#maybe it's just that he's the default thought in mind so that's like
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X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).
I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.
Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.
--
“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.
Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”
No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.
Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.
When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”
Morph winces.
“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”
“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”
From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”
“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”
“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”
“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”
The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”
“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”
To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.
Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.
Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.
How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?
Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.
“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.
He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.
“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”
Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.
“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”
Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”
“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”
That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.
“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”
Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.
“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”
The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.
“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”
Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”
“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”
“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.
“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”
“Who else knows?”
“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”
At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.
“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.
Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.
“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.
Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.
“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”
Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.
He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.
Badum-tch.
Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.
Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.
Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?
“Morph. Look at me.”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.
“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”
From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.
It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.
Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.
One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.
The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?
Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.
Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.
If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.
Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.
The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.
But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.
He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”
As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.
“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”
Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…
He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.
That’s real enough for him.
#x men 97#x men#morph#wolverine#morpherine#my stuff#wait what this actually ended up good#have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair
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Some language comments for Gray Shelter [Episode 5], just like I promised!
"Do whatever/however you want to. (literally: 'Do it the way your heart desires') You do things how you want to anyway."
"I'm sorry" - the translation is correct, it's just it's funny how Yoondae's level of apology to his friend he just lashed out at last time + he wants to ask him for HELP, and all he says is: 미안 (mian). The most informal and short way of apologizing possible. He's so teenager-minded still.
Even when he asks "Can I leave my stuff in your dad's warehouse?" it comes out grammatically more of a demand, like 'Let me do that'. Yoondae is talking like someone who has a lot of walls and doesn't reach out to people, he doesn't talk kindly but he's honest and straightforward and he cries easily but he's very angry about it.
I especially love his facial expression, even when he's at his most miserable, he'll make it everyone else's problem, as if being pitiful is the worst thing that could happen to him. "I have no one else I could ask for help but you >:(("
Fun fact about Korean's sentence structure, when you quote someone or express your thoughts, you put your sentence this way: "quoted phrase" and then + "that's what they said/what i thought/etc". So oftentimes, I see Kdramas use that trick when characters say a phrase... and then take it back with "that's someone else's thoughts" or "that's what you thought I'd say, right? LMAO". It's funny how the translators' way of transferring this was using the word "Sike!" xD
"It wasn't a mistake to me."
"If it wasn't a mistake, then [what]? Since you started talking [about it], let me ask you. So what if it wasn't a mistake? What do you want to achieve with me?"
"Can I do anything about it? In the past or now, you're the one who runs away and avoids me. I asked you, can I make a decision (do I have any choices)?"
"You made the move but you want me to decide? Fine, then. Let sleep together once and end it once and for all. Go wash up first. I don't have time, I only left office for a short time."
The way they both care about each other but their dialogues and words are very sharp and bitter almost all the time, especially here, aaaah. That's the contrast that hooked me for all these 5 episodes. Soohyuk doesn't swear but he's talking to Yoondae very harshly and emotionless here, and for Yoondae harsh talk is the default, it's like Soohyuk is lowering his manners to talk on his level, to provoke him (or maybe that's also how he distances himself from the discovery that Yoondae has feelings for him).
And Yoondae is holding back his frustration and tears, but he understands the way such words were aimed to hurt him, so instead of lashing out back at Soohyuk, as he probably wants him to, he swallows and unusually calmly, almost softly says: "Let's talk when you can be honest. Because I will shut up and wait for you."
And it makes Soohyuk stand there in shock and contemplate.
I'll add next scenes in READ MORE since this post is getting long!
Here's the moment when the boss asks their youngest employee to write something more 'trendy' for their marketing text xD It's very true that trends in Korea come and go very quickly, they also love to invent new terms and phrases all the time. Like "MZ slang", there are many phrases, and the one trendy phrase the boss uses as the example is 킹받네 (king-pad-nae) which literally written as 'receive the king' but means "I got angry" - but with a teasing/playful subtext, like friends could say each other 'ah you're so cute, it makes me angry'.
If I'm not wrong, this phrase was widely used like 1-2 years ago and not really in its trendy peak as well right now but kudos to boss to even learning it xD And it's funny how translator chose to (I assume) use "[living in my head] rent-free" phrase as a substitute. Another fun fact, they ended up using some trendy lingo in their ad that translator gave us as "no cap!" but that part of phone msg was so blurry, I couldn't see which exact Korean phrase they ended up using x)
"Hyung, if you have any ask for help, say so. For you, 2 million... No, I'll try to give you until 3 million won in any way."
Can I just say that we had this character for one moment and I'm so not ready to let him go, I want Jeongwan to have his own storyline and everything and he's too sweet and also caring for strangers/his colleagues, and so he stole the spotlight for me xD
Yoondae said there's no food at home. But also, as you can see, there is: beer, water, rice that you can cook in the microwave, kimchi for a side dish and some other microwaved food. According to my Korean friends, typical Korean person (poor like student) can survive if they have rice, kimchi and also ramyeon. That's their the most basic food. Just a fun fact. xD
Also he was on his third can of beer, and he already made a drunken longing call on the verge of tears to Soohyuk, lying about being hurt and bringing trouble just so he'd return home. "Is that okay with you?" - just shoot me, please. :')
"I called [the cleaning service/you] to tell you to stop it [sleeping outside of home]"
"Let's have that dinner [that I promised you] today. Wait for me."
After days, Yoondae was ready to give up, he "tricked" Soohyuk to return home just so he could tell him he'll move out and stop pushing any talk. And then, Soohyuk brought up the dinner (the feelings) that he kept avoiding. No wonder Yoondae looked so struck and confused. It just gave him his hopes back (and viewers too, but we probably should've known better with this kind of series haha)
Interesting cultural context: they are getting samgyeopsal - grilled meat, chosen by Soohyuk because Yoongdae said there wasn't anything he wanted to eat. And usually, the youngest one has to set the cutlery and grill meat, out of respect for the seniors. And here we see that Soohyuk is the one choosing the place, menu and even grilling the meat and pouring soju for Yoondae.
Once again, it shows that despite Yoondae's emotions and pleads, he is not mature enough, he is not ready to focus on other people. We know he can't plan his own future, he doesn't know what to do, and we see where their relationship stands now - Yoondae is still more of a burden than an equal partner to Soohyuk, and Soohyuk is more of a parent.
Even when they drink soju (in Korean drinking etiquette usually you don't drink alone, you toast together and drink together), notice how they don't even clink their glasses together, then Soohyuk is the only one drinking and Yoondae wants to follow him but puts the glass back. He's taking a shot later, when Soohyuk grills the meat again. They are totally unsynchronized at this point of their lives, and it's painful to watch.
"I said he [my father] was dead because that's the truth/reality for me. There was no other [hidden] meaning. I didn't plan to lie to you."
"I moved out completely. If I don't organize my life starting from doing this, then I don't think I'll be able to live like all the other [normal] people."
The fact that Yoondae started thinking about improving his life (the word 'organizing'), immediately made Soohyuk stop in surprise. So he started asking what does the normal life like others mean to him, hopeful to find that equal adult footing from Yoondae... but Yoondae's thoughts stopped there. And Soohyuk offered his own goal and life meaning: "to have a place to go back to, that's enough for me".
Here's when Yoondae thoughtfully agreed with him: "It's important to have a home", and took the meat tongs from Soohyuk, saying how high-maintenance he is. Yoondae embraced that realization, he took the responsibility (even a small cultural gesture) and even though Yoondae nagged him, Soohyuk smirked. Because it wasn't a completely hopeless situation. And Yoondae proved it, by saying how eating like this and going home together is his normal life as well. (and yet they were still unsynchronized until the very end! we can't have happy ending yet)
AND HERE IS WHERE I HAVE TO MAKE A SECOND POST! Because tumblr only allows 30 images in one, and I can't stop screenshotting the last conversation so I'm going to make another post that you can find in 'gray shelter comments' or 'dropthemeta' tags (upd. or here's the link to the post!)^^
#gray shelter comments#gray shelter#gray current#dropthemeta#kbl#korean bl#kactors#grey shelter#bl series#soohyuk x yoondae#language details#language#korean language#korea#korean culture#things you didn't notice
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game time! who do you think of when I say the names: mick, pete, don, glen(n) and roger? 🤍 send this to 10 mutuals and pick your own names
mick tucker, pete ham, don henley, the name glenn always reminds me of @hellbent-for-metal's blog because of the glenn tipton posts annnd the name roger has a 50/50 chance of putting either roger taylor or roger waters in mind
#omg thank you i love this one#sometimes the name pete also puts peter gabriel in mind but i always think of him as peter with the r and pete as pete ham#like saying the name peter would put peter gabriel in mind but just pete would be pete ham#but sometimes it still puts the other in mind a second after i think about it#like somebody says pete#my mind: pete ham#my mind 2 seconds later: ...and pete(r) gabriel#and the same the other way around#although once in a while pete ham will show in mind before peter gabriel even if the name said was peter#but i don't know if that counts because pete ham's face flashes before my eyes at random times throughout the days anyway#maybe it's just that he's the default thought in mind so that's like#you say a word that turns on my brain#it's like turning on the tv#it'll turn on to any channel it was already on when it was turned off last#and then you have to change it to a different channel after it's on#that's probably how my brain works#sorry nobody can say the name pete to me in any form without me rambling nonsense forever about pete ham
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tell me about Jason and Tim’s cocks and how they make us feelllllllll
Six of you asked for this.
TIM DRAKE 💦
I’d say his cock is perfectly average. Just enough length, just enough girth, a subtle curve that reaches up into your depths—a true Goldilocks, if you will. The true magic of Tim Drake’s cock, however, comes from the man himself.
Always watching, always listening, Tim is the most attentive of lovers. He’s obsessed with watching you come undone around him, so he takes in each of your little reactions in order to guide you to an orgasm that has you seeing stars. Whatever you like—believe me, he knows. He sees you. He’ll do anything you need, no questions asked, no explanations needed.
So he works his cock into you as if he was made to be inside you, pretty whines falling out of his lips as his head falls forward and nestles into your neck. He defaults to praise, telling you how good you feel, how much he loves your pussy—and he finds all the right spots, sets just the right pace, says all the right words to make you forget that any cock but his even exists.
