously, and Marius heaved a sigh. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Courfeyrac gave him a sideways glance, a small, thoughtful smile hovering on his lips. “Maybe there is.”

Marius knew from experience not to automatically agree with any of Courfeyrac’s plans without first hearing the details. “What do you have in mind?” he asked warily.

“Will you take a message to Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asked, already grabbing his notebook and ripping a piece of paper out.

“A message?” Marius repeated.

Courfeyrac nodded, not looking up from whatever he was writing. “Yeah, like a note,” he said, in what he clearly thought was a helpful sort of way, “written on a piece of paper.”

Marius rolled his eyes. “I know what a message is, thanks,” he said sourly. “What is this, junior high? Am I passing him a note after study hall? Can’t you just text him?”

Courfeyrac glanced up at him. “I certainly can but I’d rather not have an electronic record for evidence.”

“You think Enjolras is going to go through your phone?” Marius asked.

“I’m certainly not going to take that chance,” Courfeyrac told him. “So what do you think?”

Marius sighed, knowing he was going to get roped into this one way or another. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Courfeyrac asked. I mean, don’t feel obligated or anything, even if peace in our time rests on your willingness to do this.

Marius rolled his eyes again and held his hand out. “Just shut up and hand it over.” Courfeyrac obediently passed the note over and Marius hesitated. “Any clue where Grantaire is?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Knowing Grantaire, he didn’t go far. I’d start with the bar downstairs, and if he’s not there, try the Corinthe. And if he’s not there either, text him.”

“And have an electronic record on my phone?”

“Yeah, I care less about your phone,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

Marius just sighed. “I’ll be back.”

Luckily, he didn’t have to go far, as per Courfeyrac’s prediction, Grantaire had made his way no further than the bar downstairs. “Hey,” Marius said, a little awkwardly. “You doing ok?”

“Marius Pontmercy,” Grantaire said loudly, clearly feeling the effects of the line of empty glasses in front of him. “I am doing absolutely splendidly. How are you?”

“Fine,” Marius said. “Here, uh, Courfeyrac sent me to bring you this message.”

Grantaire huffed a laugh. “Good ol’ Courfeyrac, always playing peacemaker.” He held his hand out for the note, opening it and scanning it quickly. For one moment, his expression was curiously blank before it darkened. “Oh, so that’s how he thinks this is gonna go,” he muttered, before looking up at the bartender. “Musichetta darling, can I borrow a pad of paper and a pen?”

“Promise me you won’t leave lewd notes behind the bar again,” Musichetta said tiredly, already handing the pad of paper and pen to him.

He winked at her. “I can make no guarantees.” He scribbled something and folded the piece of paper in half before handing it back to Marius. “Take this to Enjolras.”

Marius blanched. “To Enjolras?” he repeated. “But—”

“Or don’t,” Grantaire said with a noncommittal shrug. “On your head be it.”

Marius winced, Courfeyrac’s jab on ‘peace in our time’ echoing in his head. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to take the stairs two at a time back up to the meeting room. He waited for a break in Enjolras’s speech to covertly slide the slip of paper to him.

Enjolras read it with a furrowed brow before glancing up at Marius. “Grantaire sent this?” he said sharply.

Marius winced again. “Yeah.”

“I see.” Enjolras tapped a finger on the table for a moment before grabbing his notebook and tearing a corner of paper off, scribbling a message of his own, which he handed to Marius. “Take this back to him.”

“Um, ok,” Marius muttered, severely regretting volunteering for this. Still, he obediently took the note back downstairs to Grantaire, who smiled almost savagely as he passed the note over with a muttered, “Here.”

Grantaire’s feral smile widened as he read whatever Enjolras had written, and he wordlessly wrote a response, handing the new note to Enjolras. “There’s a good fellow,” he said cheerfully, and Marius groaned.

Back up the stairs he went; back down once Enjolras had read whatever Grantaire had scrawled in response with a retort of his own. Back and forth like some kind of messenger making his way between entrenched battle lines. He lost count of how many messages he brought between the two men, but by the time the meeting was wrapping up, his feet and knees were both aching. Courfeyrac hadn’t helped matters, winking and waving cheerfully at him everytime he slumped to the front of the room to give Enjolras Grantaire’s latest message and take whatever response Enjolras gave him.

Silently, Marius slid what he hoped to God was the final note across the table to Enjolras, who read it, his expression completely impassive. He grabbed another piece of paper, bending to write on it, and Marius, at his wit’s end, burst, “No!”

“No?” Enjolras repeated, a dangerous lilt to his voice, and Marius forced himself to stand his ground.

“No,” he repeated. “Grantaire is downstairs. If you want to keep having this fight with him, you can go downstairs and have it yourself, in person. I’m not taking another message.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Courfeyrac let out a noise that sounded like a cat being stepped on, which Marius, from his time living with him, knew was a poorly stifled cackle. Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Weak,” he said, and Marius blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you,” Enjolras said impatiently, shifting his glare to Courfeyrac, who was covering his mouth with both hands. “You’re weak. All this time—”

Courfeyrac hiccuped. “I know, I’m sorry, I just – I couldn’t—”

He burst out laughing and Marius had the sudden, horrible feeling that somehow, this was all a very big joke, with him as the punchline. “Give me that,” he said, reaching for the note he had just brought up from Grantaire. Enjolras scrambled to grab it, but Marius got there first.

PING, Grantaire had written in all caps, followed by a small, scribbled heart. He looked at Enjolras, who hesitated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, before silently passing over the note he’d just written.

Marius opened it, staring down at the single word written in Enjolras’s cramped writing.

PONG.

“Are you…are you serious?” Marius managed, barely able to hear himself over Courfeyrac’s wheezing laughter. “Have you two been doing this the whole time? Playing ping-pong with me as the freaking ball?”

Enjolras chose not to answer that question, instead gathering his things together before looking over Marius’s shoulder and asking, “Ready to go home?”

“Ready when you are,” Grantaire said, half-smiling, as if their fight from earlier was entirely forgotten. Enjolras walked over to Grantaire and wrapped an arm around his waist before kissing his cheek.

Together, they left, and Marius stared after them in something like stunned silence. Courfeyrac, who had finally managed to get his laughter under control, cleared his throat. “Before you get mad at them,” he started, and Marius turned to give him a withering look.

“Let me guess, this was your idea?”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Of course,” he said, as if he hadn’t knowingly roped Marius into being the butt of a joke. “I knew nothing would help them get over whatever they were fighting about like giving them a mutual project.”

“A mutual project of torturing me?” Marius muttered.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “What can I say, it’s only weird if it doesn’t work.” He schooled his expression into something almost somber as he added, “I am sorry you were collateral damage, though.”

“No you’re not.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “No, I’m really not.” He threw an arm around Marius’s shoulder. “C’mon, one day you’re gonna look back on this and laugh, he said, patting him on the chest. “Now let me buy you a drink for your trouble.”

“More like your trouble,” Marius muttered, even as he let Courfeyrac lead him downstairs to the bar one last time. “But the next time you ask me to do something, I’m definitely not doing it.”

Courfeyrac just laughed again. “You and I both know that’s not true,” he said cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Marius muttered sourly. “Unfortunately, we do.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #marius pontmercy #courfeyrac #les miserables #fanfiction #modern au #hijinks and shenanigans #the miserables month 2022

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angeldrawsstuffs · 1 year

Text

A Julien

So you know that HC I posted a while ago? Well I have a snippet about it now-

Summary: It’s been months since Chen left the his biological family and was taken in by the Juliens, now, he’s reflecting on who he is and how far he’s come.

Chen shifted in his bed as his phone alarm, a remix of his song “Poprocks” by a certain Black Ninja, blares through the speakers and curses his ears.

As much as he loves the song, he doesn’t want to get out of bed. Ever. It’s too comfortable.

Maybe he can convince his dad to let him sleep all day without it being “unhealthy” and “bad for him and his mental health”.

Chen giggles.

Man, it feels good for that to be the worst of his problems.

Flinging his weighted blanket off, Chen stretches as he slinks his way out of bed, not unlike the large snake that seems to have snuck into his room in the middle of the night.

“Good morning, Twig.” Chen groggily greets, his beloved snake responding by slithering over and pointing to his bedside table, which has his well decorated pill sorter on it, curtesy of his younger siblings.

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten yet.” He says as he opens the Friday tab before taking a swig of water with his polls

He’d gotten evaluated by a psychiatrist and recently been medicated for autism, ADHD, CPTSD, PTSD, anxiety, and situational depression.

Needless to say, he’d been surprised at how many diagnoses he has. Back with the Ambers, he’d asked one time as a child if he had any kind of disorders…

It was made sure he never asked again.

After all, Ambers are perfect.

Now that he’s away, he’s pretty sure all of them are narcissists. Especially his biological uncle and biological mother.

Twig nudges Chen, breaking him from his train of thought…

Right. It’s not good to think about them too much. Not that productively deconstructing the toxic dynamics he was part of.

Twig helps guide the still groggy Chen to the bathroom passing by Zero on the way, who gives a quick “‘Morning” before walking back off to complete whatever preparations for school he was making. Evidently something involving Cleft and Kaigami, as he seems to be in a bit of a hurry.

Chen doesn’t mind though, he’ll see Zero at breakfast after all.

With the help of Twig, Chen makes it to the bathroom to brush his teeth before returning to his room and getting dressed. A white button up, a loose sweater, a skirt, some knee high socks, and sneakers.

He’d never be allowed to wear it back with the Ambers.

Swiping a hand through his hair, Chen is abruptly reminded he’s yet to brush it.

Well, back to the bathroom.

This time walking on his own, Chen strides down the hallway, but, this time, a small little force rams into his abdomen. He smiles as he looks down to see a paintbrush of brown hair and wide, grey eyes looking up at him.

“Good morning, C! You look really cute! :D” Echo practically shouts in delight.

Chen ruffles his little brother’s hair, “Good morning to you too, Echo.”

“Man, your hair’s a m e s s.”

Chen chuckles, “Yeah, that’s why I’m gonna go brush it.”

“Oh- okie dokie! Can I feed Twig while ya do that?” Echo smiles.

“Of course. I have their portion for this morning labeled in the fridge, so go give that to them and wash you hands afterward, ok?”

“Ok! :D”

Echo darts off as quickly as he came, Chen smiling as his little brother charges off to get Twig’s food.

But, he still has his own task to get to.

Chen continues down the hallway, finally getting back to the bathroom and being able to brush his hair.

It feels almost nice to to use the most expensive products or the best hairbrush on the market. His dad certainly has the money for it, no doubt, but overall he’s modest about it. A far cry from the flamboyancy that came with the Amber family name.

He was making some final adjustments to his outfit when he noticed something in the mirror, something he’d never seen before back with the Ambers…

He saw himself. Dressed in a cute and comfortable outfit, hair in a slightly messy ponytail, freckles littering his body, and a smile on his face.

A smile.

Not a practiced, plastic smile, but a real one, one that was just… happy to be alive and living the life he is.

…Huh, he never had really felt this way before, had he?

Here he was just so at ease, so…

Happy.

He has siblings, two dads who love him, and more genuine friends than he even thought he could.

It’s a miracle, really.

Just few months ago Chen was worrying if he’d survive the week after a statue spell left him without a good night’s sleep, which resulted in him getting an A- on a test. Alina had scolded at him for what felt like forever for that.

But he’ll never have to worry about Alina ever again. So long as things keep going the way they are, he’ll never have to look at her or her enabler husband’s face ever again.

He’ll never have to see another Amber again…

Well, except for one. After all, he’s still got research on his estranged pibling to do! His Papa has been a great help in that department, apparently they fought together during the wars and-

“Chen? Are you coming? Papa made pancakes.”

Chen sees from the mirror that it’s Zero who’s come in, and he turns around to face his brother.

“Of course, I’m coming.”

Zero leaves the bathroom, satisfied his younger brother will actually be eating a meal before heading off to school.