JASON TODD 💦
Proportionally large compared to the rest of his body, which is, you know, large. You thought you knew what to expect when you first went to bed with him, but despite the fact that you expected big, you didn’t expect, well…him.
Despite his average length, he’s girthy as hell; because he knows it, because he’d rather die again than hurt you, he’ll spend hours prepping you. While he has you, he likes to take his time with you, maybe even make you whimper and beg a little. Tongue first, then one finger, then two, then three, all with the single-minded goal of slowly working you open enough to take him, to welcome him home. Home. Sex with Jason, is a place, an event, a feeling—something to which nothing else could ever compare.
And yet, no prep could make you ready for the delicious, warm, mind-numbing stretch that comes with his cock diving into your heat. He moves slowly—agonizingly slowly—and tries to distract and soothe you with kisses, but being spread open by him feels so sweet, so tender, as if your cunt is being remade to fit perfectly around him.
#jason todd x reader#jason todd smut#red hood x reader#red hood smut#tim drake x reader#tim drake smut#🌸— mine.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— tim drake.#💌— letters for the gardener.#💋— anon.
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john pitches simon to you. 18+
it was john’s idea.
he saw the way you looked at simon, how your eyes lingered on him for too long, momentarily flickering up and down his frame whenever he entered your vicinity. his own wife gawking at his comrade. he should be pissed off, like any other man would, fuming, prepared to throw a fit fuelled by jealous rage.
but he only feels intrigue, temptation.
he knows it’s wrong, perverse, unprofessional. but the thought of seeing another man have his way with you, especially someone who he trusts, feeds something into his sexual appetite, and the only thing he can think of is how much he wants a taste.
john had taken to you away for the night, insisting that he wined and dined you after being away for some time. and he did, booked a room in a high end overpriced hotel, reserving a table in an italian he knew you’d like, and told you to wear that deep red dress he adores you in.
you half expected sex when you returned back to your room. but you never had it being with someone else, other than your husband, on your bingo card. never mind with someone who he deems a brother.
the truth is, john had quietly planned this weeks before. knowing that simon wouldn’t hesitate at his idea, pitching it to him on a random night in the middle of a desert. considering, after all, simon did want you first.
but you on the other hand, he was unsure about. you were loyal by default, one of the things he loves about you. he knows the distain that surrounds even the thought of betraying him, and it meant more than any fantasy you might hold. he knew he needed to make it clear to you, that he wanted it just as much.
so, whilst you were in the elevator on the way back to your room, he broke away from the desperate kiss that he had you lost in, his hands still placed on the side of your face.
“you like simon, don’t you?”
you weren’t sure if it was the wine, or the initial shock of johns spontaneous mention of his inferior, that caused your brain to pause, taking a while for his question to register. but before you could master up reply—
“don’t worry if you do, lovie. i see it. the way you look at him, the way he looks at you”
you remained pinned to the wall, as john grazed a thumb across your bottom lip. his eyes something darker than you’ve seen before.
you began feeling an itch of embarrassment, heat creeping up within your cheeks. but it soon wavered when you noticed the amusement plastered on his face. the glimmer that filled his eyes.
“it’s nice knowing he wants something that’s mine”
“john, what are you talking about?”
“would you think i’m mad if i told you i want to see you with him”
he faintly chuckled at your mouth falling slack, struggling to find words. before moving his hand down to the hem of your dress and tracing his fingertips up the bare skin on the your thigh, bunching up the silk as he did. finding the delicate lace that covered your pussy, gently rubbing two fingers over your clit. a soft moan escaping your lips.
“wanna see him touch you—”
his head dropped slightly, his lips to your ear.
a whisper, “fuck. so wet already”
before placing a tender kiss to the space under your ear.
“—kiss you—”
another kiss.
“—fuck you”
fuck—
fuck. you couldn’t help but let simon cloud your brain. your attraction to him was nothing but a natural, human reaction. one that was stupid, unnecessary, secret. but, the thought of him, touching every inch of you whilst john watched, fuelled something within you.
“would you like that, love?”
this wasn’t rational, it had strong potential to become a heavy regret. however, who were you to deny your john, after so many years of him finding pleasure out of your own, this was only just a repeat.
right?
maybe you weren’t thinking clearly, probably... most likely. but your mouth has a habit of moving quicker than your brain, and before you knew it, you breathed out,
“yes.”
#needed this out of my drafts#this was supposed to be so much longer#whoops#captain john price#simon ghost riley#price x reader#part 2 disgusting smut maybssss
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Ghost: *hands Johnny a tea* Here, this’ll sort ya out.
Soap: I swear you fuckin’ Brits think tea’ll fix anything.
Rudy: *confused* You’re both British, no?
Alejandro: *kicks Rudy under the table* *Whispers* Now you’ve done it…
Soap: *sipping tea* I identify as Scottish.
Ghost: You can identify as a fuckin’ tree, mate. But it don’t change nothin’ Scotland’s part of Britain…you’re British.
Soap: Geographically, aye. But that’s no’ the point!
Ghost: You know, none of the Welsh or Irish boys make as much noise about it as you…
Soap: This doesny concern them!
Rudy: *to Gaz* Are they going to fight… Did I miss something?
Gaz: *who’s been sitting quiet* Nah mate, this is foreplay for them…I’m just glad my room’s not next to theirs…
Some Soap Headcanons/Thoughts from a Scottish person? 👇🏼
“Fuckin’ Brits!”
I’ve seen a lot of folks mention how odd it was, and that the writers have somehow forgotten about Scotland being a part of Britain.
Some folks have suggested that maybe this was just an attempt of them writing Soap as a Nationalist only to be countered with comments that he would have said “Fuckin’ English.” Because Scotland is still a part of Great Britain.
Keep in mind that “British” is often used as a generalisation by many for those living in the UK, so anyone who is strongly against the Union may refuse to associate themselves with it and strongly emphasise by affirming their “I’m Scottish.”
Whatever Soap’s political views on the treaty of Union, signed all the way back on the 1st May 1707, matter not, because it’s purely banter. The Scots and English have history, and they’re playing with it (Especially when you consider Ghost's whole “Speak English.” stuff.)
As a Scottish person, who’s man was also born here, but his family are English, I often take the piss about his heritage…some of us are just like that, okay? 🤣
Soap’s accent.
I’ve seen it come up again and again in comments that Soap’s accent changes, and sometimes his Scottish accent seems forced…that his VA is clearly not a native, unlike Captain MacTavish’s…
Besides the fact that his VA is actually Scottish, Soap travels the world, he works closely with folks from all over, so it is no surprise to me that his accent is going to dip and change from time to time.
And the times where he’s “forcing it'' in"Alone ","Awa and Bile yer heid!” “It’s pishin’ it doon oot here.” c’mon now, he’s purposely trying to goad Ghost! 🤣
I worked in tourism, my colleagues came from all over. I’ve grown up with American TV shows and video games. And you bet I hear an accent and have to mimic it! When folk ask me where I’m from, it’s like a default to emphasise my accent as much as possible… oh and angry and drunk… tends to rev up the accent a little more too 👀
Basically, the accent is Scottish… with extra seasoning 🤣
#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#ghost mw2#modern warfare#cod ghost#call of duty mwii#kyle gaz garrick#ghost riley#cod modern warfare#mw2#mw2 alejandro#mw2 rudy
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Alfred's Boy Part 3
Bruce rarely had a full night's rest. In fact, he thinks that it's been a full two years since he last had more than eight hours of consistent slumber. Unlike Tim, who just forgo the recommended sleeping amount, Bruce found time to take naps throughout the day because, as much as he hates to admit it, he's not as young as he used to be.
This is why Bruce is rather displeased to be awoken when he finds himself with a chance to have a full night's rest. It felt like he barely closed his eyes at the tender time of nine o clock pm- with no cases waiting for him, his children agreeing to take his patrols, and the wonderful tea that Danny had poured him to help with backpain-he thought nothing would ruin it.
He forgot he had children for a moment.
At three in the morning, he woke to Tim, half in his Red Robin uniform, crouching like a cat about to leap, his unmasked face staring a few inches away from Bruce's nose. It took everything in Bruce to not react on instinct and take a swing at his son.
He only just bites back the scream by sheer willpower. His son doesn't seem to notice his heart trying to leap out of his chest as the boy leans back, sitting on the pillow Bruce likes to use to build a protective wall against the other side of the floor.
Tim's voice was raspy with sleep and maybe even hints of madness. "Oh good, you're awake. I have an emergency."
"Wha?" Bruce asks, half unsure if he is hallucinating. "What's wrong."
"Danny found his photo album."
"Danny has a photo album?"
"Yes. I made it. I took all the pictures."
"Okay? Why is that bad, chum? Was it supposed to be a surprise present for him?"
Tim tilts his head, his somewhat unfocused eyes staring at Bruce, and for one moment, he wonders if Tim got a concussion out in the field. He disregards the idea a moment later. Alfred would have notified him, and if not, Danny wouldn't allow Tim to wander alone.
Bruce could still remember Duke's wide eye awe as Danny followed him around when he got hit a little too hard a few weeks ago. The butler in training had even slept in his room- on the floor on an air mattress- and Duke had looked mortified and smug for as long as it took to get over his injury.
Alfred had to make it very clear no one was allowed to deliberately get a concussion to his other love-struck children.
Tim's nose wrinkles as a slight blush appears on his high cheeks. "No. He didn't know I was taking pictures of him. That's why it's bad he found the album. "
Bruce closes his eyes. He loves his son, he really does, but he can't handle this right now. He takes a few blissful seconds to pretend he never became a single dad of nine before he pushes his eyelids apart to give one of his middle children a firm scolding. "Tim, chum, the light of my life, that's a crime."
"It's not! I didn't follow him around outside the manor." Tim argues.
Bruce reaches a hand up to rub the space between his eyes. "Tim, you can't just take pictures of people without asking them."
"Why not? I've done it before. To you, Dick, Jason, Steph, Alfred, Damian, Harper, Cullen, Duke, and Cass, but she usually catches me and poses so it doesn't get her in her authentic state of being like I usually want to get but-" Tim says, counting the people on his figures before he seems to realize that he was sidetracked and shakes his head. He gives Bruce a pitiful pout. "He doesn't even mind. He said they were lovely and artistic!"
Of course, Danny wouldn't even blink at a creepy photo album of himself hidden in one of his employer's rooms. That boy didn't care that he found the Batcave while dusting, so taking everything in stride was a default.
"Tim, it's still not okay. You have to ask him from now on if you can take pictures." He holds up a hand when Tim opens his mouth to no doubt argue. "You can ask him if you can take pictures of him throughout the day to capture his authentic side without it being a crime. Now explain what the emergency really is."
Tim's teeth snapped close with a snap. "That was the emergency. He found it, and now I have to leave the country. Go underground for a few months. Maybe fake my death."
"You literally don't have to do any of that. Danny said it was okay right? He isn't one to sugarcoat things. He wouldn't claim it was fine if he didn't feel that way."
"No, Bruce, you don't understand. He already thinks I can't swim. Now he finds a book of him covered in hearts? Tim Drake needs to die." Tim says, dragging his hands down his face, and Bruce flips the covers back.
Gesturing to them, he deadpans. "Tim Drake needs to sleep."
"But my fake death needs to be planned-"
"Cullen and Harper get back tomorrow. Do you want to stress Danny more by adding your fake death to this?" Bruce watches the moment his argument wins because it's as if all fight leaves Tim's body, and his son slumps to the side. His head falls on a pillow, and he's already fast asleep.
He had been running on fumes again, it seemed.
Sighing, Bruce man hands his son into a more comfortable position, unclips his cape, and tucks the blankets around his son's shoulders. He settles back into his side of his bed- Ever since Dick came to live with him, Bruce had, over the years, claimed the right side of the bed so the left would always be open for any of his children suffering from nightmares.
He closes his eyes; Tim's peaceful face snuggling into Bruce's softest pillow reminded him why he became a single father of nine. His heart swells with love as he gives back into sleep's warm arms.
A few seconds later, his door is kicked open by Harper. She puts all her lungs into her greeting. "What's up, Old man! Who's the new kid!?"
Bruce glances at his clock and realizes it's now eight in the morning. Harper and Cullen had arrived hours earlier than planned- probably because Harper had refused to sleep and completed the drive home. He looks at Tim and finds his son curled into a ball, still dead to the world.
"That's Danny," He says in a hushed voice, gesturing to her adoptive brother. When Harper sees Tim, she visibly quiets, ensuring her heavy metal boots don't stomp on the ground as she walks over to him. "He's Alfred's foster son. He was removed from his last home because his parents were dangerous to his safety. Alfred will house him as a favor for his old contact. The contact code name is Clockwork. Danny talks about him a lot so you may hear that name for a while."
"Whoa. " She says, sobering up. Bruce can see memories of her birth father playing behind her eyes as she frowns. "That's shitty. Poor guy, no wonder he seemed sad to the bone."
"You met him?"
"Yeah, he jumped Cullen and me in the main hallway."
Bruce's mind buffers for a second. "What?"
"I know! The dude has skill, but it makes sense if he is Alfred's. He thought we were breaking in and took us out before I realized we were in danger. Once he got a good look at our faces, though, he practically threw up apologizing." She pauses. "Is he straight?"
No. Bruce thinks feeling cold, not another one.
"I believe he's bi. Why?"
Harper shrugs, smiling. "I think Cullen may have a crush on him. I was iffy about it since I thought he was another of your kids. You technically aren't our dad since I'm still Cullen's guardian, but you let us live here for free, so you like a dad? Glad it's not an issue."
Bruce wants to cry. What was it with Danny and seducing his children (in the eyes of the law or not, Cullen is Bruce's boy)? "There may be an issue. See, Danny has a few admires right now and he's- "
"That sounds like your issue, not a Cullen issue," Harper says, narrowing her eyes. Bruce winces when he notices her arms crossing over her chest as when firmly plants her feet a few inches apart. She only stands like that when she's protective of Cullen, which means she finds his comment offensive.
"I'm not saying Cullen doesn't have a chance." Bruce corrects realizing where the issue was. Harper's arms loosen slightly. "I just meant that right now, Danny isn't in the right mental state to be dating."
Harper's arms drop. "Yeah, I wasn't interested in dating after I became emancipated, either. Had a lot going on. I'll talk to Cullen about it. Make sure he gives Danny space."
Finally, one of his kids is on his side! "Thank you, Harper."
She waves a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. Hey, how did Clockwork and Alfred meet anyway?"
Bruce shrugs. "I never asked."
"Why?"
"It's Alfred. " He says like that is an explanation enough, and it is. Harper accepts it as such, nodding along. She tilts her head back and mentions wanting to shower, then take a long nap. She leaves the room as silent as a shadow, but not before telling him Danny and Cullen are making pancakes for everyone.
Bruce doesn't want to get up, but he must be the period romance villain and rip his son away from the staff. He slips out of bed with great effort and prepares for the day. A quick bathroom break, and a change into a casual suit, lead to Bruce walking down to the kitchen.
There he spots Danny smiling gently at Cullen, who is in an excited rant about his latest reality tv show. Around them is a spread of breakfast foods- Danny always cooks the food of various cultural backgrounds. He apparently learned from Clockwork and found it important everyone had at least one piece of home per meal.
It's heartwarming domestic. Bruce needs to ruin it.
"How did Alfred and Clockwork meet?" Cullen asks, stopping Bruce from dramatically bursting into the room. It's mostly because he has been wondering the same thing for weeks, and Danny seems to know.
"Alfred got haunted when he picked up Clockwork's pocket watch in an antique store," Danny responds.
That answer didn't explain anything. In fact, it just created more questions. Bruce wants to wait a little more, see if Danny adds more information, but he watches as the bulter in training places strawberries on heart-shaped pancakes and then drizzles chocolate. He puts the plate in front of Cullen, and the other teenager swoons.
Yeah, Bruce needs to stop that.
"Good morning, boys." He calls, watching the two turn to him. They each give him a greeting, but Danny is noticeably more polite. Danny moves away from Cullen to serve Bruce. He adds blood pudding alongside his Batarang-shaped pancakes as Cullen sulks about losing Danny's attention. Bruce takes a bit of those first, closing his eyes in bliss.
Blood pudding, just like Alfred used to make.
Speaking of Alfred, his loyal butler arrives then. Seems like Bruce wasn't the only one catching up on a night of undisruptive sleep. His oldest friend gives both boys a once over, Danny pouring tea and milk and Cullen staring at him lovingly- and raises a brow, leaning down to whisper in Bruce's ear.
"I say, it seems Danny has collected another one."
"Please don't."
"Denial will not make it less true. It's how I wound up haunted."
"Alfred, what does that mean?"
#dc x dp crossover#dcxdpdabbles#Alfred's boy#Part 3#cullen row#Harper Row#They were away on a trip#Danny likes to cook#Clockwork taught him#The lore of Alfred and Clockwork is a hot topic in Wayne Manor#Danny breaking hearts again#Tim was half crazy from sleep deprivation.
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FNAF Movie Theory...
I'm pretty sure there's still one major plot twist in the universe of the movie that's been set up for a sequel but hasn't actually happened yet.
Heavy spoilers under the cut:
After watching the movie in theaters and then revisiting a few scenes on Peacock, I'm still kind of convinced that Mike Schmidt is Michael Afton.
Here's my reasoning. A lot of the characters spend time acting like they know something the audience/other characters don't, and those things are...mostly resolved. But some of them just...kind of aren't.
The main thing that sticks out to me is William's whole storyline. Starting with the scene where he offers Mike the job, his behavior is almost explained by the movie's logic. He sees Mike's name, seems...kind of deeply upset, looks at him very closely, stands to get coffee, and has a moment of visible internal conflict. Then he instantly offers him the Freddy's job. The way the movie frames this, it seems to be saying that he recognized the name of one of his victims, realized this was the kid's brother, and decided to kill him right then and there. Which is passable as an explanation, but it has a lot of holes, if you look deeper.
Why would William so instantly recognize a fairly common last name as the brother of some kid he killed that wasn't even anywhere near Freddy's? Why did he kidnap/kill Garrett in the first place, in some random forest in Nebraska? Why did he see the name on the file, then immediately stop and examine Mike's face so closely, when Mike's memories/dreams pretty clearly show that they never saw each others' faces when Garrett was taken? Why did he send Vanessa to "keep Mike in the dark" if he purposely gave him the job to get him killed? Why not have the animatronics kill him right away? He didn't know that Mike was searching for the man who took his brother, and while he could have maybe guessed he was still actively haunted by what happened based on Mike beating up a guy that he thought was kidnapping someone, it still feels like a weird choice to go and hire him, then just have him do the job with no issue for a few days.
As for Vanessa, we see that she's been cleaning up William's messes for years. Why is Mike the one she changes her mind and stands up to her father for? There's no implied romance between the two and no particularly meaningful connection beyond them both having family issues. I guess she cares about Abby because she's a kid, but kids getting hurt clearly never stopped her from helping her father before.
And, on a more meta level, this is Scott and his storytelling style we're talking about. The man puts plot twists inside of plot twists and everything always ties back into the Aftons, somehow.
So, here's my theory: I think that Mike is William's kid, but Mike's mom left Afton when he was young and remarried the man that Mike thinks is his father.
It seems convoluted and maybe cliche, but if it's true, then suddenly there's an answer to all of those questions. "Michael Schmidt" isn't exactly an eye-catching name, unless you had a kid named Michael and your ex-wife married a guy with the last name Schmidt. Garrett's kidnapping, then, becomes an act of intentional, petty revenge rather than an extremely random coincidence. Giving Mike the job and sending in Vanessa suddenly becomes about piecing together how much he knows and figuring out if he's worth trying to reconnect with or is just a threat that needs to be killed. (It feels worth noting that William is as far as I can remember the only person to call him Michael in the whole film. He also very pointedly never says "Schmidt" until he's decided to kill Mike and suddenly announces his full name out loud. If he went by Michael as a little kid, that is what William would default to calling him, but if he took the new husband's last name, that would be like like salt in the wound that he wouldn't want to voice. By finally saying it out loud, it feels like he's making the decision to fully separate himself from Mike.)