As Chen leaves the bathroom and strides down the hallway, he can’t help but think back on how much his life really has turned around.

Guess that’s just one of the perks of being a Julien.

Chen Julien.

#ninjago #spbnr aus #ninjago au #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #snippet #tlnm au #ninjago chen #chen the cheerleader #chen amber

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cha-melodius · 2 years

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Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because you’re dangerous - napollya

(Another trope prompt and Whumptober fill for today's theme "The Way You Shake and Shiver" + "Shaking Hands"... if there's a more Illya-appropriate Whumptober prompt, I haven't seen it! This is a fic I teased before as major Illya angst, and can be summed up as "4 times Illya and Napoleon were warned that the other person was dangerous, and 1 when they decided it was worth the risk.")

A Kiss Away From Being Dangerous

Read it on AO3 (T, 7.3k)

I. Gaby to Napoleon

As a matter of fact, Napoleon is very well aware of what Illya Kuryakin is capable of. Rome wasn’t all that long ago, after all, and Berlin just before that, when Illya tore the back off a car and nearly choked Napoleon out in a public bathroom. Then there’d been Istanbul, when Napoleon had snapped during an argument and needled him a little too much, taken things a little too far, and Illya given him a black eye that had lingered for a week.

That had been a bit of a turning point, though. Yeah, it had hurt, and it had really put a crimp in his style, but it hadn’t been that big of a deal. Napoleon has certainly had far worse. He kind of deserved it, too, if he’s being honest. What had been surprising—what actually had started things shifting between them—was how bad Illya clearly felt about it, even if he tried not to let it show. Napoleon thinks that, somewhat ironically, the black eye and its aftermath was really when he lost all remaining fear of Illya Kuryakin.

The flirting started before the half-moon bruise under his eye had even fully faded away. Napoleon never made a conscious decision to do so, but the teasing innuendos and loaded quips sneak into his speech anyway, largely without his leave. He tells himself it’s just for fun, because it’s a goddamned delight to see Illya flush crimson in response, and possibly even more gratifying when he snaps back, snarling without any heat to it save perhaps a thread of underlying sexual tension. That’s no doubt just wishful thinking on Napoleon’s part, though.

Ok, so he also flirts because he can’t help it, because he wants his partner. His completely, utterly off-limits partner. Turns out Illya is not only gorgeous and absurdly good at his job but also kind and brilliant and surprisingly funny when you get to know him, and it’d be hilarious how far gone Napoleon is on him already except it’s really, really not. Because Illya is also a KGB agent, and a man, and probably involved with Gaby (though Napoleon has pointedly stopped trying to figure out what’s going on there), and mostly seems to tolerate Napoleon the way you end up kind of fond of something you find equal parts annoying and amusing. This is why the flirting is ultimately harmless, since he can’t actually mean anything by it and nothing will ever come of it.

Apparently not everyone sees it that way, though.

He’s honestly surprised the first time Gaby brings it up, after one of their little tête-à-têtes that ends with Illya huffing and leaving the room where they’d been preparing for an operation that evening. And sure, maybe Napoleon’s pointed innuendos about Illya’s long fingers and what he could do with them were pushing the line of decency, but Illya had flushed so prettily and then scowled in that way that Napoleon now knew meant he was trying not to laugh before he’d stormed away, so Napoleon had chalked it up to a success. When Napoleon turns, though, he finds Gaby glaring at him.

“What?” he asks, a little befuddled. She’s never given any indication before that she disapproves of any of this.

“I don’t understand why you insist on provoking him like that,” she says. “One day he’s going to snap again and you’ll get worse than a black eye.”

“Who, Peril?” he asks, frowning at her. “He knows I’m just joking around. He’s not actually bothered by it.”

Gaby’s eyebrows arc upward, almost disappearing beneath her bangs. “Are you sure about that?”

“I am,” Napoleon answers confidently, if a little defensively. “What makes you so sure he is?”

“Because you’re flirting, Solo.”

Napoleon can’t help but be a little offended by that, even though she probably has a point. Still, Illya always banters back at him, and hasn’t told him to cut it out. Napoleon is pretty damned good at reading people, and has only gotten better at reading his partners over the past few weeks; if Illya was actually upset, he’d know. It occurs to him, though, that maybe he’s not reading this situation quite right. “Wait, is it bothering you?” “Why would it bother me?” Gaby replies, her brow knitting in confusion.

“Because you two are…” he trails off and waves his hand vaguely. He’s fine with it, honestly, but thinking about it too hard makes something twist uncomfortably in his gut that he really doesn’t want to contemplate.

“We’re what?”

Christ, she’s going to make him say it. “Look, you don’t appreciate someone flirting with your man, it’s understandable,” Napoleon says, as quickly and flippantly as he can manage. “I promise you, I don’t mean anything by it.” It’s not completely a lie, but he’s definitely not willing to admit what it does mean to anyone. Even someone he’s become quite close to in a few short weeks.

“My man?” Gaby chokes out, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s laughing. “Whatever you think is going on, it’s not.”

“Oh,” he breathes, unsure of what to do with this information. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms, looking unmistakably amused.

“Then why do you care?”

“I care because you’re both my partners. More than that, you’re my friends,” she sighs, exasperated. “I’d prefer if you keep your face the way it is, and I don’t want to see you push him to the breaking point again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Napoleon says with all earnestness. “I know where the line is now.”

It is clear that Gaby remains unconvinced. “So you say,” she replies, and then, magnanimously: “I promise I won’t say I told you so when he breaks your nose.”

II. Oleg to Illya

The first time Illya was warned about Napoleon Solo was, of course, when Oleg sat him down before East Berlin and went to great lengths to impress upon him that the American was not to be underestimated. Illya has to admit that even so, he’d been far from concerned. Of course, then Solo had beat him over the Wall, which turned out to be only the first time that Solo would surprise him. It would be safe to say that things had greatly changed between them since that night, but at no point had anything about the course of their partnership come close to what he could have ever expected.

Sitting, as he is, at a secluded café in Stockholm with Oleg, Illya is pretty sure he’s about to be warned again.

He might be working with UNCLE now, but that doesn’t mean Illya isn’t still a KGB agent first and foremost, and with that comes check-ins with his handler. At the beginning they had been fairly frequent; he’d get a call every couple of weeks and have to find a time to get away to meet. Illya assumed he’d be asked to inform on his partners, especially Napoleon, but Oleg seems to be mostly interested in the missions UNCLE is running, as well as on ensuring that Illya knows his place in the world. That doesn’t mean that Napoleon isn’t a regular topic of conversation, to Illya’s increasing chagrin.

This is the first meeting they’ve had in several months, the first since UNCLE established some kind of headquarters in New York, and there is a lot to catch up on. Oleg makes some oblique comments on possibly having to recall Illya for a KGB operation, but there’s nothing definitive. The statements are not couched as a threat, but Illya takes them as such anyway: remember where your loyalties lie, or we may be forced to remind you. Illya makes sure to appear as amenable and eager as possible, and doesn’t really want to think about the relief he feels when he’s told perhaps he won’t be needed after all.

“There is one more matter I wish to discuss,” Oleg says, before Illya can relax too much. “I am concerned you may be relying too much on Solo in the field.”

Illya is not entirely sure what to say to this. If he cannot rely on his partners—even if they technically are on opposite sides of this cold war—then he has much larger problems.

“He has shown himself to be reliable,” he says evenly, truthfully. Deep down, he can’t help but feel a tiny bit amused to be making this statement, given his opinions of the American in the beginning. At least Napoleon is not here to hear him say it. He would be insufferable.

“He is not to be trusted,” Oleg replies sharply. “You know this. It is an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence of spending too much time with those at UNCLE that you begin to lose sight of it. He is a liar, and a thief, and he will betray you. It is only a matter of time.”

It seems unwise to point out that, as spies, they are all liars, and all thieves. “I understand. I will be more careful,” Illya says instead. Unfortunately, this seems to be one of those times where Illya fails to be a convincing liar.

Oleg stares at him for a long moment, the frown etching deeper into his already heavily-lined face. “I am not sure you do understand, Illya,” he mutters darkly, but then he lets the topic drop.

The fact of the matter is that the situation is far worse than Oleg suspects. Working with Napoleon and Gaby is sometimes infuriating, to be sure, but also satisfying and comfortable and strangely fun, which is not something Illya thought he would ever say about missions. He’s come to greatly value this team, far more than he knows he should. Worse, he’s attached. It had been easy to avoid making friends when everyone was too busy shunning him for his sordid family history, but Gaby and Napoleon had blown right past all his remaining barricades to insert themselves into his heart in a way he’d assumed was long since lost to him.

That wasn’t even factoring in the other unexpected turn things had taken, because even as the spark between him and Gaby had not so much ignited as kindled gently into a warm, familial glow, the tension that had been present from the very start between him and Napoleon twisted itself into something else altogether. The flirting had not been as much of a surprise as the realization that Illya likes it. Not just the teasing, snarky back and forth, but also the way he feels warm all over after a particularly good volley, or the way that something clenches in his gut at the more blatant innuendos, at the implication that Napoleon might want him. It’s a foolish, dangerous feeling, but Illya doesn’t want it to stop.

“Remember, Illya,” Oleg says as they part, as if he’s aware of the way Illya’s thoughts have drifted during the wrap up of their meeting. “Do not let your guard down. You underestimate Solo at your own peril.”

It’s a fair warning, though Illya thinks that underestimating Napoleon is not really his problem anymore.

III. Illya to Napoleon

In months of flirting, Napoleon had never actually allowed himself to believe that his feelings might not be as one-sided as he assumed them to be. To do so would have been folly; even in the moments when it seemed like Illya was actually flirting back, he wrote them off as Illya just becoming more comfortable joking around with him, not that he might actually want him.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Napoleon gets some very strong evidence to the contrary.

Retrieving intel from a high security facility is usually child’s play for them; they’ve come a long way in working together since the Vinciguerra shipping compound. This time, though, they need to be certain that no one knows that they’ve been there, so when it becomes clear that they’re about to encounter someone in a corridor that should be empty, they duck into a room to one side, then Napoleon proceeds to shove them both into a closet at the sound of the voices pausing outside the room. Illya makes a soft noise of protest once he realizes that the closet is far too small for two somewhat oversized men, barely allowing for any space between them, but he goes anyway, grumbling when Napoleon steps on his toes as he shuts the door behind them.

He hadn’t really looked inside when he’d opened it, but now he realizes there are clothes hanging next to them, and when he paws at them in the dark his fingers make out the lettering on the shirt. A lucky break: uniforms. The chances that any of them would be Illya’s size are pretty much zero, but if Napoleon can get into one then he should be able to access all kinds of areas without much fear of being caught, and their chances of success here will go way up. He pivots in place so his back is to Illya’s front, reasoning that he’ll be able to maneuver a little better in this position, with emphasis on a little. At least Illya is a convenient surface to lean against as he bends awkwardly to tug at the laces of his shoes before he toes them off.

“What are you doing?” Illya hisses immediately, trying and failing to shove him off. Joke’s on him. There’s nowhere for Napoleon to go but right here on top of him.

“Changing,” Napoleon huffs as he yanks his shirt out of his pants and deftly unbuttons it, then shrugs out if it and his jacket in one go. “There are uniforms here. I’m going to get one on so I can blend in. Hold this,” he adds, thrusting the bundle of clothes back at Illya, who’s apparently too flabbergasted by the situation to protest being Napoleon’s coat hanger.

Illya makes a strangled sound and abruptly there are two large hands bracketing Napoleon’s bare waist, pressing him forward in a clear attempt to hold his body away from Illya’s. “Stop wiggling,” Illya demands, sounding increasingly distressed for reasons Napoleon can’t quite fathom.

“Not making this easy, Peril,” Napoleon grits out, becoming more annoyed with every passing moment.

“Neither are you.”