As for Vanessa, if Mike is her brother, it makes sense that he would be the person she'd turn against William to save. It would be weird for her not to tell him, but she could also be trying to protect him, in some way. There's never any mention of her mother, and it seems like it's just been her and William for a long time. Also, ending the movie with her in a coma feels like a strange narrative choice, but it makes sense if she knows information that's purposely being kept hidden for the sequel.
Of course, it could just be that the movie has kind of messy writing and I'm trying to fix it because I want there to be a deeper reason for it. Maybe there is no Michael Afton in the movies, or maybe he's off chilling and doing his own thing somewhere and we'll see him in the sequel. Only time will tell.
#fnaf movie#fnaf movie spoilers#five nights at freddy's#five nights at freddy's spoilers#michael afton#mike schmidt
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Platonic Alastor x Maladaptive Daydreamer Reader
Hehe not me self-projecting again! Anyways, these are kinda based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make them more generalized.
TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, escapism, dissociation, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of compulsive behavior/OCD, invasion of privacy, manipulation, peer pressure, yandere-ish behavior (I believe he defaults to those behaviors, no matter the type of relationship), mention of cannibalism (this is Alastor we're talking about...), Alastor is a shitty toxic friend in this
• He's absolutely fascinated by the way your mind works. Even before he knows what is going on, or begins to get close to you, he can tell you are an interesting person. The way you look so distant, like your mind is checked out and flying to far off places without you, is something he hasn't seen before. He wants to pick and prod at your brain to see what's going on.
• He doesn't want to do so the easy way, though. No. Instead, he wants to drag out this process for as long as possible, and make sure you twist and squirm all the while. He loves to make people uncomfortable, after all! That's his specialty, in his opinion, besides his radio show.
• He'll start off with introductions, of course, which is probably when he first got interested in you. That dreamy look isn't so easy to see from a distance, after all. The second he looked into your eyes while shaking your hand, though, it became obvious. How hadn't he seen it before? If he saw this look when he first entered, he would've talked to you first out of the crew at the Hazbin Hotel. Well, besides Charlie... But, that's just because she owns the place.
•The uncomfortable prodding starts in an instant. One of his first questions after getting your name is not "What made you want to come to the hotel?" or "What can you provide to help the hotel?" It's more like "How did you die?", "What are your major vices?", and "What sin have you committed to be brought to Hell?" He wants to test the waters. See what he can get away with without completely scaring you off. If you run away and avoid him, it'd be harder to learn what he wants, and make you uncomfortable while doing so.
• Regardless of whether or not you answer, you are probably a little put off from him. Not enough to completely avoid him, since you can see how some of those questions might help him help the hotel, but enough to be uncomfortable... Which, in his opinion, is perfect!
• He's great at hiding, so if you start noticing him mentioning things you thought were private, you really shouldn't be surprised. He can, quite literally, hide in the shadows at times. He quickly takes notes of your little habits, including ones you might be embarrassed about.
• He may watch you pacing around your room, mumbling to yourself as if you are playing pretend all alone. Or, maybe, he's hiding over your shoulder while you're writing down some elaborate storyline. Perhaps he's watching you in plain sight, seeing you make a bunch of odd facial expressions at seemingly nothing. He may not know why you do this, but he wants to. He would've suspected some sort of substance use, considering it's Hell. Lots of people do so. However, he's never seen you near anything that would cause such behavior. So, that's off his list, for now.
• So, step 2 of his plan begins! As his good ol' pals Husk and Niffty to try befriending you! Or, at the very least, get information from you that you aren't comfortable telling him. Then, have them report back to him with their findings. Of course, Husk seems agitated by the request, but obliges. Niffty seems more than happy to do as he asks, though. A happy worker is a good worker, so he has more hope in Niffty getting the big story than Husk.
• Surprisingly, though, he's proven wrong. The most Niffty got was your fashion sense, favorite types of stories, and that you are very "quiet". Yes, the fashion and types of stories were new to him... But what he seems important, the reason you act so oddly, isn't there. Husk, however, was able to get a lot more out of you, somehow.
• Husk mentions you talking to him, one night, after he saw you skipping oddly down the hall and pass the bar where he was cleaning the glasses before closing it for the night. You seemed extremely embarrassed to have been seen, mentioning that you thought he was asleep already. He then just, politely asked a few questions...? And got answers? How?
• Alastor immediately demands answers, only for Husk to reply "I don't know how to describe it like they did! Most I understood is that they daydream too much. Seems like it's a constant thing going on. They like to pace and prance while doing so, sometimes, but don't like getting caught."
• Now it begins to make more sense... the writing, the talks about stories with Niffty, the prancing and pacing... and most importantly, that dreamy, distant look you have. He can even see why you'd make odd expressions. You're reacting to your own thoughts... He doesn't understand it. He's never heard of anything like this before, especially during his time as a human, but he can tell one thing for certain: You must be his friend, now. Whether you like it or not.
• You are so different from everyone else he's met, you see, and he loves things that go against the norm. Now, while you may or may not be considered normal or not too different by others, you're different and abnormal to him. You somehow succeed in both being polite, smart, and funny to mess around with, while also barely being able to pay attention to the world around you. He's always thought that those two things were mutually exclusive. How can you learn when you can't stop being in your own head? How can someone be polite and not listen? The funny part, though... He can kind of see that. He finds surprising you be sneaking up behind you and tapping your shoulder funny every now and again. Nevertheless, you are going to be his friend.
• Soon enough, you notice his behavior changing, a bit. Less following you around, less vaguely threatening words, and more... quiet. It's eerie, coming from him. However, you also notice him trying to talk to you about stories and books he's heard and read. Even things he's heard during his human life, such as Creole folktales and other stories he's heard in New Orleans, Louisiana back in the 1920s-1930s. It's a bit like a completely different side to him you never expected to see, and never really wanted to, but you aren't really complaining. It's better than him deciding to terrorize you for fun and him asking invasive questions...
• A little more time passes and he decides to ask about small habits, disguising them as him just now noticing those habits, when he's probably noticed them while spying on you months prior. Nothing too extreme. Mostly just your expressions, how it seems like your attention is somewhere else... Nothing like your pacing, prancing, or acting. He wants to establish that he knows about these tiny little things, and now that you're more comfortable with him, you're much more likely to answer. That way, once he moves onto the bigger, more personal questions, you'll already have been eased into feeling comfortable with it.
• Eventually, you get to the point where you feel comfortable calling him a friend. He's already considered you one since that conversation with Husk, but it's a start. Now, he's gotten the lovely privilege of being able to know more about what's going on in that lovely little brain of yours... well, "little" brain is definitely an understatement. From how you describe your imagination, he'd be led to believe your mind must be as vast as the Library of Alexandria.
• Vast worlds, complicated plotlines, complex characters... you talk of odd tales you've created, all in your brain. Ones you've had in your mind for years, some you came up with on a whim, and others, still, that are still being developed. Stories that have been being created over the span of real life years, ones you started then dropped... All of which are being held in your head, with only a miniscule fraction of it being written onto paper. He's truly impressed, genuinely respecting your odd talent, as he sees it. You've perfected the craft of creativity, while he's perfected the art of talking to an audience. Even better, is that he got to learn whether or not his theory of you taking inspiration from stories you've heard was right. Which explains his sudden mentions of stories he's heard in life.
• Now... if only you'd let him tell some of your stories on his radio show! If you wouldn't like that, then he'd probably ask you to write something for his show. That way, it isn't as personal to you, and you wouldn't even need to be credited if you're embarrassed by it! He could just say a random listener sent it in, and he thought it'd be great to read, to show his appreciation for his adoring fans. The world simply must hear the greatness of your mind, dear, and he is not going to stop annoying politely asking you to write something until you do.
• Another thing he might try is to see if he can figure out why you partake in this little habit of yours. He's never heard of it, though he has asked some sinners and demons if they have. Be it Charlie, Angel Dust, some of the other overlords, or a friend of his we haven't seen or heard of, before. More modern sinners keep mentioning a thing called Maladaptive Daydreaming, describing it as a symptom of other mental health diagnoses... but that's the problem. That fits you, you've mentioned that you know of that and it fits you... but that's also just a symptom. Well, a few argue that it may be its own thing, but it is not an official diagnosis yet. So, for now, he wants to figure out why you do it.
• Is it depression? Anxiety? Do you really want to escape from something, and you're doing so by hopping into that little dream land of yours? Is it some sort of compulsion? You seem to not really be able to control it that well, after all, and others have mentioned links to OCD, as well as other disorders that can cause compulsions. Is it sheer, absolute, chronic boredom? Speak to him, dear! What is it? Do you even know? If not, he'll assume it's the boredom option... for now.
• He's obsessed with you, really. You're his friend, and he's very obsessive over them, in his own way. He is as far away from normal when it comes to showing real affection for others, which wouldn't be bad, if it weren't for the fact that a main part of it is him being absolutely suffocating when he's around. That, and he can be terrifying... He's the Radio Demon, after all! It's just worse for you than his other friends, though, because you are different. Being different is a really important thing for him, really, alongside being polite, smart, and funny. Not required, unlike the last three traits, but it makes you more likely to be his friend. You hit the lottery by achieving being all four, but it must be the worst lottery prize in the world.
• He holds the thought that you should just be friends with him. Now, you don't have to be... but, he'd prefer it. If you really want outside friends, sure! You just can't be friends with his other friends. He claims they'd "taint" you with how violent they can be. Plus, since he's friends with other cannibals, some of which do serve sinner and demon meat to others without telling them, he genuinely does worry about your safety and wellbeing if you met those specific friends of his. For your friends, he wants to meet them. He needs to in order to deem them worthy of being your friend, and to make sure it's not someone he knows and is friends with. You deserve perfection, and who knows perfection better than Alastor, yes? After all, he can see that you're perfect. That is more than enough evidence, dear.