This is absurd. He wrenches out of Illya’s grip and shucks his pants off, then pushes backward again in an attempt to get room to pull on the uniform pants. Illya’s chest and stomach are just about as unyielding as a brick wall at his back, but there’s something else pressing firmly against his ass, and he’s halfway to making a joke along the lines of watch were you put that pistol, Peril, or you’re liable to give a guy the wrong idea, when he realizes: Oh. That’s why Illya seems so uncharacteristically flustered.

Napoleon freezes, half in the pants and unsure of what to do. “Are you—” he starts without thinking, before he realizes he has no idea what he actually wants to ask right now. Are you hard? Are you… ok? Are you interested in continuing this later on in a more comfortable location? In the end, he elects not to finish that line of questioning at all. Now is simply not the time, but there’s also no way he’s just pretending this never happened. “Don’t think we’re not talking about this later,” he promises under his breath.

Illya doesn’t respond, but Napoleon is pretty sure he can hear his teeth grinding together behind him. Some how his hands have ended up back on Napoleon’s waist, searing like brands against his bare skin, though they’re not so much holding him at bay as just… holding onto him. It’s incredibly distracting, and Napoleon wills himself to focus without a lot of success. Then he falters getting his other leg in the pants and falls back against Illya again, and they both let out low groans as Illya’s erection presses into the cleft of his ass. Closing the pants he’s putting on has rapidly become a lot more difficult, and he has half a mind to turn around so they can both just let off some steam, but fuck, the mission, and there are still voices outside the room, so Napoleon jerkily tugs on the uniform shirt and absolutely does not bother to hide his frustration.

The uniform works like a charm; Napoleon gets into the restricted area without any trouble and makes it out with the intel they needed. Illya definitely does not meet his eye when he reemerges and slips into the back of Gaby’s waiting car. There’s no question that Gaby notices the tension, but to be fair she probably just thinks they had one of their usual fights, so she doesn’t press them about it. The moment they arrive Illya pretty much flees to his hotel room, and Napoleon just shrugs like he doesn’t know what got into him.

Later, after they’ve checked in with Waverly and gotten instructions for moving forward, Napoleon makes good on his promise. He’s already decided that he’s picking the lock on Illya’s door if he doesn’t answer, but surprisingly Illya answers promptly after he knocks. He probably guessed Napoleon’s plan, but then again Napoleon has never known Illya to save him any trouble. As it is, he opens the door and immediately turns away, walking back into the hotel room without a word.

“So,” Napoleon says, strolling after him and making a detour to the liquor cabinet for a tumbler of Scotch. “About today. In the closet,” he adds, just to make sure they’re all on the same page.

Illya stops in front of a window and stares fixedly out of it, arms folded in front of his chest and his hands clenched into fists. Not exactly a promising start, but he doesn’t move away when Napoleon approaches to stand next to him, so that’s something.

“Look, we can ignore it,” Napoleon offers, even though he’s pretty sure they can’t. “Pretend it never happened and go back to business as usual. Or…” he says, trailing off as he reaches up to gently tug Illya’s arms out of their defensive position, “we could admit what we both want and do something about it.”

There’s something slightly wild in Illya’s eyes when he finally looks at him, and Napoleon can feel his pulse racing where his fingers are delicately looped around one of his wrists. He takes a cautious step forward, but still, Illya doesn’t pull away. Which is not to say that his body language is particularly welcoming. Illya is clearly trying to close himself off, but being a forbidding stone wall isn’t going to be good enough this time. Maybe it scares everyone else off, but not Napoleon. He shifts another step closer, so there are only inches between them now.

“Cowboy,” Illya growls in a low rumble. A warning. “Do not. We cannot.”

“Why? Give me one good reason, and I’ll stop.”

Illya scoffs. “This is too dangerous. I am too dangerous.”

“Nope. Not a good reason,” Napoleon retorts with a shake of his head, unable to keep his lips from tipping into a tiny smirk.

“You do not understand—”

“I understand perfectly, Peril,” Napoleon says, cutting him off. “You think I’m not very aware of what these hands can do?” Slowly but purposefully, he lifts Illya’s hand and places it at the base of his neck, his thumb resting in the vulnerable hollow between his collarbones. “I just don’t care. I want them on me anyway.”

“You are stupid man,” Illya murmurs. His fingers tighten, digging into the soft flesh, though Napoleon can’t tell if it’s meant to be a threat or if the movement is involuntary. A conditioned response, maybe. “Not a single instinct for self-preservation.”

Napoleon swallows against the pressure on his throat and meets Illya’s gaze unwaveringly. “Not when it comes to you,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “Tell me you don’t want me, that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away.”

Illya’s hand shifts, and Napoleon is sure he’s going to withdraw. That was, of course, the expected outcome; even if he’d felt confident enough to make this gambit, he’s not—all evidence to the contrary—an idiot. The odds that Illya would be willing to act on it were always low. But instead of leaving his skin, Illya’s hand slides upward to the angle of his jaw, his fingertips threading into the hair at the nape of Napoleon’s neck as the pad of his thumb drags across his cheek. He pauses a moment more, staring into Napoleon’s eyes with a breathtaking intensity. A silent challenge: Stop this, before it’s too late.

Napoleon was never going to be the one to stop this.

The kiss Illya pulls him into is achingly soft, in stark contrast to his earlier warning. It starts as a cautious, closed-mouth press, Illya’s lips moving gently against his, but, as previously established, Napoleon has never been much for caution. He pulls Illya’s plush lower lip between his own, offers a light drag of teeth and a swipe of his tongue, and Illya opens up readily in return. The hand on Napoleon’s jaw nudges him to tip his head so their mouths slot perfectly together, and Napoleon lets go of the last vestiges of his restraint. He chases the exquisite softness of Illya’s mouth as he licks past his teeth and slides his tongue against Illya’s, revels in the scratch of his stubble where their chins rub together, and slots his hand into the dip Illya’s narrow waist like he’s been aching to do for so, so long.

It’s certainly gratifying that Illya seems just as enthusiastic, that he lets out a low moan in response and drags Napoleon even closer, pressing their bodies together with a large hand that slips along his back and down to palm his ass, that Napoleon can feel him getting hard as their hips grind together.

“Eager, are we?” Napoleon breathes, grinning like a fool, when they finally break apart for air.

Illya ducks down to press a series of wet kisses along Napoleon’s jaw and over to his ear, until his lips brush against the shell of it. “You have been teasing me for months,” he growls before pulling back to look at Napoleon again, a spark in his eye that is equal parts mischievous and dangerous. “It is time to reap what you have sown, Cowboy.”

Napoleon surges up to kiss him again as a tremor of anticipation shoots down his spine, because that is a threat that he’s certainly not the least bit upset about.

IV. Gaby to Illya

If Illya thought it would be easier to deal with his feelings about Napoleon once they started sleeping together, he is sorely mistake. Sure, now he has an outlet for that itch that builds up beneath his skin, now he doesn’t have to force himself to look away before Napoleon catches him staring, now he can end arguments by shutting Napoleon up with his mouth, but allowing that door to open has also let in a whole host of other problems. Problems he could have probably predicted, had he stopped to think instead of surrendering to the irresistible gravity of his partner.

It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything, not with who they are and the world the way it is. If it’s just sex, it’s fine—

Well, it’s not fine. It’s pretty much the exact opposite of fine. Even just sex is more than a bridge too far, a betrayal he’ll never be forgiven for, and that doesn’t even factor in that it hasn’t been just sex for months now. Not for Illya, and he suspects not for Napoleon either, though he doesn’t let himself think about that too hard. It’s also Napoleon cooking his favorite foods and his steady support on Illya’s darker days, it’s quiet nights at one of their apartments between missions and soft mornings still curled around each other in bed. Those things all add up to something Illya doesn’t dare to try to name and can’t allow himself to acknowledge.

It can’t be anything more, so it isn’t.

Obviously, no one else knows, except for the one person they can’t keep anything from. They haven’t tried to hide it from her, but they’re not obvious about it either, and no one is exactly eager to bring it up in conversation. Illya supposes it’s possible that Napoleon has discussed it with Gaby, but he doesn’t think it likely. He certainly hasn’t. He’s not accustomed to talking about these things anyway, and it’s safer for everyone if as little is said about it as possible. They are still just as effective a team, so what Illya and Napoleon do in their free time is irrelevant.

Sometimes it’s a little bit relevant, though. Sometimes, like tonight, Illya and Gaby are attending a ball as a couple, and Napoleon is there to charm the other guests in an impeccably tailored tux that shows off all his best features, all roguish smiles and dazzling eyes, and Illya hates it. He hasn’t been particularly fond of watching Napoleon flirt with other people since long before he realized why that was, but now it sets off something ugly and possessive in his gut, something he has no right to. He spends the entire night scowling save for one moment when Napoleon catches his eye across the room and sends him a playful wink, and for some reason, this is when Gaby cracks.

“You know, the lovesick, kicked puppy expression is not really helping sell that you’re happy to be here with your wife,” she huffs, glaring up at him from where they’re standing at a table with good sight lines at one side of the room.

Illya manages to not flinch at her words and instead schools his face into something hopefully far more bland. “I hate these parties, my cover hates these parties, it works out,” he says with a shrug.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“What do you mean, Chop Shop?” he retorts, then realizes too late that he shouldn’t have asked at all.

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Illya?”

“Because I have to be here for the mission?”

“No, I mean—” she starts, then cuts herself off with another huff of exasperation, drains her drink, and grimaces briefly before she looks back up at him. “Look, I haven’t said anything about you and Solo, because that’s your business. But as your friend, as someone who loves you, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stand by and watch you get deeper and deeper into a situation that’s going to get you hurt, Illya.”

For a moment, Illya just stares at her, because this outburst is pretty much the last thing he expected tonight. “I do not know what situation you are referring to,” he says eventually, “but there is no worry about me getting hurt.”

“You think I don’t see how you look at him? You’re not good at masks like he is, darling,” Gaby tells him, her voice softening as she places a gentle hand on his forearm. “When you let your heart out of that cage you keep it in, you wear it right on your sleeve.”

Illya scoffs and looks away across the room to avoid her eyes, which is probably not helping his case. “So?”

“So I can see you falling for him, even if you’re too busy telling yourself that you’re not,” she says, eviscerating him in one fell swoop.

“You are imagining things,” he protests. “And anyway, I still do not see why you would say he is the one who will hurt me.”

Gaby sighs and looks across the room, and Illya doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know she’s seeking out Napoleon. “He won’t mean to,” she allows, “but if you let things keep going like this, it’s going to happen anyway.”

“You do not seem to have very high opinion of him for someone who is supposed to be his friend.”

“I am his friend, which means I know how he is,” she insists. “He doesn’t do relationships, Illya. That’s not a judgement, it’s just a fact. I’ve heard him say it.”

“When?” Illya demands before realizing that he doesn’t really want to know. Either it was long enough ago to give him a dangerous spark of hope that Napoleon might have changed his mind, or it was recent, and Gaby is probably right. It is better that way, anyway, if Napoleon at least might come out of this unharmed when it ends.

“I don’t know, maybe Istanbul? Or the one after. We stayed up late drinking and I got to hear all about the Napoleon Solo philosophy on relationships. Truly edifying,” she adds dryly. “The point is, you may be happy enough now but one day you’re going to want more, and he’s not going to be able to give it to you, because that’s not who he is.”

“You are wrong. I will not want more because there is no more to have. Not for us. So there is no problem,” Illya says, and then, because he really doesn’t want to be having this conversation anymore, he turns on his heel and starts to talk off, though he doesn’t get far before Gaby catches him by the arm again.

“Lying to yourself is not going to help, Illya!” she hisses, and even though he could easily pull away he stops again. “Just think about it, ok? I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

Illya isn’t really sure exactly what she wants from him. She must know that putting an end to their arrangement, going back to the way things used to be, would be nigh impossible. He’s not going to stop wanting Napoleon—he’s not going to be able to stop feeling these things—just because he should. If that were possible, none of this would have started in the first place. Besides, he’s still not convinced that Napoleon is the dangerous one in this scenario.