• You're one of the few people who he doesn't mind having your attention not on him. Part of your charm, in his opinion, is your lack of attention. All he asks is that you tell him about a story of yours. What is going on in your head that's so important? Oh, a great war between this and that? A psychological horror? Cities beneath the sea? Tell him about it. He finds it fun! Especially if he can see any possible inspiration from events or other stories. He likes to hear your voice almost as much as he likes to hear his own, which you'll realize is more of a compliment than it might sound like, once you truly get to know him.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor#alastor the radio demon#maladaptive daydreaming#alastor x reader#platonic headcanons
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This is exactly who you think it is. 🦜🦜
Might I request the origin characters (+ Halsin) of your choice caring for a burnt out/sick Tav?
Hello! I shall call you bird anon…
(Leave me and my family alone)
But ask and you shall receive! Requests/thoughts always make my day.
Origin characters + extra companions taking care of an exhausted reader pt. 1
No forewarnings besides maybe some suggestive mentions and a little angst. Mostly all fluff + comfort… barely proofread
Characters included in this part: Astarion, Gale, Lae’zel and Jaheira
Astarion
Astarion, when you present him with the problem after his insistent pestering, is a little lost. Everyone has their breaking points and their limits. You just held a confident front for so long that he started to believe you truly lacked one. He suggests the pleasures of the flesh at first. “To ease that pretty mind,” he claims with a smirk. You can tell in his gaze it’s his default- he was used for his body for so long it’s clear he’s unsure of what else to say. A bit of frustration with both him and his past bubbles up. It hurts to know he values himself that little and at the same time… it’s frustrating that he thinks it will solve anything. After a curt “No thank you.” he seems to deflate a bit. You stalk off to your tent as he watches from afar.
He sat with himself as he contemplated his abilities. You’d done so much for him over the period of time you’d known each other. Quite frankly, he hates to say it but he’s realized he’s taken you for advantage. He reminisces over the times you’d let him feed and he has had his nose pressed into your skin. How he’d inhale your scent and memorize it with your blood. He broods over it for a little before beginning to test different scents and oils. What he believed would work with your body chemistry and what he knew you liked.
It’s an hour or so later when you hear slow footsteps. Whoever it was made their presence known, so as to not scare you with a sudden intrusion. You’d been laying with your head in silence and the dark due to how it throbbed. Everything seemed so loud and overwhelming. He speaks smoothly and announces his arrival, you just grunt in acknowledgment. It seems to amuse him as he laughs gently and places something on the ground. Which? You’re unsure- and you could care less to check right now. It’s only when you hear the flick of a match and the room illuminates that you peek. He has a couple of wax candles laid out that seem to be dripping in mixtures. He smiles at you in such a way that you push suspicions aside. The room flickers with the light of the candles. “Relax. I made these special for you. Just focus on them and let the world wash away.” You watch him for a minute more as he lights the candles and the scent grows stronger as it burns with the wax. At first, it also overwhelmed you. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and focus on taking deep breaths. With each inhale, you draw more of it into your lungs and feel your muscles slack. Whatever he used was working wonders to calm your body and ease your mind. He did miss his calling as a perfumer.
The feeling of cold hands on your neck tenses your so delicately relaxed frame. His voice comes out in a shush, making you shiver from the tone. The way his fingers move so slowly tells you he’s holding a part of him back. It’s likely the reflex to make things more… intimate. A part of you swells knowing that he is trying a more simple intimacy on you. Thumbs dig into the tense muscles until they’re worked from the stiffness. Soft moans of content escape your throat. Though, just the same are the groans of pain when he reaches a more tender spot. “You’re lucky you have such a caring companion.” He muses half-heartedly, an attempt to make you smile. It did, matter of fact. You’re sure he knows because his movements become more confident. You drop your head back into your pillow and breathe out a sigh. He didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on your back. It was quite comforting to know he was there if you needed it. You eventually drift into a half-conscious state as he works your tender flesh. By the time he’s left you to rest you were already asleep.
Gale
Gale’s watchful eye concluded your growing burnout long before it settled in. He was a wizard- a man who studied for a living. He understood frustration and burnout. He’s faced it many times before… and it’s never an easy thing. When you settle down at the camp for the night, he can’t seem to get his eye off you. You walk around slowly and seem out of it. The man sits in his thoughts for a moment longer and decides to make his way over to you. You, of all people, deserved to have a moment to relax and truly replenish your mind. His hand makes contact with your arm and you’re snapped from your daze. He gazes down at you with a softness and silently asks you to follow him. You’re too worn down to argue and just nod.
He winds you out of the forest and towards a still lake. A drinking deer turns and shoots out from its spot when you two arrive. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he bashfully smiles. “Water is soothing to the mind and muscle. I’ll take care of you- let me.” The moonlight dappling the water is tempting and he seems harmless enough with his request. You relent and begin to slowly peel the clothing off your body. Turning back around you stride into the water only to find it pleasantly warm. It was almost hot- glancing up at him as he removed his robe, you knew he tampered with magic to heat the water. You’re not complaining though. It’s already doing wonders to work out the aches in your muscles. He slides in behind you and asks you permission to touch you. You hummed approval as you closed your eyes and put your trust in him.
He lathers his hands with soap and begins to work your muscles along your back. Simultaneously massaging gently and washing you clean. His fingers work from your neck to your shoulder blades, down your spine, and to your legs. He slowly turns you around so he can repeat the same process down your front. He’s careful around your more intimate areas, eyeing you cautiously to gauge what’s too much. It feels nice to be doted on and not have to bathe yourself for once. You’re sure he knows it, too. Then, he whispers for permission to do your hair. You barely speak and instead hum once more. He chuckles a little before wrapping an arm around you and one under your head. He dips you into the water until your hair is thoroughly soaked and pulls you back up. Like that, he begins to lather shampoo into your scalp. His fingers work wonders and you moan a little. The moment is gone too soon for your preference and he’s washing it out.
After a minute more of holding you in the water as he rinses you off, he guides you out. You almost protest like a child, wishing to relish the hot water a little longer. He hands you a large linen cloth and you dry yourself off. Squeezing your hair until it no longer drips annoyingly and wrapping it around yourself to conceal your intimates. He follows alongside you back into camp and you head into your tent. He lingers beside you while you settle down and gather some night clothes. Then, as soon as the eyes are noticed, he leaves you to your own devices. You manage to get to sleep surprisingly easily and the night passes mostly peacefully. In the morning, your previous clothes are folded neatly outside your tent. They’re clean and practically spotless. Gale must’ve taken the time to wash them while you slept and hung them to dry overnight.
Lae’zel
Lae’zel’s instinct is to scold you for showing weakness. Githyanki are warriors and have no time to tend to the frail. Yet, you’ve proven anything but frail in the time she’s known you. She’s utterly torn and wears it on her face obviously. You’re unsure why you turned to her for comfort, it was obviously a mistake. You sigh exasperatedly and trail off as she watches. You almost make it to your tent before her hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you to look at her. “Battle me,” she speaks blatantly. “Githyanki soothe their mind and body with battle. It is all I know to do. Battle me.” There’s a desperation in her voice. She cannot stand to see you so exhausted and fed up. You squint at her and almost protest that all the battling you’ve done is what led you to this point. The expression she held deterred you. You complied in the end.
She leads you into a dirt clearing and unsheathes her sword. Her face is like the steel she holds in her grasp and you ready yourself. There’s a moment of silence and anticipation that hangs in the air as you two lock eyes. She makes the first move, launching towards you and missing the side of your face by a few inches. You retaliate and dig your weapon of choice into her side. She grits her teeth as she is sent sprawling a few feet away. The girl gives you little time to react. Her next attack flies at you and you two are a clash of steel and flesh. There’s an adrenaline that elicits your veins and your head clears. The worries of taking care of everyone fade and you focus solely on your sparring partner. It’s like a second wind that envelops your body. It takes you a few hits until you realize she’s purposefully leaving herself open and using weaker moves.
She was allowing you to win. To taste her blood and victory in battle. You’re almost insulted if it weren’t so flattering that she was laying herself openly for you. You lay a final hit on her and she kneels with her head bowed. The two of you pant as wounds seep blood. Nothing is too deep and can easily be fixed by bandage or magic. She pulls herself to her feet and smiles softly at you. “A formidable opponent. You underestimate your power.” It was her form of a compliment, you supposed. She then followed you back into camp and sat you down. She runs a wet rag along your scrapes and cuts. The crimson washes off and leaves the wounds exposed to the fresh air. The githyanki is gentle in her touch as she wraps them with a bandage and secures it in place. The muscles in your body flex as you test the hold before turning your attention to her. You go to tend her wounds but are met with a hand in your face. “I am fine. I am strong enough to take care of myself. You, on the other hand, need to recover to lead us onward.”
You quirk a brow at her before pulling away and allowing the campfire to warm your bones. She works deftly on sealing her wounds and you can’t help but feel a little rejuvenated. It wasn't pampering of sorts- but she cared. She tried her best to show it and that’s truly what mattered. She fought against her nature to shame you and instead attempted to cure your ailments. She was rough around the edges but had a soft heart. The thought made you smile softly as you watched the shadows of fire dance along her olive-green skin. She catches your gaze for a moment and seems flustered. “Go rest.” She commands softly and you laugh breathlessly. It takes you a moment to get to your feet but you manage it. Some sleep would surely help repair the worst of it as long as you took it easy the next day.
Jaheira
Jaheira was an older elf. She could spot the telltale signs of wear. Whether that be mental or physical. She took care of her harpers for just about as long as she could recall at this point. It felt nice to not have to be the one in charge- but maybe she took too much comfort in it. A little guilt weighed in her heart. Too late to dwell, though, you needed assistance. The crackle of the fire was all that could be heard as you sat in front of it. You were still- seemingly lost in thought. She groaned a little as she lowered herself to a seat. Her knees weren’t as they used to be. The sound alerted your mind and you snapped out of it to look at the woman. She smiled softly at you and handed you a goblet. In her other hand was a bottle of wine and her own goblet. “Do not worry, no funny games this time. Just something to unwind.” You scrunch your nose a little before grabbing it.
The bottle uncorks and she pours a glass for you two. It’s not the finest wine but certainly was much better than the gruel served at the tiefling party. You draw your knees to your chest and take a long sip. After she takes a sip of her own she clicks her tongue in thought. Her gaze isn’t on you but on the campfire as she begins to speak. “You are more powerful than you know,” she begins and you look at her from the corner of your eye. “I’ve seen it firsthand. You vanquished the curse of the shadowlands and defeated Ketheric Thorm. I am surprised you didn’t succumb to exhaustion sooner.” You tense, almost expecting it to be an insult. Her softness of tone betrays that thought. “You need to rely on your friends and company more. We are here to help. We care. I care.” She enunciates the last word by looking at you. You can’t help but feel a soft fuzz blooming in your chest. Was it her words or the alcohol?
“I took care of my harpers for a century or more. It is hard work to look after the well-being of everyone else and yourself. I think I became too comfortable in letting you guide me. I apologize for that, truly.” You open your mouth to speak but she shushes you with a point of her goblet. That gesture makes you flush a little and take a sip of your wine once more. “I have seen many people in my life. I have lost many people in my life. You are among some of the most… wonderful I have seen. I will be damned if I lose you to anything beyond yourself.” She smiles at you, the age lines on her face only speaking to how truthful she is being. You can’t help but feel relaxed by both the influence of the alcohol and her words. You realize anything you say would be practically pointless. So, you just shuffle to her side and press against her. She hums in satisfaction and wraps an arm around you. You can hear her swallowing her wine more clearly. There’s a comfortable silence that is punctuated occasionally by the crackling of the fire.
“Another pour?” She offers as she holds the bottle and you cannot help but laugh while gesturing your goblet. Indulging for a night hurt nobody and hell you deserved it. She refills the two glasses and rests her head against yours. There’s a mutual understanding of comfort and connection between you two as you sip and watch the fire. It’s nice to not have to say anything in return. To be able to simply sit and digest the fact that somebody appreciates the fact that you work so tirelessly for them and everyone around you. It’s only til your goblets empty again does she finally pull away and cork the wine. You stand and allow the buzz of the alcohol to warm your veins and loosen your mind. She offers a hand out with a sheepish smile, “Help a gal up?” you tease her for a minute and grab her hand as she hoists herself off the ground. She regards you with a softness and plants a gentle kiss against your forehead. You two part and head to your respective tents to sleep the night away.
#baldurs gate 3#my asks#🦜 anon#bg3#baldurs gate 3 x reader#baldurs gate iii#my writing#astarion x reader#astarion#gale x reader#gale bg3#lae’zel x reader#lae’zel#jaheira x reader#jaheira#comfort#astarion bg3#lae’zel bg3#jaheira bg3#bg3 x reader#baldurs gate gale#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate laezel#baldurs gate jaheira
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mad man.
// Yandere Sunday
sum: Did you know? The thoughts of a mad man are hard to spy on.
wc: 1610
warnings: maybe OOC sunday
a/n: i took some liberties with the whole halovians and telepathy through their halos thing so yea lol
likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️
You’ve always prided yourself on being an attentive person.
As a Halovian, your job is to expand the influence of the Harmony. Some do so by joining the Oak Family and dealing in politics, while others join the Iris Family and become celebrities. You are no different, initially joining the Oak Family to become a diplomat, only to be then promoted to be one of Sunday’s trusted assistants.
The nature of the work is similar to that of a diplomat, but on a smaller scale as you only deal with Penacony. Although your dream of traveling the cosmos is left to gather dust, you have to admit that you are quite satisfied with your work. Sunday is a benevolent leader and boss who has done nothing but made you feel comfortable.
He compliments the detail of your reports and notes, even going so far as to say that it “is far more organized and detailed than his”, even though you don’t believe him at all. As much as you admire his work ethic and how he’s managed to lead Penacony to new heights, he’s not someone that you’d wish to be… friends with.
You’ve always prided yourself on being able to read people, an invaluable skill especially for a Halovian, but you find that no matter how hard you try, you’ve never been able to get anything out of Sunday. The only thing you’ve been able to gather from him is… nothing. Every action, expression, word, is all calculated and planned, like a mixed yet carefully measured dose of nectar and poison.
His sister, Robin, has a much friendlier appearance, although you do recognize that the nature of her work probably demands that of her; she’s rarely around, so you don’t think too much about her. She’s not the one who writes your paycheck.
Sunday, on the other hand…
Logic tells you that considering his position as the head of the Oak Family, he is no stranger to cruelty. Politics is never sweet, and if it was, then it was a poison coated in a thick layer of honey. This applies to all aspects of it, including dealings with other planets, and especially to anything related to the IPC. This also applies to internal affairs, from the heads of each family down to every family member, no matter how insignificant their role may seem to be.
Sunday is biding his time for something, and you want to know what.
You’ve seen hints of his oddities, the slightest cracks of his facade. You’ve seen a lot more than others, but you don’t think you’ll ever see enough that could satisfy your curiosity - not unless it’s all of him.
And so, you watch. You watch as he sits in meetings on end, facade never once cracking. You watch as he scans over your reports, the same, default smile on his face. He compliments your work again, but it is all white noise to you. You can’t say you’re surprised at the lackluster results of your observations, for a predator such as he is always on guard, yet also always ready to strike. His true self is buried in dreams he will never have.
It is in your house that you come to a realization of sorts - you’re a Halovian. You can use telepathy, and in your special case, if you try hard enough, you can even take the smallest peek into his head. That is, if you’re willing to risk it.
You’ve never had good experiences with the mind reading thing you can do. It always results in immediate nausea and pounding headaches as if you’ve had one too many SoulGlads, and it often leaves you so exhausted you nearly always collapse on the spot. There’s never been anyone worth using it on, not until Sunday.
Is this curiosity worth feeding? You don’t quite know.
It’s at a bar that you reflect upon these thoughts, swirling your glass of… well, you didn’t exactly ask for anything specific, just sweet. The bartender, you think his name is Gallagher, is wonderful at what he does. You don’t see him often, but something about him feels familiar, like he’s someone you know but you can never quite put your finger on who. But the familiarity and liquid courage encourages a conversation, and if you’re falling, you only hope that the landing kills you instantly.
“Gallagher, is it?” You ask, eyes still trained on your drink, cheek resting on your hand.
“Yes. And you are (Y/n), I presume?” He replies, neither sparing you a glance.
“How’d you know?” You can’t even be bothered to sound surprised.
“Everyone knows Sunday’s favorite assistant.”
“Mr Sunday isn’t one to play favorites.”
“Is that so?”
Silence follows afterwards, soft jazz and the chatter of visitors the only sounds.
“I am curious about something, but I don’t know if I should really pursue it.” The words spill out of your mouth for you, the alcohol their water.
“Should you really be taking advice from a stranger?” For the first time he glances at you, hands still working on whatever concoction was asked of him, but his eyes on you.
“It’s either a stranger or me, so both choices aren’t great.”
“Hm. Well,” he shrugs, eyes back to the mixture of liquids, “I’d say, go for it.”
“…Thanks.” With a last swig of your drink, you fish out your credits and set them on the counter, walking out of the bar, the squawk of a crow your announcement of exit. Have you gained clarity, or are you stepping straight into the jaws of the monster? Only time will tell.
Gallagher watches your back when you leave, and he smiles.
A ball is happening on Penacony, and Sunday has enlisted you to accompany him.
You’re less than happy, but dress yourself appropriately. Sunday’s reputation is directly related to yours, and you’d rather not deal with the repercussions of both the public and Sunday himself.
Although this ball was out of your plans, you think that you have an opportunity. Sunday will be busy speaking to other representatives and guests, and you’ll be left to the corner to keep an eye on potentially rowdy guests. The halo floating behind you tells everyone all they’d ever need to know about you.
Sunday is speaking on the stage when you decide to risk it all. You look around you to see all the guests paying close attention to the stage, and none of them could care less about you, for the ball is coming to its end. With quiet steps, you retreat into the nearest bathroom, eyes still trained on Sunday’s distant figure.
Your halo vibrates behind you, trying desperately to connect itself to his, but as the speech draws to an end, you’ve come up with nothing but a very real nothing. Despite all your efforts, you could not peek into his mind, and it makes you wonder just how guarded is he?
You can vaguely hear his closing words, but what really shakes you is an announcement of one last dance. This wasn’t in the schedule - and Sunday loves order over anything else.
In quick steps, you are back to where you stood the whole night, a stiff and strained smile on your face. You don’t attempt to search for Sunday in the crowd, for you are not even sure you could dare to face him after what you tried to do.
Instead, it is he who finds you; Sunday of the Oak Family, dressed elegantly in a white suit, his halo seemingly glowing behind his head, his wings fluttering to the sound of the music. You wonder if he does it consciously.
“Shall we dance, my dear assistant?” He holds his gloved hand out for you, and you feel one too many pairs of eyes watching for you to be able to reject. And so, you take his hand.
He leads your steps gently, twirling you, dipping you, his face mere inches from yours. He doesn’t complain when you step on his shoes, nor when you stumble clumsily; he takes it all in stride, never once letting you go. Even when others change their partners, he chooses to stay with you.
It’s almost so easy to forget that Sunday is the head of the Oak Family.
“Did you have fun?” He whispers into your ear, a placid smile on his face.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“There’s no reason to be afraid, I won’t punish you.” He dips you perfectly, golden eyes boring holes into yours, but his grip tightens and ow, it’s starting to hurt-
“Sir, your grip-”
“If you want to know me so badly,” he turns you to face away from him, hand on your chin forcing you to stare at a violet crow, “then you should stop playing these games.”
The uneasiness settles in slowly, marinating in your belly. Then, like a house on fire, it spreads uncontrollably into every part of your body, before finally settling in your head, like a parasite feeding.
The dance is still gentle and elegant, much like the music being played, but to you, it is a violent, inhumane battle between escape and capture, freedom and imprisonment, life and death. Every twirl is a stab, every dip a shot, and every word is the nightmare transforming into reality.