“You are forgetting one thing, Chop Shop,” he says eventually as he carefully pries her hand off of his arm.

“And what is that?”

“I am the one who breaks things.” I am the one who is already broken, he doesn’t add.

“Illya—” Gaby tries, but he cuts her off.

“I am done discussing this,” he says with finality, and this time she lets him walk away.

It starts with a mission gone sideways, an ambush in a not-so-abandoned research facility, and a poisoned tranquilizer dart that wasn’t meant for him. To be honest, Napoleon isn’t really sure how it goes after that, because he spends most of the next 24 hours barely conscious. He’s of course aware of the beginning, before the toxin had started kicking in, when Illya had fucking lost it at him for having the temerity to push him out of the way, and Napoleon had yelled back, and they’d both said things they were sure to regret the next day.

Well. Illya might regret them the next day. It becomes rapidly clear that Napoleon isn’t likely to see the next day if they don’t find the antidote.

Napoleon remembers the message they received that put a countdown timer on his life, the onset of the weakness, and the way his heart had started beating an alarmingly erratic rhythm, but after that, things get a little blurry. He knows he spends most of that time in a safehouse bed, sweating and shaking as his jaw seems determined to grind his teeth to dust. He knows that, on the rare moments that the fog in his mind clears and he regains a sliver of lucidity, Gaby is there, trying to get him to drink water and telling him to hold on, that they’re going to fix this. (Napoleon doesn’t really believe her, but it’s not like he has it in him to express that, and Gaby would just get mad at him if he did.)

He knows that he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Illya since his partner stormed away after mostly carrying him into the safehouse. Napoleon appreciates that Illya is mad at him, but he’d kind of like to see him, just once, before the end. The Illya-shaped apparition that shows up at his bedside, covered in blood, probably doesn’t count. At that point Napoleon is so out of it that he is certain that he must be hallucinating.

When he wakes up an unknown amount of time later, Gaby is still there. He’s more fatigued than he’s ever been in his life and everything aches, but his heartbeat is steady and he’s alive.

“You found the antidote?” he asks unnecessarily, because if they hadn’t he’d be dead by now.

“Illya did,” Gaby confirms as she shoves a glass of water toward him.

“Where is he?”

She hesitates; not for very long, but long enough. “He’s just wrapping some stuff up now,” she offers, not very convincingly, then immediately changes the subject. “How do you feel?”

“Like death warmed over,” he admits.

“Drink the water. I’d offer you some aspirin but we don’t know how it might interact with anything still lingering in your system, so you’re just going to have to tough it out.”

“I’ll live,” Napoleon huffs.

“Yeah,” she sighs, not bothering to hide the profoundness of her relief, “you will.”

The lingering effects of the poison have left his strength completely sapped, so he spends most of the day in bed while Gaby brings him the barely edible concoctions that she’s managed to throw together. Once, thinking he heard voices, he managed to be upright long enough to venture down the hall and into the living room before Gaby caught him and shoo’ed him back into bed. He tells himself that he just needed to move, that he wasn’t looking for anyone, but that, of course, is a lie. Over a surprisingly good dinner (“Take away,” Gaby admits with a smirk), he tries to ask again.

“Is he avoiding me?”

“Of course not,” Gaby answers immediately. “He’s just busy.”

Napoleon cocks an eyebrow at her. “So he left you to play nursemaid?”

“I don’t mind,” she says with a shrug. “The most important thing to me is that you’re all right.”

“But not to him.”

“Now you’re just twisting my words—”

“Save it, Gaby,” he snaps, then immediately feels bad. It’s not her fault Illya apparently can’t stand to be around him. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. Just exhausted.”

Gaby unfolds from where she’d been sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him and moves his dinner tray to the side table before she leans in to press a kiss to the side of his forehead. “Get some sleep. Things will be better in the morning, I promise.”

The one benefit of being this bone-tired is that he falls asleep before he can spend too much time dwelling on what Illya’s absence really means. That doesn’t mean he stays asleep, though; he wakes in the middle of the night with a strong feeling that he should check the safehouse perimeter. It’s nothing, he knows, there’s no reason to suspect they’re compromised here, but he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep unless he sees for himself that everything is all right. He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the robe that Gaby had scrounged up for him, snugging the belt around his waist before he shuffles out into the quiet house.

As he expected, there’s no sign of anything out of the ordinary. He’s just about to give up when he glances out of the window in the kitchen that looks out onto the unruly back garden and sees a familiar figure hunched over in a chair. Most of him is hidden in shadow, but the way his hair nearly glows silver in the pale moonlight is so arresting that Napoleon doesn’t know how long he stands there staring before he finally steps outside. Illya doesn’t look up, but he must hear the soft click of the latch, and in any case he doesn’t stir when Napoleon finally speaks.

“Nightmares?” Napoleon asks, pausing just on the other side of the door. Illya waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat is far from an uncommon occurrence, but over the past few months he seemed to have been sleeping better. Napoleon liked to imagine that part of it was that he was no longer sleeping alone most nights, but he’s also reluctant to read too much into it. He knows how he feels, but expecting too much from his partner would unquestionably spell disaster, so he doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Cowboy,” Illya mutters.

“Neither should you,” Napoleon says as he cautiously creeps closer, until the outlines of Illya’s face and hands slowly resolve out of the darkness. Then he sees what he was dreading. Illya’s hands, covered in bruises and cuts, are clenched around his thighs just above his knees, but his grip can’t fully mask the tremors running through them. Napoleon hasn’t seen him this bad in a long time, and it’s more than a little concerning. “Christ, you’re shaking,” he breathes, moving forward and reaching out for him without even thinking about it.

He tries not to think about how much it hurts, a physical ache in his chest, when Illya shies away from him. Illya almost stumbles out of the chair, putting ground between them, and Napoleon forces himself to stop even though it goes against every one of his impulses.

“Leave me alone,” Illya warns, still backing away. His hands clench into fists by his side in a failed attempt at controlling the shaking.

“Not happening,” Napoleon returns, because there’s no way he’s letting this go. Yes, Illya is in distress, but him shutting people out is not the answer, not to mention that Napoleon is kinda pissed at him for disappearing without a word when Napoleon needed him. “What’s going on, Peril? Why are you avoiding me?”

Illya huffs and turns, already striding away as he mutters under his breath, “I cannot do this.”

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, or so help me god, I will tackle you to the ground,” Napoleon calls after him, and shockingly, Illya stops, though he doesn’t turn around.

“You are still too weak.”

“Fucking try me,” Napoleon hisses, though it does take him far too long to close the distance between them. His heart is racing in a slightly alarming way when he stops directly in front of Illya, glaring daggers up at him. “You’re stuck with me, asshole.”

Illya holds up a trembling hand before closing it into a fist again. “You know what this means. You need to stay away.”

“And I told you that I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Illya snarls. He takes a step forward that’s probably supposed to be threatening, but Napoleon holds his ground. For a moment he thinks this might end in a fist fight after all, and though it wouldn’t be the first time, he’s really not in any condition for such things right now. Illya glowers at him, and Napoleon stares back unflinchingly, and then, after several long minutes, something shatters in Illya’s expression and he looks away. When he speaks again, all the heat has gone out of his voice. He just sounds… broken. “You should be terrified of the things I would do—that I have done—to save you.”

Napoleon reaches out for him again, and this time Illya lets him take his shaking hands and curl their fingers together. “You think I wouldn’t do exactly the same? I would burn the goddamned world down for you, Illya, because I love you,” Napoleon confesses. Fuck it, he might as well go all in. “So no, I’m not afraid.”

He might start to regret that confession, just a little, when Illya just stares at him in shock, eyes impossibly wide, for far too long. Maybe he can play it off as being not exactly what it sounded like, somehow. Maybe—

“You— what did you say?” Illya breathes.

There’s no question which part he’s talking about, so obviously Napoleon’s traitorous mouth says it again. “What? The part where I said that I love you?”

“You cannot mean that.”

“Excuse me? Are you implying that I’m somehow mistaken about how I feel?”

For a long moment, Illya is silent, his face drawn into a pinched, pained expression as he stares down at their linked hands. “Love is beautiful thing, but so delicate,” he says eventually, his voice unsteady. “Men like me… we are only built for only destruction. So you can’t, because I do not know how to hold something like that and not break it.” He pauses another beat, then adds in a whisper, “I— I am a monster, Napoleon.”

It’s a tossup whether Napoleon feels more heartbroken by Illya’s words or furious that anyone could have ever made him think that way about himself, but most of all he feels deeply ashamed that he was one of those people too, at the beginning. When he regarded the man in front of him as nothing more than a ruthless, volatile machine. Christ, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so utterly wrong about anything in his life.

“You’re not. You’re not, Illya, you hear me?” Napoleon insists. He lets go of Illya’s hands, steady now, to cup one of his own around his cheek, tipping Illya’s face up so that blue eyes meet his again, and presses the other just to the left of his sternum. “You are beautiful, every part of you, but especially this big heart, the one that the world and those bastards at the KGB could never beat out of you, no matter how hard they tried. You deserve to be loved, and I want to fucking destroy every person who ever made you think otherwise. And the way I love you? It’s not fragile. You can’t break it, I promise.”

Illya stares at him, and Napoleon doesn’t know if he’s going to keep arguing or not. His expression is utterly inscrutable, his blue eyes unreadable. “I was angry,” he finally says, “because you would throw your life away to save mine. Because of what that meant, and how it scared me almost as much as the possibility I would lose you.” He puts a hand over where Napoleon’s rests on his chest and leans forward until their foreheads touch, a small, almost melancholy smile just barely curving his lips. “You were never supposed to love me back.”

All at once Napoleon’s chest is absurdly tight, because even if it isn’t exactly those words, there’s no mistaking Illya’s intention. “Well,” he manages, a little breathlessly, letting a grin of his own tug on the corners of his mouth, “you know I’ve never been good at doing what I was supposed to.”

Then Illya kisses him, slow and deep, like he’s carefully mapping every surface of Napoleon’s mouth. Like he thought he might not ever get this again. And Napoleon kisses him back, meeting his every movement, until his go slightly numb and his legs start to tremble under him. The latter does not escape Illya’s notice.

“Cowboy,” Illya says as he tries to take a step back, but it turns out Napoleon kinda needs to support to stay upright. He stumbles forward, and Illya catches him up in his arms again, concern etched on his face. “What is wrong?”

Napoleon huffs a soft laugh. “I’d like to say you just make me weak in the knees, but I’m pretty sure it’s just the lingering effects of the toxin,” he quips, offering Illya a lopsided grin. “Come back to bed with me? I sleep better with you there. I think… you make me feel safe.”

“Yes,” Illya agrees with a small smile, “it is the same for me.”

#whumptober2022 #no.7 #the way you shake and shiver #shaking hands #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#fic #napollya #napoleon x illya #tmfu #the man from uncle #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #napollya fic #tmfu fic #my fic

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lunarfeat21 · 2 years

Note

What if instead of switching places with Bumblebee Wasp kidnapped and interrogate/seduce him?

Very interesting and I whipped this story up for it (and sorry for the wait, it’s more bite than I can chew) :3

Enjoy!!! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

One moment, Bumblebee was playing Ninja Gladiator and was so close to winning when the power of the building turned off.

Then the red emergency lights came to illuminate the room, giving out an eerie feeling.

At first Bee thought it was Prime that cut out the power, getting him for slacking off instead of helping him and the rest for the search of Wasp, the escapee and suspected Decepticon spy 50 years back from bootcamp (which later he was not and it was Shockwave disguising himself as Longarm).

Now on the loose and certainly gets his revenge on Bumblebee for accusing and sending him to the Stockades.

Next thing he remembered, that something or someone called his name and he suddenly gagged when a cloth piece covered his mouth. Then darkness plunged his sight.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bumblebee slowly woke up as he regained consciousness with a helmache and a blurry vision, which lasted a few seconds and now he has a clear view.

The first thing he immediately noticed was that he was not at the warehouse and tied to a pole in some dark room, possibly an abandoned factory. Of course he panicked and tried to break free from his restraints, but he gave up shortly.

“Ok,” he muttered to himself while shuffling around some shards of broken glass around him “surely the others noticed that I’m missing and they’re looking for me. Yeah! They’ll definitely find me!”

He sounded very confident and optimistic despite his grim situation. It wasn’t the case, however, that he used his optimism to suppress paranoia and fear in his mind. What if the others don’t find him? What if they didn’t notice that he was missing? Or the big 1 million Shanix question: who taken him hostage?

And sure enough, reality had a funny way to show its humor when the voice, similar to the one earlier, spoke in the shadows of the factory and is very close to his port.

“Finally, Bumble-bot is awake.”

“Whose there!” Bumblebee yelped in surprise, which chain of events followed him jumping like a frightened cat. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know!”

A dark jade-black servo emerged from the shadows as whoever’s digits stroked on the scared yellow police cruiser’s cheek while chuckling. A satisfying, dark chuckle and Bumblebee does not like the sound of it.

Without warning, the digits gripped his face as it forced Bumblebee to turn of where it originated and the next he saw.

Was total darkness… or so he thought.

At first glance, Bumblebee didn’t see much other than the servo, its lower half engulfed by the black fog. He doesn’t know what the servo is forcing him to see, but it's too soon when something shone through the shadows like somebot slashed a giant black cloth and made two large gaps that resembled optics.

Two purple optics that stared at him directly, and very intensely.

He couldn’t move, so frozen in place out of fear if he moved. He's a dead bot. Then another realization hit him harder when the optics slowly crept out of the shadows, he was so transfixed on the optics he mustn't realize how awfully close they are.

They’re only a few inches away from him and slowly they reveal the identity of his captor.

A green faceplate appears along with a hint of anger in his blank expression. A jade colored helm came, and it took Bumblebee no time to register who the bot was.

“Wasp!” Bumblebee gasped as Wasp carcessed the cruiser’s frightened faceplate.

“Long time, no see Bumble-bot.” The escapee spoke in an irritated tone as his servo retracted away and stared at his accuser. “Far too long…”

“What are you doing here?!” Bumblebee began to question, only to be chewed by Wasp and slammed his servo on the pole right next to his helm. He shrieked as Wasp rapidly approached his faceplate to his, faceplates met a few inches away from one to another.

“Silence!” the jade bot sharply barks “Only Wasp is allowed to ask questions and Bumble-bot only give answers! Bumble-bot is not allowed to ask unless spoken!”

“But-”

“No talking unless spoken to!”

Bumblebee clamped his denta and the silence ensued, Wasp huffed loudly and retreated away from Bumblebee. So began his interrogation.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pacing back and forth while Bumblebee’s helm followed Wasp’s movement, Wasp began to shoot the first question out.

“Why,” Wasp said with an frustrated tone “why Bumble-bot accuse Wasp as a traitor?!”

“It was a mistake!” Bumblebee refuted “It wasn’t you that was the spy! It was Longarm Prime who set you up! No! Shockwave disguises himself as Longarm and the real Decepticon spy! And I took the bait! It was all a big misunderstanding!”

Violet optics shifted at Bumblebee’s direction with doubt in them, but at the same time with genuine acknowledgement in them. He gave the second question, however, his frustrated tone turned down to a softer one.

“Why should Wasp believe Bumble-bot?”

“Like I said: it was a misunderstanding, I was led to believe you were a spy and that’s when Longa-Shockwave took advantage of that and planted evidence in your locker. It all comes to light after Blurr found a signal from the spy and it was concluded that you were innocent all this time, while you were locked in the Stockades…”

Bumblebee trailed off as he felt guilty, but panicked when Wasp stopped pacing ahead towards him, he added “Longarm sets me up-er- sets you up! Actually set us up, but we’re both just victims here, right… buddy?”

The muffled roar of thunder broke the awkward silence, but it doesn’t help when Wasp is approaching with whatever ulterior motives he had in store.

The yellow bot squeezed his optics shut when the captor is in his personal space, just ready for whatever Wasp is doing next as he starts counting in his processor.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8…

Nothing ever did happen, everything Bumblebee felt as if time was on his side and the world paused just for him. For him to be spared from the accused and his wrath, which he has the right to when being falsely accused. The speedster thought he got off scott free, until something caressed his faceplate tenderly… and lovingly?!

Just then, the familiar chuckle brushed the air, but it sounded so different.

Bumblebee cracked open his right optic, and surely was so surprised when he saw the same purple optics had a look that he wasn’t really expecting. Either he’s crazy or whatever, but there is a look that he didn’t associate or find fitting with Wasp. Lust.

“Wh-wha-what?”

“Hehehe~” a sultry chuckle that came from Wasp, and Bumblebee was gobsmacked. It seems Wasp is satisfied with the reaction as he continues to caress “I see you’re… how should I put it? Surprised~.” he giggled.

This is a new development Bumblebee ever saw as his processor just stopped, a stirred feeling in his spark while a bluish blush appeared on his faceplates. It only served as the ammunition Wasp needed, he wrapped one arm around the speedster’s waist while the other cupped the cheek; a smug painted on the escapee’s faceplate.

In just a blink of an optic, he drew his captive’s chin and they kissed. Bumblebee wanted to jerk off right there, but he didn’t. Rather, he is enamored by Wasp’s charm, captivated by a curse that cast on him. A curse, he thought, that would never be broken to set him free.

He mustered the courage, willingly looked into the seducer’s optics and sure enough the purple optics glistened dangerously like a shimmering potion. Promising its sweet poison.

#ask #ask and ye shall be answered #transformers animated #waspbee #this way more complicating than it should be #sorry for the late reply

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acewithapaintbrush · 2 years

Text

I made a little 'Making of/Tutorial' post about my Perler Casita for anyone interested. It was certainly a ride with some ups and downs...

First of, I section big projects into smaller parts that I then add together later. It's easier that way and I don't have enough plates to do it all at once anyway.

Casita is made out of 4 individual parts. The app I use is pretty great as I can zoom in until I see the colors clearly. The closest I can zoom is to a 5x5 cutout so that is the steps I take. Always a cutout of 5x5 and then the next and so on.

The four parts are 100x80 beads. Which looked something like this:

You might have noticed something if you are familiar with perler beads. If I were to iron it like this, the image would be mirrored. If I wanted to iron it on the plates I would have had to mirror the image before feeding it into the app.

But I NEVER EVER iron on the plates. That's a recipe for disaster. The plates are still plastic, just like the beads. They warp super quickly and if you are not careful you meld the spikes too which makes them useless and ready for the trash.

What I do instead is I take some painters tape and tape it all up like this

And then I do a little flip! That can be tricky but as long as you are quick and pay attention it's OK. But you definitely need a big cardboard to help. The tape is just painters tape, it's not strong enough to hold the whole thing together if you just try to lift it or something.

I actually made a video of the flip but Tumblr won't let me upload. Just imagine me putting this between two cardboards, pressing them together between my arms, counting to three, and really quickly flipping them over. Once that is done you have this and can remove the plates

That's how you do all four parts and put them together. If you do it right, no problem. If you are an idiot like me and jump one row without realizing it, something like this happens:

Do you see that shit??? Oh I was cursing up a storm because this meant that I had to find the row that I have missed, cut the section APART at that point and insert the row. That's the problem with a picture like this, you couldn't really tell that I had missed something until I put them next to each other. With a portrait or something it's obvious when an eye or nose is missing. The cutting was super stressful cause the beads were wiggling loose on either side of the cut so no pictures of that but yeah... After sweating and cursing I managed and now you can't tell anymore. Puh.

So at the end of this you hopefully have something like this, ready for ironing:

The ironing is the hardest part, so much can (AND DID!) go wrong, so no pictures of that either. You have to iron the whole thing in one go or it will warp and not fit together in the end. I don't know how to describe it, but just imagine ironing on one side and seeing some beads go up into the air at the opposite corner. When you see that you have to act quick. It's nervewrecking to be honest. ALSO, and I can't stress that enough, never apply pressure! It is tempting, oh so tempting, to push down on that iron and get the beads to meld a little faster but guess what? You push down too hard and the beads deform on the side that you actually want to display to the world and it's never pretty. A little pressure is fine, but it's a fine line! Slow and steady wins the race which is why ironing this thing took me far over two hours.

Yep, I was crying at the end of it, thanks for asking.

Gotta remind you, everything I'm telling you applies mainly to big pieces. Smaller stuff is way easier. Don't wanna make perler beads out to be some kind of extreme hobby where you'll die of an heartattack if you are not careful.

But yeah, mistakes have been made. This one is kinda cute, cause I have no idea how and when this happened:

Oh well. You do you, little bead. You do you.

When you are done ironing you flip it again (lots of flipping involved, so make sure you have a big cardboard to help) and then you sloooooooooooowly peel off the miles and miles of painters tape and hope it all worked out and you don't have single beads sticking to the tape cause you missed them during the ironing part

And now.... Figure out what you actually want to do with such a big piece.

I for one put them on canvas. I use structure paste for that which can go either way tbh. Glue is just not strong enough because this many beads are actually quite heavy. You gotta take care not to apply it too thick though, cause then it will squeeze all the way right through the beads which is just... a mess.

So, there you have it. If you were careful and patient you'll have a really big perler bead artwork and you will ask yourself why you did this cause now you have no idea where to put the big thing cause all of your walls are full already (What? Just me? OK then)

Calling myself out here cause I'm all for transparency: if you zoom in on the left upper side you'll see what happens if you don't pay attention and put too much pressure on the iron

#Casita perler beads #Encanto #Disney Encanto #Encanto fanart #Encanto diy

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pearlsephoni · 2 years

Text

TsukkiYama Week, Day 3: Intimacy

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: T

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Tsukkiyama (Tsukishima/Yamaguchi)

Characters: Kei Tsukishima, Tadashi Yamaguchi

Word Count: 1,371

Summary: Being childhood friends and adult boyfriends doesn't mean Kei is immune to Yamaguchi's charms.

A/N: This was big-time inspired by amburritoart’s redraw of Yamaguchi’s anniversary art! She did our boy SO much justice, god bless. Further author’s notes can be read on AO3.

If there was one thing that surprised Kei about adulthood, it was how much had stayed the same. For all of his growth throughout high school and college, he was still dry, sardonic, and reluctant to let most people see beyond his deadpan facade. He’d kept in touch with old friends while he made a few new ones, including old rivals — he still wasn’t sure how the Frogs managed to win any games with someone like Koganegawa setting for someone like Kyotani, but Kei tried not to question life’s positive surprises as much.

But the best part of his life, the part that had been around for years and years, was Yamaguchi. If Kei had known that confessing would have been so easy, so instantly reciprocated, he wouldn’t have waited until their third year to do it. Then again, he would’ve been happy to keep Yamaguchi in his life no matter what their relationship was like, platonic or romantic. Being able to kiss him and hold him was just a bonus to being able to see his smile and hear his laughter everyday.

Their relationship wasn’t the only thing that had changed with the passage of time. Another one of those things was…

“Tsukki?”

Kei dragged his eyes away from Yamaguchi’s fingers undoing the buttons at his cuffs, but that just meant he got an eyeful of his loosened tie and undone collar before he finally reached those warm eyes under brows that were furrowed with concern. “Hm?”

“You ok? You kinda zoned out there.”

With a jolt, he realized he was just…standing there, a little too far for Yamaguchi to comfortably take the tea in Kei’s hand, which was threatening to go limp in his daze. He quickly stepped closer to the couch, keeping his eyes fixed on Yamaguchi’s. “Ah, yeah. I’m fine, just…tired.”

The worry on Yamaguchi’s face melted into knowing amusement as he coughed out a laugh and took the offered mug. “Koganegawa trying out new sets again?”