The music comes to a close, and the guests all make their leave. Only you are left with the beast.
“Come, my dear. You have much to learn.” He smiles so genuinely, and it’s like he’s glowing. You think he looks like an angel. “Just as you wished for.”
Your halos touch.
#honkai star rail#yandere#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr#sunday#yandere sunday#sunday x reader#hsr sunday#hsr#yandere sunday x reader
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🔥 tinder
3.5k / stepdad!joel x f!reader / stepdad master
A/N: Picks up after Fandango. Nothing has happened with the Mom before this, so ignore that hypothetical drabble.
Warnings: I8+ smut, mdni. stepcest, big girthy age gap, angst. jacking off, groping, oral F receiving. P in V but not with each other. cheating on each other, kind of. graphically overhearing your mom and him have sex :(. Joel's state of mind when he did it.
"Firm handshake," Joel says, then takes a seat on the other side of you. Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle. He asks about your date. Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming.
Joel is weird after his introspective drive home from your apartment. When you get back to their house, he silently brings the TV in for you, biceps bulging through his thin undershirt. He sets it up in your room and won’t make eye contact the whole time he’s in your room. Seems like everything went to hell as soon as you asked about their marriage.
“Joel.” He doesn't look. He bends over and his shirt rides up as he plugs the last thing into the TV.
“Joel, what the hell”
“What?” he snaps, “What do you want?”
You’re not sure what to say, so your default sarcasm spills out. “What, you can’t tell?”
He rolls his eyes. “Somethin’ you need right now, or am I done here?” He tosses the remote control onto your bed. He won’t even get within three feet of you.
“You don’t want me to answer that,” you say.
He scoffs and leaves, closing the door behind him.
-
Thanksgiving night, your mom gets home and the three of you eat dinner together. She asks how the movie was. Joel blushes and plays with his food, but you smoothly start telling her all about the Exorcist until she changes the subject since she doesn’t like horror.
“I was thinking, honey, why don’t you come with us to Mexico?”
“I thought you were going for a conference,” you say.
“Yeah, well. You know how that is. They wouldn’t have it at the beach if they didn’t expect us to have a little fun.” She looks at Joel. Joel is staring at his plate. She continues, “We were gonna add a couple of days, make a vacation of it. You could bring a friend if you want.”
You nod. “Or just the three of us?”
“Sure,” she says. Joel puts his fork down and sits back in his chair. “Ate too much earlier,” he says and excuses himself from the table. You don’t see him again that night.
-
The next morning, you go black Friday shopping with both of them. At most stores, Joel waits in the car sulking, pondering his life. You buy a new TV for your apartment, a few new bikinis for the trip, and your Mom buys Joel a bunch of new clothes. You’re going to miss the shrunken ones. After you get home, your Mom leaves to do more shopping and Joel watches football in the ] living room. You put on a new bikini and go downstairs to model it for him.
“Well what do you think?” you ask.
He quickly scans your body, his eyes not lingering anywhere. “Looks great,” he says flatly, then looks back at the TV.
You sit down next to him, elbow on the back of the sofa with your head propped up in your hand. He tries not to look.
“Give me a break,” he says.
“I just wanna know if you like it,” you say.
“Said it looks great.”
You adjust the cups of the top. “It’s not too much?”
“Come on, sweetheart.” He refuses to look. “Just get outta here, okay?”
“Okay, I have three more to try on.”
“Please don’t,” he says and adjusts the crotch of his sweatpants.
“I dunno why you’re punishing me for your own feelings,” you retort.
He sighs as though too tired to even try.
“Maybe I’ll go on that tinder date after all.” You’re still not planning on it at this point, you just want Joel to loosen up again and hope the threat might help.
Joel scowls at you. He knows he can’t tell you not to. He knows it’s not fair. “Would you grow up,” he says.
Your laugh is short and silent. “I’ll send the other suits on snapchat.”
You go back to your room and try them on, taking videos and pictures and sending them to Joel. “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say in a low, sultry voice, then turn the camera to the mirror to show your ass hanging out of a cheeky pair of boy shorts. You take some even hotter footage and send it all in real time.
Joel doesn’t open the snapchats right away. But soon, you hear the TV turn off downstairs, then he goes up to the master bedroom and closes the door.
-
You smile to yourself and put on a robe. He’s totally about to jack off. Sure enough, a minute or two later, Snapchat tells you when he starts watching your snaps. You tiptoe into the hall to listen. You sneak as close to his door as you can get without giving yourself away. You want to hear him do it unrestrained by your presence.
“God damn,” he sighs and your nipples harden at the sound.
“I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say through his phone, and he replays it. “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.” And again. “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.”
He breathes loudly and you hear the wet squish of his fist around his cock.
“Uggghh,” he groans and you know he must be watching the one where you untie the top entirely and let it hang between your breasts. Outside his door, you slip your hand into your swimsuit and touch yourself as you listen to him breathe heavily. He audibly pleasures himself while you put on a show and strip for him on his phone. He’s so fucking hot.
“Jesus,” he says to himself. In snapchat, you must be pulling the swimsuit aside to show him your juicy cunt and how wet you are. You brought your phone with you in your robe so you can see how many snaps he has left to watch. That’s one of the last.
“It’s yours, Joel,” you say from his phone. “Come and get it.”
“Fuck me,” he sighs and the sound of his voice makes you lose control of your hand. You put your hand on the door knob and open it.
His phone repeats, “It’s yours, Joel. Come and get it. . . It’s yours, Joel. Come and get it.” You see the reflection of the explicit video in his glasses. He fumbles with his phone to stop it from playing again.
“What the hell are you doin’ here,” he whispers gruffly with his cheeks pink.
“If you’re not gonna come get it. . .” you say, putting your hands in the pockets of your robe and splaying them out to show your whole body.
“Your mom’s on her way home right now.”
“That’s what you wanna talk about?” You take a hand out of your robe pocket and slip it into your swimsuit, dipping a finger into your pussy, letting your head fall back, exposing your neck as you bite your lip and touch yourself. Then you snake your hand up your torso, between your breasts, to your neck. You walk all the way up to him, stepping over a trail of shopping bags from the walk-in closet to the bed. When you get to Joel, you put your fingers in his mouth and he licks them clean with his eyes closed. Then you take his free hand and put it on your breast, slipping it under the swimsuit. He does nothing to stop you. You start touching yourself again.
He strokes his cock faster. He wets his lips and breathes deeply as he palms your breast and watches you touch yourself.
Then you hear footsteps on the stairs, and your Mom’s voice. “Honey?” She must have left the garage door open while she was out. No warning.
“Shit,” he whispers, yanking his hand away from you. He looks around. You close your robe. “Closet,” he says, pulling his pants up over his wet, hard cock.
“No!” you whisper. But when you see your Mom’s shadow arriving at the top of the stairs and Joel all disheveled with his lube right on the nightstand, you don’t see another option. You’d have to cross the bedroom door to get to the bathroom.
-
Just as you hide in the closet, your Mom enters the bedroom, and her paper shopping bags clatter against the door on the way in. “It’s just you? Thought I heard someone.” She’s headed your way with the bags. This was so stupid. So, so stupid. You could have just tied up your robe and acted like you were getting something from their bathroom.
Joel intercepts her. “C’mere,” he says. “Why don’t ya let me put those up later?” His voice has a seductive air about it and a pit opens in your stomach.
“Joel,” she says accusatorily and laughs. “Were you watching porn?”
“What if I was,” he says. Of course he’s still hard and pink in the face. Terrible at hiding his humiliation.
“Hope you saved some for me,” she says saucily and your heart drops. She closes the bedroom door.
This is a worst case scenario.
You hear kissing. So fucked up. You plug your ears and dissociate. What follows is a torturous symphony of breathing and moaning from both of them for the longest five minutes of your life. You seethe, then you cry as silently as possible. Of course he’s thinking about you - of course. You gave him that hard-on. Is he doing it out of spite? Out of panic? Surely he could manage not to moan if he was only doing it because he felt like he had to. He knows you’re RIGHT THERE. Can he really not control himself?
While you’re still in the closet, you post one of your sexiest swimsuit photos on instagram. Then you text Joel, “This is so fucked up. I don’t want to ever hear a word from you about my dates or instagram or anything else.” You send him a screencap from Tinder where you’re confirming your availability for a date with Jacques. “Hope you’re happy,” you add. “Fuck you.”
When it’s over, your mom goes to the bathroom and you make your escape, wiping your eyes with one hand, holding your robe closed tight with another, not even looking in Joel’s direction. You can feel him looking at you, though.
-
You slam the door to your bedroom.
Joel responds to your text, “You’re right, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”
That makes you even more upset. You want it to be his business. You get in your bed and sob.
“I dunno what to say,” he adds. “I didn’t know what to do. If you can’t forgive, me I understand.”
You respond, “You didn’t have to act so into it.”
He says, “I was trying to make it quick. I’m really sorry.”
You don’t reply.
“I wish I could undo it. I’m sorry.”
You don’t respond.
He asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Fuck no, you don’t want to talk about it. Why would you want to talk about it? You stay in your room for a long time but eventually go to the kitchen to get something to drink. He must hear you going downstairs because it’s only a minute before he comes down, too.
“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
How would you be okay? You don’t have anything to say to him.
He says, “I was gonna, uh, go to the gas station. You want a drink or somethin’?” You don’t answer.
You go back to your room. When he gets back, he knocks on your door. You don’t answer. He goes back downstairs and texts you that he got you a drink and put it in the fridge.
The next morning, you come down for breakfast and he’s there.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks. You don’t answer. He watches you pour a glass of orange juice in silence. You drink it and put it in the sink. He leans against the doorframe from the kitchen to the hall, blocking your way. As you go by, he gently puts his hand on your chest and whispers, “Hey.” You look down at his big, veiny hand. How dare he platonically put it on your chest? You take a deep breath, your breast swelling into the heel of his palm.
“What?” you ask.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Please forgive me.”
You laugh condescendingly.
“Or at least talk to me,” he begs with puppy dog eyes.
You return to your room without another word.