“Mm…something like that. I’m gonna…go…make dinner.” Kei forced himself to turn away from where Yamaguchi was sprawled against the back of the couch, trying to remember what he was going to cook instead of how much he wanted to…

Focus, for fuck’s sake.

Yamaguchi had always been good-looking. Kei was certain he would’ve fallen for him no matter what he looked like — he was so impossibly lovable, who wouldn’t fall for him — but his dark, warm eyes, constellation freckles, and thick, soft hair certainly helped. Kei could remember the handful of times his boyfriend had needed to wear a button down and tie growing up, and he could also remember the swoop his stomach took each time.

But somewhere along the way, Yamaguchi had gone from cute to handsome. Maybe it was the way his jaw and lanky frame had filled out, maybe it was the way his insecurity had settled into an understated confidence that sometimes belied his tendency to over-clarify whatever he said.

Maybe it was the way his warm gaze had gained a knowing edge that seemed to cut straight through Kei’s facade to what he was truly thinking and feeling. It was an edge that Kei desperately hoped wouldn’t be used now.

“Can I help with anything?”

Kei jumped and nearly gave himself whiplash from how quickly he looked over his shoulder from the fridge. Somehow Yamaguchi had entered the kitchen without him noticing, setting his empty mug in the sink and hopping onto the counter with a casual ease that spoke to how he always sat there when he wanted to keep Kei company.

Usually Kei wouldn’t think anything of it, but usually Yamaguchi would change out of his work clothes. Now it took everything in Kei to keep his eyes fixed on Yamaguchi’s, and not on the slender collarbones that peeked out from his open collar, nor the tempting sample of his sternum that disappeared into his shirt…his shirt that was unfortunately still buttoned and not open to serve as curtains to the stage that was Yamaguchi’s body.

Jesus Christ. He saw Yamaguchi in his work clothes everyday. It didn’t matter that he usually changed into a t-shirt and loose pants the moment he got home — that was no excuse for Kei’s mind wandering more than it did in high school.

“Um.” At least his voice didn’t crack like a prepubescent boy. “Can you cut the garlic and ginger?”

“Sure. How many cloves?”

The horny fog in Kei’s mind cleared up just enough for him to raise an eyebrow at Yamaguchi, whose mouth had a playful tilt. “If you need to ask, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave my kitchen.”

“Oh, your kitchen, huh?” Yamaguchi snickered. “You know, one day you’re gonna add way too much garlic to a dish, and then this’ll be my kitchen.”

“There’s no such thing as too much garlic,” Kei sniffed as he dug out the bag with the leftover half-garlic and ginger. “Catch.”

This he was used to, the easy way they worked together in the kitchen and the easier way they joked and chatted with each other. It was like a little assembly line: Kei dug out the vegetables and herbs and chicken from the fridge, and tossed each one to Yamaguchi, who caught and lined them up along the counter. “Are we having fried rice for dinner?” he guessed.

“That’s the plan. Is that ok?”

“Of course!”

Kei bit back a smile as he gathered the sauces he needed. There was no way he was going to risk tossing glass bottles across the kitchen, no matter how good they were at it.

But that meant he had to approach Yamaguchi, and keep himself from dropping the bottles, grabbing him, and forgetting about dinner entirely. It was a close thing — the sight of Yamaguchi rolling his sleeves up to his elbows had Kei dropping the sauces to the counter with a dangerously loud clatter, making Yamaguchi jump and eye him with fresh concern.

“Uh,” Kei started, pleased with the way his voice didn’t tremble, “shouldn’t you change out of your work clothes? If you’re going to help with dinner?”

“Hm? Oh, probably.” Yamaguchi looked down at his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar with a small smile, a smile he turned on Kei when he looked back up. And…fuck, it was his secretive smile, the one that fit perfectly with the knowing edge of his eyes. “But I like seeing you try to act like you wouldn’t rather eat me instead of dinner.”

Silence fell over them as they stared at each other, sly brown eyes against startled golden eyes. “You…,” Kei stuttered.

“Yeah?”

“You…you little tease.”

He wasn’t mad, not really. It was impossible to stay mad when he was faced with those glittering eyes and that cheeky smile. But he did feel more of his restraint slip away as his gaze drifted from Yamaguchi’s teasing expression to his hands, which were done rolling up his sleeves and were now holding onto the edge of the counter. His grip made his veins create tempting lines along his muscles, and then those muscles were shifting with the movement of a hand coming up to brush against Kei’s. “Sorry, Tsukki.” He didn’t sound very sorry at all.

“How…” Kei swallowed against his dry throat. “How hungry are you?”

“For you or for dinner?”

“Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi’s sweet smile was in stark contrast to the fingers brushing the inside of Kei’s wrist. “Mm…I think dinner can wait.”

Kei barely gave himself time to breathe, “Good,” before he descended on Yamaguchi, hands cupping his cheeks and lips immediately covering his. He could feel Yamaguchi smiling into the kisses, and that just made him press even closer and wrap his arms around Yamaguchi’s waist. Then there were legs hooking around his hips, and with that, dinner was forgotten, along with the ingredients they had already set out. Kei was only focused on pressing Yamaguchi close and picking him up from the countertop to carry him to the bedroom.

If he could have his way, then maybe the vegetables wouldn’t be in any state to be cooked by the time they were done. But oh well. There was always delivery.

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zombvibes · 2 years

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(2/2) let alone 20 in one day! even sending anons like this is scary, especially since sometimes people DO say mean things. how are you able to do all that without fear? to be loud and proud about your sillyfun interests and your sillyfun aus? :<

I’m not sure what the first part of your ask was (it’s not showing up in my inbox for some reason??) BUT I’ll try and answer your question to the best of my ability :

Tbh I think it’s a little funny (not “haha” funny but like “….huh” funny) that you’re sayin I’m “loud and proud” about my interests even though I don’t really feel like I am because THAT means my self-esteem has improved A LOT. So, thank you for the ego boost anon! Soon my ego will be so huge that it wouldn’t even be a joke anymore!! (Ok well…maybe not THAT far but still maybe some day…).

Lemm tell you a quick secret, c’mere. Closer? A liiiittle closer? There we are. AHEM :

Sometimes…I feel embarrassed and kinda fearful about sharing my interests! ESPECIALLY about my aus. Heck, I have an au related thing I want to post atm but I’m kinda worried that it’s too self-indulgent? I’ll get over it in a minute though so don’t worry about me LMAO. But, I’m certainly getting better at not feeling bad about being self-indulgent (because that’s what I’m doing). I just…kinda embrace it, you know? It’s easier said than done, but I assure you, once you get over that fear MAN…it’s really the best feeling in the world.

A lot of it for me was “faking it until I make it” by constantly saying “You’re not cringe for simply liking something. And even if you are, it’s fine because you’re having fun and enjoying yourself! Are you not enjoying yourself? I know you are!!” etc etc along with “You’re the smartest person on the planet, you’re amazing, lovely, and people enjoy and want to hear your voice and your thoughts!” etc etc. Just…lots and lots of self-affirmations and joking about me having huge ego that I’m growing. (Basically the opposite of self-depreciation humor.) Well that, and also others telling how much they enjoy the stuff I make and what I have to say! People enjoying what I do/say has really helped me with that too! And after a while, I just…stopped caring. I’m annoying and cringe!! So what?? It’s just something that’s a permanent part of me that I embraced with…uh…slightly open and shakey arms. But the embrace was warm and welcoming. It’s became…nice. Like falling sleeping under a warm blanket during the winter when it’s snowing outside. It really was nice. Just…not caring anymore. And even for the days where I do care, I think about the people who enjoy what I do and post my stuff for their sake! “YEAH I KNOW my followers will LOOVE this!! I know SOMEONE will love this!” And that’ll make me happy. All of my ramblings and other dumb stuff is to make someone happy. Whether that be me or someone else or both. Also ya know…cringe culture is basically dead at this point. Nobody cares if you talk about a harmless thing you enjoy!! And if someone does, it’s THEIR problem! Not yours!!

Now, I obviously don’t know you, so my method of self-praising and jokes may not work but maybe try it. Be kinder to yourself. Maybe do something a little self indulgent today…as a treat! Maybe by rambling about your favorite character? Maybe looking at fanworks? Maybe CREATING fanworks??

Just, ya know, have fun!! Unapologetically!!

TLDR : I’m not completely over my fear. I am, however, trying my hardest TO get over it. Mostly with self affirmation and praise! Whether that be from myself or from others. Just have fun and stop caring!! It’s easier said than done, I know. But once you get over this, you’ll much be happier, I assure you. It’ll be difficult but what isn’t? I know you can do it! Hell I did! And I can’t do anything right!! I’m a moron! (A cool moron but still…point still stands.)

Hopefully this answered your question? Sorry if I didn’t and nothing made sense…I’m not really good at giving advice, lol. Can barely take my own advice half the time aldhajhdkal

Again, I’m not completely over my fear. It’s a beast I’m still fighting. Though, I’m certainly winning because of how cool and strong and I am, the fight isn’t over. But one day, our fight will be over and done with. And we can sit back, relax, and rest. And talk about how cool our favorite characters. Without fear.

#zomb answers #sorry for being mushy n’ nice with this post #it’ll never happen again!#(until it does)#again sorry if i’m all over the place my brain is tiny #also sorry for the long post ahdhahdhaklda

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or-something-better · 10 months

Text

November 13, 2022

Conversation about Meg’s Trials

Meg

when I get back to my room, I pace a little bit more, and then sit on my bed thinking about what to do next finally deciding to try Sam I send him a message text ‘Hey Sam. I need to ask you something. Can I come by?’ setting my phone on the bed beside me I lay back across the bed lost in my thoughts of Cass and the times we had together

Sam

Hearing the text alert, I set my coffee aside and pull out my phone. Curious about what Meg wants, I send her a reply. I'll be working in the ART room all afternoon, come by anytime

Meg

I get startled out of my daydream when my phone goes off. I pick it up, read the message, and take a deep breath. I vanish and reappear in the bunker walking into the art room I see Sam hey Sam. not sure if he's working on something or just looking at something, I ask whatcha got there?

Sam

Chuckling at how quick she came, I just wave my hand at the mess on the desk before me. Oh, this is just a second verification check that the computer program for logging our artifact information is working. What's up with you and how can I help?

Meg

So. I have a little problem. hoping he can help I want to get into heaven. But as you know, Gabe and all the other angels are gone and heaven is closed. I sigh and now I don't know what to do.

Sam

Well that wasn't anything I thought I'd be hearing. Meg... you know, probably better than anyone, that souls who've been in Hell aren't accepted into Heaven. Feeling a little uncomfortable about the elephant in the room, I clear my throat before speaking And you don't even have a soul...

Meg

Listening to Sam, I get angry, and then upset but.... but Gabe said.....he said we would talk about it later. looking at Sam trying to plead with him there has to be a way.

Sam

Look, if Gabe lead you to believe that there was a way forward for what you want, then I'd have to say there probably is. I mean, he's God now. I guess he can make the rules and exceptions to them in anyway he wants to. Not like anything it going to tell him different. I sit back in my chair and notice that this really seems important to her What's going on Meg? You've been a demon for a long time, why the sudden fascination with getting into Heaven?

Meg

I start pacing around the room, picking things up and setting them back down, trying to avoid Sam’s eyes well. Um, I.... uh... I've been... feeling things lately. And I want to be able to get into heaven and .... I don't know. taking a quick glance at Sam, I whisper lightly I want to be good enough....

Sam

Now she's got my attention, I've got a bit of experience of existing without a soul and know that I certainly wasn't feelings driven at that time. I'm sure you know this, I lived without a soul for a time... and "good enough" never crossed my mind. What do you think you need to change yourself for?

Meg

sighing heavily, I turn to face Sam it doesn't really matter why. changing the subject I ask what about what you did to crowley? How you... almost cured him. Would that help, do you think?

Sam

You mean the Trials? I sit back against my chair and think for a minute. The situation with Crowley wasn't about fixing him, or bringing him back to his human self, for anything other than it being final piece of a plan to seal the gates of Hell forever. Kevin had discovered it on the Devil's Tablet and that's where my energy was focused. If I'd continued it till the end would Crowley have been renewed as a human? Yeah, I guess he would have...

Meg

OK. a tiny spark of hope kindles inside as I nod, my mind racing ok, so. That's.... that's helpful. Thanks Sam. I start to head towards the door. stopping on the threshold I turn back one last thing. Do you think crowley could have been made human, with his soul intact? You know, if you would have finished...? raising an eyebrow in question

Sam

Meg, I've actually thought about that several times since then. Especially at times when it seems to me that Crowley sort of has lasting effects... you know what I mean? Sometimes it seems like he has more of a connection to people. I feel like I need to be very clear with my answer to her question, although I really have no idea why. The very final step of Crowley's Trial called for me to place my hand over his mouth and say the last Enochian spell. I found out after that, that it would have caused my death. I've often thought that the sacrifice of MY soul would have allowed HIS soul to return to him. Therefore keeping the balance between Heaven and Hell intact.

Meg

nodding at Sam well. That makes sense. Thanks again Sam. I'll see you later. waves and walks out the door walking through the bunker I'm reminded again of all the things Cass and I have done together. The good, and the bad. And I poof myself back to my room in hell to think over all that Sam had to say sifting through the information in my brain, I'm still left with questions Grabbing my phone I start looking through my contacts to see if there is anyone else who could give me answers. Seeing no one I can be sure of, I turn it off and put it on the table telling myself I will do some research now, and if I have more questions I will talk to someone about it later

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ophelia-jones · 1 year

Text

Thorns pt 4

Lacey's feet were healed, none of her wounds had taken long to heal in this environment, and she was grateful to be strong enough to start working in the community. She provided whatever answers they wanted, but was not made privy to any plans they had to attack the Saviors compound. Not that she would even want to know.

Today, however, she had spent in the infirmary with Denise. She had already known her body was changing, and she was not young enough or naive enough to not already know what was causing it. She was 37 years old, an age which would have been considered high risk for a pregnancy even when there were hospitals available in every town.

Tonight she was wandering around the streets aimlessly, trying to know what to do. It was too far in really, to stop it safely. She had considered it when she had first realized what had happened, when the morning sickness started. But to be honest, she wasn't sure she could. Even though she was scared, both for herself and the child, she already felt protective of it. So she was making her peace with the fact that this could well be the thing that ended her life. She wiped away tears as she thought bitterly that Negan had possibly found a way to kill her after all.

There was a commotion at the gate, and she hurried to see what was happening. Daryl had been out on a scavenging trip and had arrived home with a deer and two bags of canned goods and other non perishables. It was like manna from heaven at a time when the community had been cutting back to preserve its food stores.

Daryl smiled at Lacey when he saw her, moving quickly to greet her.

"Got you something." He said, reaching in to his pocket and producing a pack of MnM's. "They were under a counter out the sun and everything. Should still be decent." He tried to act like it was no big deal, but at that moment it meant more to Lacey than just about anything else anyone had ever done for her. She surprised Daryl, and herself when she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had been with them for 7 weeks now and each day she became more grateful for the people here - and more afraid of losing them. Especially Daryl.

"Alright, alright." He replied awkwardly, patting Lacey on the back at first; when she didn't let go however, he wrapped his arms around her as well. He completely enveloped her and she lingered there in his arms for every second she could get out of him.

"You ok?" He finally asked, pulling back to examine her face and seeing that her eyes were puffy. "Whats wrong?" He looked as if he hoped the problem was someone whose ass he could kick.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little emotional tonight." She said. Other than when she first came here, exhausted and hunted by a madman, he hadn't seen an emotional side to Lacey. She had a good head on her shoulders and she could work more than most of the men around here. He had discovered that her brothers had taught her a great deal about hunting and fishing and she knew how to identify useful plants and mushrooms in the are surrounding Alexandria. They had spent many afternoons together gathering ingredients for medicinal teas and wild asparagus, leeks and best of all morel mushrooms; a share of these she had fried and served to him proudly. They were something she had been foraging and eating every spring since she was young - and they were worth the effort. They were a rare decadence in this modern world.

She was tough and resourceful, and in their wanderings had shown herself to be capable of taking walkers down without any help from him at all. He had certainly not seen the sensitive side of her. So if she didn't mind hard work or fear walkers (or saviors on the lookout still), what on earth would make her cry?

"Walk with me?" She suggested, and Daryl nodded his agreement, falling into step with her. "If you knew you were dying, what would you want to do before that? I mean, is there something that you would regret not having done, when the time came?" She asked, her hand brushing Daryl's as the walked.

"Did something happen with the saviors while I was gone?" Daryl asked gruffly.

"No. Answer my question." She urged.

"I don't know. Maybe." He seemed to be considering it. "What's the point?"

"I have something I would regret not having done." Lacey told him, and this time when his knuckles brushed her hand, she slipped her fingers into the calloused palm of his hand and held it gently. He stiffened briefly, but then his fingers relaxed around her hand and held it.

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. When they reached Carol's house, they stopped in front of it, but he didn't let go of her hand. She smiled down at their interlocked hands and then back up at Daryl, who was shifting awkwardly, not knowing where he should be looking or what to do next.

Lacey leaned her face up close, and then closer still but didn't quite touch his lips. He was perfectly still for several agonizing moments, but with each breath of his, she could tell he was breathing faster, deeper; finally he worked up the courage to close the gap and let his lips meet hers.

It was not a deep, sensual kiss - he barely opened his lips - but that made it no less passionate. It was, perhaps because it was so simple, so slow, that its heat was so intense. It was intimate, lingering.

When he drew back slightly, Lacey made a small noise of disappointment, her eyes fluttering open. Daryl was looking at their feet shyly.

"I have to tell you something." Lacey said, her voice catching in her throat. "And I'm scared to tell you, but I have to."

He scowled down at her in concern but remained silent as ever.

"I should have told you this before, and I'm not going to be able to hide it much longer. And the truth is, it terrifies me… Daryl, I'm pregnant. I knew before Simon threw me to the wolves." Daryl blinked in shock, unaccustomed to feeling so many emotions at once. "And I know how dangerous it is, that I may die when the time comes. I needed to… to tell you how I felt about you. I just wanted you to know how I feel, that I adore you. I feel at home when we are together."

More silence.

"I don't blame you, if you don't want anything to do with me I understand."

"Shut up." He told her, leaning down, one of his big hands slipping up into her hair as he kissed her again. And then again. She melted against him. If she hadn't put her arms around his neck, she might've fallen down. Her chest was pressed to his and one of his hands slid around behind her to slide under her ass and lift her up with one arm until her feet were off the ground and he didn't have to lean over.

"About time." They heard Carol say as she breezed past them to go home.

Daryl pulled back and lowered Lacey back down to her feet.

"I should go. I uh, just…" He was back to being shy, most distant. But he smiled at Lacey, stayed close even when they weren't quite touching anymore. "You're not going to die, it's going to be ok."

"You can't promise that. All I want is more of you in the meantime." She told him, one hand against his chest. He breathed out heavily, and she knew he felt it all too, the need and the desire, and the tender feelings, which Lacey did not dare put a name to. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Yeah." He said simply. But it was all he needed to say.

#original female character #negan smith #the walking dead fanfiction

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cheesecakethots · 2 years

Note

For the yandere obey me poly brothers, do u think they’ll act different if their darling’s home life wasnt that great in human world and just accepts their affection?

my first ask lmao, i kinda rushed this out sos if it’s shit

tw// yandere stuff, implied m^rder

also, yeah i would probably think so; im assuming that darling has had a pretty bad family in the past, and that would certainly change how the brothers act to them.

lucifer might act a little cold at times, but internally he’s pretty surprised at how quick to come around you are. i mean, he knows what they’re doing isn’t right, but for the most part doesn’t care. still, it is a shock to see you still acting as affectionate as you did, potentially even more so than before they made their intentions clear to you. he isn’t complaining at all though...

however, his mind does drift to your time in the human world and wonder how awful people must’ve treated you. don’t be surprised when family members stop sending letters (if they even sent them at all), because as soon as lucifier finds out from you or someone else what happened in the human world, it’s game over for them.

similarly, satan’s going to be pretty happy about you being ok with their affections, it just means less hassle and annoyance for him. but, if he even hears a snippet of how your home life might have been, he’s instantly in his demon form and out for blood.

mammon is probably going to be the most happy that you’ve come around, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show it to you. oh no, he’ll be furiously denying that he actually cares for a long while, even if his blush is so prominent it reaches the tips of his ears. little baby loves affection, ruffle his hair and he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the week.

levi is pretty similar to mammon, happy with your compliance... but he’s a bit less oblivious as to why you’re like this. levi is pretty good at keeping you happy and distracted from whatever troubles you, though, always buying a new game he thinks you’ll love to try out.

asmo is well... asmo. affection is his forte, and bro is going to be eating up anything you give to him, and giving you it back ten times stronger. asmo isn’t the best at boundaries or personal bubbles, so you allowing him to be affectionate doesn’t really change much for him. don’t be surprised when you wake up with “lovebites” all along your shoulders, and occasionally even your thighs.

beel is a sweetheart. he loves being close to you, even just as a silent watcher/guardian. well, almost silent, minus the munching of his food. he’s glad you don’t try to escape or leave them, because he wouldn’t know what he’d do without you; he’s absolutely terrified that as soon as you get out of his eyesight, something terrible is going to happen.

still, he’s surprisingly good at reading your emotions at times, and when you may be thinking of your past life or how those in your home used to treat you, he’s always there to hold or comfort you in anyway you can. he even tries to learn how to cook your comfort foods, if he can manage without eating the ingredients.

belphie is glad that you’re pretty accepting, happy to just hold you and sleep for as long as he can. beel can’t help but sometimes tell his twin about the things you confide in him, when you do have breakdowns or occasional moments of sadness. belphie makes sure to give you dreams he’ll know you’ll like when he’s been told that you’re having a particularly bad day.

generally, all of the brothers are glad that you’re (seemingly) okay with how they act around you. they’ll try and lessen the fighting and arguing in the manor, if they know it might upset you or remind you of home.

and if you do want to keep those back in the human world safe, you’d do best not to mention how they treated you or how your life used to be, as if you do there is no way they’ll survive seven bloodthirsty demons coming after them.

#yandere obey me!#tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yandere obey me #yandere lucifer #yandere mammon #yandere leviathan #yandere satan #yandere asmo #yandere asmodeus #yandere belphie #yandere belphegor #yandere beel #yandere beelzebub

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salemwritesxx · 3 years

Text

𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

𝕋 𝕒 𝕜 𝕒 𝕞 𝕚 𝕂 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕠 | ℍ 𝕒 𝕨 𝕜 𝕤

⇴ male reader [22, chubby, 194cm] ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary: [Your.name] is a chubby and tall man, someone who definitely didn’t fit Japan’s beauty standards. Safe to say, he wasn’t the most confident. However, during one group date, it finally all changes when he meets someone who is certainly very interested in him.

↣ rating: general audiences ↣ warnings: modern AU; self-deprecation; chubby, tall reader; reader’s “friends” being assholes to chubby reader; hawks and reader have a happy end tho; hawks is a simp for reader from the first minute on, ok?

part 2.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“Come with us, they said. It will be fun, they said.”, you mumbled to yourself as you stood there. Awkward. Alone. Ignored. Too afraid the tiny bar stools would collapse underneath your big ass, hence why you chose to rather stand than sit.

Why did you let yourself get dragged into this group date? You wanted to say no in the beginning, but with your friends pestering you, you kind of agreed in the end. Though now, you knew all too well why you didn’t want to come.

As a chubby and very tall man, you weren’t the type that people, or rather, gay men, drooled over. At least you hadn’t had anyone show interest in you like that. Maybe it was because you were rather shy and thus not as loud as many of your fellow male friends, or you were the “wrong chubby”. Whatever it was, you were not attractive. Society made sure to tell you that at least once a day and sometimes those nice and kind people, not, were even going out of their way to tell you what a nuisance your were with your tall, fat ass taking up space. And in Japan, where everything was not really built to accommodate people like you, it was sometimes very hard to fit into things.

While you were sighing to yourself for the nth time and making sure to put yourself down as much as you could, you certainly didn’t realize how someone was always glancing at you. Hawks was one of the four gay men you and your friends had met today for said group date. Ever since he saw you, he had the urge to talk to you and get to know you. You were so tall and handsome and t h i c k. You could probably swing him around and break him like a toothpick. Just thinking about it made him grin.

However, it almost seemed like you had a shield around you he just couldn’t break through. He could guess why. Not only once had he seen people bullying the ones that didn’t fit the norm. Too fat, too skinny, too small, too tall – there was no end. People always found reasons to put others down. With how you stood there all alone, trying to make yourself as small as possible, Kei understood you tried to hide and you were uncomfortable. Even though you literally had nothing to hide. God, he wished he had met you sooner.

“Oiii Ta-ka-mi-san!”, his thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“What are you staring at Takami-san?”, then one of your friends, who was obviously interested in him, looked in the direction as well.

“Ah. [Your.name], huh? He’s like a car accident, right? You don’t wanna look but you also can’t really look away.”, your ‘friend’ laughed and Kei could have not been more disgusted by that behavior.

“God I wish I could just punch you, you fucking idiot!”, Keigo thought, furious and having to gulp down the anger.

Thus, he just smiled a little before he silently stood up to walk over to you, ignoring the calling of your ‘friend’. Instead, he got all nervous all of a sudden. Normally, he was the one being confessed to, not the one confessing or even initiating a conversation. Takami was used to people fawning over him, he was a rather successful model after all, hence why it was so hard to find someone who wasn’t just interested in him sexually or because of his money. And it did not help one bit that he found you so unbelievably attractive as well, his nervousness was at its peak.

“Hey. You’re… [Your.name], right?”, he tried to sound very casual as he leaned against the bar beside you. AND MY GOD, he was so tiny compared to you. He loved it. The way he had to look up so much.

You were rather surprised to get attention, especially from someone like Hawks. Like, he was so out of your league it was ridiculous to even think he would even BREATH besides you – yet there he was. Talking to you-

Oh. You knew what he wanted.

“Okay, look, let’s just skip all that polite small talk, the little laughs so we don’t feel awkward before you drop the question. Just tell me, which number do you want? Or should I just give you all three?”, you immediately cut to the chase. It had never been any different, so why would it be today? Especially when someone so sexy and pretty talked to you? Obviously he wanted someone from your much more handsome and well-trained friends.

Hawks was, however, rather surprised that THIS was your initial reaction to him talking to you. Though he could have not known how hard it would truly be to get to know you or get your number.

“Uhm… To be honest, your number alone would be quite sufficient.”, Keigo played it smooth. A handsome smile on his lips covered up his own nervousness – was he about to get rejected?

For a few seconds you stared at him, completely flabbergasted. Then you turned around and looked around… and looked around… and looked around some more until he finally asked, “Everything okay? You looking for an escape route?”

Keigo chuckled at the end, though he was not as calm as he pretended to be.

“No, I just…”, you then turned to him again, your brows furrowed, “… You can stop now, you know? Like, are you trying to prank me or…? Cameras anywhere? Like haha we got the fat guy. Look at him getting all flustered finally getting attention. Hahaha funny.”

At the end, you almost sounded a little angry, before you grabbed your drink and walked away from the bar. Saying Hawks was confused was an understatement. He just watched you for a moment as you walked away and squeezed into a lonely corner. God… How many people must have put you down for you to think he was pranking you?

“This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”

Running his hand through his hair, Kei had to calm down for a moment and reevaluate. Did you reject him because you genuinely weren’t interest or because you were self-conscious? Probably the latter. So… should he try again? Fuck yeah. As if he was going to give up so easily. He just needed you to know he really wasn’t pranking you, the rest… was up to Future-Keigo.

Clearing his throat and taking his drink, he then walked over to your corner. Standing in front of you he was so s m o l. It would probably feel great hugging you.

“Okay that was rough. Listen, I really don’t wanna prank you or anything. Just… get to know you… ya know?”, this time he genuinely smiled a little, hoping you wouldn’t just reject him again.

Raising one brow, you were still rather suspicious. AS IF someone like Keigo would want to get to know you. Something was not right, you could feel it in every fiber of your big, chubby body. Then again.. maybe the only thing that you felt was the insecurities that held you back from getting to know someone who might genuinely be interested in you.

So, you gave yourself a little push.

“Yeah… I guess… I’m not really used to…. You know, how about we just start over?”

Keigo thought he had finally cracked you, giving himself a mental high five for being persistent. Thus, with a small smile he nodded and reached out his hand.

“Sure, nice to meet you, I’m Takami Keigo.”

“I’m [Your.name], nice to meet you.”, you finally smiled a little as well. Oof, his heart just jumped. Why was he so smitten already? He literally just met you. Keigo definitely wanted to get to know you more.

“So, how about we go take a seat over there? I could do with another drink.”, he said while pointing in the direction of a free table.

For a moment, you hesitated, though after a few seconds, you nodded, “Yeah, sounds nice.”

Without realizing it, hours went by as you and Hawks sometimes were the loudest ones laughing. Your friends just glancing over every so often, obviously jealous you had gotten the most handsome men of all of them today. But for the first time, you didn’t care what other’s thought as you and Kei just had … a connection.

Hence why, when he glanced down to his watch and sighed, you felt a little sad.

“I wish this night wouldn’t end. But I have a model job tomorrow and I only was a backup for someone so I didn’t even intend to have so much fun today. Time sure flies with you, [Your.name].”, he gave you one of his best smiles that made your throat dry and your knees weak.

“I… really enjoyed myself, too. Thank you. And sorry for acting like that in the beginning.”, you smiled apologetically and a little flustered. He found it very endearing.

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Well…”, he then looked at his phone and stood up, “It’s 2 a.m. definitely missed the last train. I’m gonna make a quick call for a taxi.”

“Hm.”, you nodded and watched for a second as he went outside where it was a little quieter to call.

Looking between Hawks and your friends who were still partying with Keigo’s friend group, you wondered if you should bring him home. You were the driver, but… how often had your friends disappeared with someone without telling you? How often did you leave a party all by yourself? It was time to be a little selfish today.

So, you hastily stood up and walked outside the bar, watching as Keigo typed on his phone, ready to call.

“Uhm, Takami-san?”, you interrupted him.

“Hm?”, he was a little surprised.

“If you want.. I can drive you home. I brought my own car since I was planning on leaving earlier too and I only drank one cocktail right in the beginning and the rest was alcohol free stuff so… if you want?”, your voice became a little smaller by the end, not knowing if you were too eager. Was this okay?

“Really? That’s not a problem?”

“No! Not at all.”, you reassured him.

“That’s great! I only live like 20 minutes away if we take the car. Ahhh, you’re a life saver, [Your.name]! Thank you.”, Keigo beamed.

And so, you hopped into your car, the only place big enough for you, at least that’s what it felt like since you invested in a nice big one. Keigo was quite cute how he sat there in the big seat, being so small.

The drive to Hawks’ home was also filled with chatter and laughter, once again reassuring you both that you definitely had some sort of connection. And since he had been attracted to you before, it only gave him more reasons that he wanted to meet you again. Man… this could be the first time a group date turned out successfully – for the both of you!

When you parked in front of his apartment complex, Takami didn’t even want to go yet. Wishing that time would just stop, he sat there for a few seconds before turning to you.

“Thank you, [Your.name].”

“No problem, really!”

“You know, if it wasn’t that late I would have invited you to a coffee or another drink or something but alas…”

“It’s quite late…”, you almost said a little… saddened?

“Hm… It is… I’ll call you!” Hawks then said with a little bit of a grin, since you had exchanged phone numbers before.

“O-Okay.”, you didn’t know why you stuttered, it was just… really new.

“Oh, but you can call me too, yeah? Don’t be shy. Well, anyways.”, he jumped out of the car, turned one last time to grin at you, his golden eyes sparkling a little, making you even more flustered.

“Have a safe drive home and have a good night, [Your.name]!”

“Ah, you too, Takami-san!”

Then, you just watched as he walked up to his apartment complex. You didn’t know what suddenly got into you when you opened the door and jumped out, calling for him.

“Takami-san?!”, it was literally two in the morning, his poor neighbors.

Though Hawks immediately turned his head.

“I… really, really enjoyed myself today. Just… thank you.”

Oh my God, you were so cute. Such a gentle giant teddy bear, that’s what you were. Without thinking about it, Keigo rushed back, catching you a little off guard when he walked around the car.

“You know, I might be a little drunk, but fucking God – I want to kiss you SO. BAD. right now.”, Kei said without hold back. His golden eyes gleaming in the dark and his cheeks flushed, you didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or if he was blushing.

You, on the other hand, were very flustered, yet you barely whispered, “Maybe you should…”

Which only made Hawks giggle and raise his arms. An almost… seductive grin on his lips.

“Then you should help me out a little here, Handsome!”

Was he a bit drunk? Possibly. Was he overly flirtatious because he truly liked your personality and found you attractive and DEFINITELY wanted to meet you again?... Probably. But someone as straight-forward as Hawks was exactly who you needed because of your tendencies to overthink everything. Especially when it came to your weight and thus attractiveness. (Even though the one didn’t have anything to do with the other though not when it came to society.)

And so, you accommodated him by leaning down. Takami himself standing on his tiptoes, thus, after he had hoped all night long, his lips finally met yours. His small arms wrapped around your big, broad shoulders and your big hand was placed on his lower back. That’s what he had wanted. And it really happened. To say Keigo was quite euphoric was an understatement. He was ecstatic, overjoyed, jubilant and so much more – and that from a little kiss. He surely fell quick and hard. Something he had never experienced before.

After a few moments of pure delight, you were the first to pull back, just to watch Kei bite his lip in such a sexy way it took all of your control to not grab him and pin him onto your car’s hood.

“Thank you.”, he just whispered, still with that grin on his lips, “I really enjoyed myself, too.”

Then, he let go and you did as well, this time really just watching when he turned around and walked into the apartment complex with one last wave. So you got back into your car as well, the last minutes replaying in your head over and over again.

With your hand covering your face, you had to hide your stupid, big grin. If all of that was just a dream, you didn’t want to wake up. Someone found YOU attractive. You had deemed yourself the most unattractive, undatable guy and that only because society had always told you that. But he didn’t care. He liked your “undatable, unattractive” body just the way it was. And not only that, after a rough start, you got along so well. You loved his little laughs, his beautiful eyes and those soft lips-

“God I have never felt like that before, what the fuuuck??”, you mumbled to yourself, still in disbelief that night even happened.

But as you drove away, you heard a little noise that came from your phone and as you looked up, you quickly scanned the text before looking back onto the streets – a wide smirk spreading across your face.

The message read.

“txet me wehn yruoe home so i konw yuore hmoe safe!”

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: let’s appreciate all shapes and sizes. being a short and rather stumpy man myself, ive been struggling a little with how i view myself ever since my relationship ended. ive been casually looking on apps but i think I am not ready for another relationship yet since my last one was rather messy. anyways. I know you shouldn’t rely on others to feel validated and loved but loving yourself is hard, bro so… yeah, its nice being desired for once, no? also this kinda makes me wanna write a part two but eh we’ll see!

part 2.

#salemswriting.#hawks #takami keigo #hawks x male reader #bnha x male reader #hawks x reader #chubby male reader #bnha x reader #bnha

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