Over the next few days, you go back to your apartment and Joel tries texting you casually. He snapchats you too, but you don’t answer it.
-
A few days later, you go out with Jacques to get your mind off Joel. Joel remembers your plans. He’s still thinking about it.
“Have fun on your date,” Joel texts you. The nerve. If Jacques is hot enough in person, you might give Joel a taste of his own medicine in terms of what Joel has to overhear. You’re glad you hadn’t decided the location when you sent Joel the screencap, lest he show up.
Jacques is hot. You go out to dinner, then bring him home to your mom and Joel's house instead of your apartment. The two of you sit in the kitchen first and you make him a drink. You continue your conversation from the date. His voice is deep and smooth, but not as sexy as Joel's. You can’t help but compare everything about them. You and Jacques take your drinks to the living room to watch a movie. You sit in the middle of the sofa and Jacques sits by your side.
-
Before you've even picked a movie, Joel walks in. He spreads his feet and crosses his arms, pushing out his biceps with his hands underneath them. Then he just stares at you. He looks like he’s trying to restrain himself.
"Joel," you light up insincerely. "This is Jacques."
Jacques gets up and shakes Joel's hand.
"Firm handshake," Joel says flatly, then takes a seat on the other side of you. Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle. He asks about your date. Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming at the edge of his nose. You lean back against the couch since they’re trying to talk to each other.
Joel asks, "So what'd ya talk about? Any common interests?"
"Oh yeah, we both love horror movies," Jacques says.
"Nice," Joel nods. "She tell ya we went to see the new Exorcist?"
"Um, yeah. She mentioned it was good."
Joel chuckles, then looks at you. "It was good, huh? You'll have to catch me up before the next one, sweetheart." He gives your thigh a squeeze and winks at Jacques. Then he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Where ya from, Jacques?"
"El Paso," he says. Joel doesn't hide his surprise. Then Jacques adds, "My parents are French."
Joel nods thoughtfully. "Am I sayin' it right? Jock? Or is it Jack?"
"Jack is fine."
"Nice."
-
You interrupt them. "I don't think Hulu's working in here. C'mon Jacques, we can watch in my room."
"Now hold on, I'll fix it for ya," Joel offers and puts his hand on yours, reaching for the remote control.
"Nah," you say. "Wanna try out my TV in there anyway."
“Alright,” Joel mumbles. He runs a hand over his beard. If he didn’t feel so guilty, he’d be losing his shit right now. You’re sure of it. He’s trying really hard to be fair. You and Jacques get up off the sofa, then Joel stands up.
"It was nice to meet you," Jacques says and shakes Joel's hand again.
"You're the stepdad right?" Jacques removes his hand from Joel's death grip.
"Guess I am tonight," Joel mutters.
“Sorry, what?” Jacques asks.
"Yeah, he is," you say, then look at Joel. "Where's Mom?" You ask. "Figured y'all were going to have some quality time."
"Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart," Joel says, then briefly massages your shoulder before walking away to the fridge.
-
You and Jacques watch Equalizer 2.
Joel texts you, “Don’t do this.”
After about fifteen minutes you respond, “?”
“Please,” Joel texts. “You’ve made your point.”
You don’t reply.
“I know I deserve it, but I wish you wouldn’t.”
In another twenty minutes, you see the shadow of feet under your door. A few seconds later, there’s a soft knock. “Gonna make some popcorn, y’all want some?” Joel asks. You tell him no thanks.
Toward the end of Equalizer 2, Jacques gets handsy with you and you welcome the advance. He’s not bad with his hands, but you also don’t hesitate to exaggerate your sounds of pleasure. But that exaggeration turns into real enjoyment. You relish the opportunity to release all your tension into someone else’s body. Someone who wants you unapologetically and would hopefully never make you hide in a closet.
Jacques has a big one, too. You close your eyes and pretend he’s Joel as you’re making out and his hard cock is grinding into your crotch. You moan into his mouth, desperately wanting to feel Joel's beard against your cheek. Jacques whispers your name and says, “I want you.” He takes his cock out and wraps your hand around it. You grab it hungrily without opening your eyes. You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and your breath hitches. Your body wants it.
-
Then the fire alarm goes off. You cover your ears and Jack puts his dick away. You don’t bother fixing your hair or skirt.
“Sorry!” Joel yells from downstairs. The smell of burned popcorn fills the hall. It takes him a minute to turn off the alarm, of course. Jacques opens the bedroom door to see what’s going on. Then Joel comes upstairs out of breath and apologizes for the commotion.
“Sorry ‘bout that, guys.” Joel hovers there in the door with one of his hands on the frame.
You cross your arms on your bed, and Joel’s eyes fall to where the bedding is messed up.
“Well, It was nice to meet ya, Jacques,” he says. “Lemme walk ya out.”
Jacques is confused. “I, uh.”
“Um, I guess I’ll call you,” you tell Jacques.
Relief washes over Joel’s face and he asks you, “Your Mom, uh, needs a ride, you wanna come with me in a minute?”
Jacques looks back and forth between the two of you. “Yeah, guess I better go,” he says to himself.
Joel walks him out.
-
When Joel comes back from walking Jacques out, he tries to be casual, but his body is clearly tense.
"Really think he bought that performance?" Joel asks as he pushes into your room. He closes the door behind him and leans against it with his butt. He looks at Find my Friends on his iphone. “She’s ten minutes away,” he says and pushes off your door to approach your bed.
"What performance?” you ask.
"C'mon, sweetheart. You were fakin' it." He lifts the comforter and sheets and inspects them. "Dry."
Your cheeks burn.
He sits down on the bed and picks up the unused condom still in its wrapper. "Least you woulda been smart."
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you ask. “Leave me alone.”
“Can’t, sweetheart,” he murmurs and puts his hand on your thigh. “I can’t.”
“Then do something about it or get the fuck out,” you whisper.
He slides his hand up your skirt and slips his fingers right into your panties. “That for me or him?”
You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”
You lean back on your pillows and he gets between your legs. He hikes your skirt up and pulls your panties down, then plants his face between your thighs, lightly caressing them from the outside with his big, masculine hands. “Gotta be quick,” he murmurs into your pussy, then digs in. He sucks and laps at you and inhales deeply through his nose. Your hips lift into his mouth. You whine his name. He pauses and looks up but doesn’t reprimand you. He penetrates you with his tongue and moans into your cunt.
“Fuck, Joel,” you breathe. He devours you ravenously, moaning and sighing, until your thighs tense and your hips lift and you moan his name as you come in his mouth and he laps up every drop.
He tears his head away and looks at you affectionately. He’s panting and his face is dripping wet from the nose down. He kisses your inner thigh, then gives you a hickey there on each side.
The garage door opens downstairs. Joel stands up and adjusts his joggers to accommodate his massive erection. He’s still breathing heavily. He wipes off his face. He walks to your door and opens it without a word. He turns around and looks at you, then closes the door behind him.
-
THANK YOU for reading and thank you so much for your reblogs and comments! Now more than ever. PSA: definitely follow if you're into this, because i'm shadowbanned and not showing up in tags. this also means i can't make comments or send or receive DMs. follow @toxicfics for notifications and @toxicrecs for reblogs.
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#love2cuck#stepdad!joel miller#stepdad!joel☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️#stepdad!joel
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“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”
Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.
Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.
It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?
But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.
If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now.
Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.
Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great.
But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.
Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.
You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.
But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle.
LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”
Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”
Are we beginning to get the picture?
See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”
He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.
And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”
And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”
And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.
And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.
And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.
White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.
And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”
And you know what?
If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.
But He is NOT.
God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.
Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.
No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”
White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.
Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.
Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?
This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.
That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.
You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.
And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.
White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.
So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.
#Steven universe#su#Pearl#amethyst#garnet#Steven universe fans#change your mind#white Diamond#Christianity#Christian’s#asked#answered#thanks#rattling the cage#Rebecca sugar
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I can’t tell if your requests are open or not, so i’m sorry if they aren’t and just disregard this <3 Can I request ANYTHING with MK1 Bi-han, i’m down ASTRONOMICAL for him. if you want me to get specific something where he’s learning how to be affectionate and (ironically) less cold with you 😭 to me it seems like he’d be more of a physical touch/actions kind of person, even though that may be few and far between especially at first. also can i just say you’re the best mk writer i’ve seen ♥️
NOTE: They are! I just struggle with writing them sometimes, so I’m MUCH slower at making them than my New Era chapters, but they are!
<3 Thank you for requesting and being so lovely <3 Sorry for how long the wait was! I kinda treated this like a character study + my headcanons for the man.
Also I couldn’t tell if this was s/o or not so I just defaulted to crush?
The fic is set to be kinda ? told in his POV, but in second still. You’ll see! Also I kindaa got carried away at the end so maybe ??? a bit ooc. I just like writing people pining.
FOR YOU [SUB ZERO X READER]
Doing small things for others' convenience was not something Bi-Han was used to doing, nor was he known for doing these things.
“Get up.” Bi-Han stood over you, from where he had swept you and sent you tumbling to the floor. There were a few moments of silence as he watched you hesitate, staring up to him bewildered. Why were you confused? The command was simple enough. You stared at his hand, seeming lost in thought. He rolled his eyes.
How was this the person who could go toe to toe with him?
“Are you deaf?” He asked you, his stare turning into an icy glare.
Why did you look so lost?
Sure, he had never helped you off the ground before, Bi-Han could give you that. The reasons behind this was simple, he was just simply tired of hearing his brothers nag him for leaving you on the floor. It’s not like he helped any others up during sparring. They were capable of getting up themselves, they did not need their grandmaster to coddle them.
Just because he’s known you for a while, why should you be the exception?
Still, their complaints were tiring and bothersome, so he decided to try to help you up for once. Maybe that would settle their complaints. They were always pushing him to be a little less…icy. Plus, out of anyone, he supposed doing this for you would not be the worst. Sure, you tried to hang around him constantly, but your company wasn’t unpleasant he supposed.
Bi-Han growled as he watched you still lay on the ground, staring at his hand. With a huff, he lunged forward, grabbing your hand for himself. He was going to help you up one way or another, dammit. You were not going to be the person to deny his kindness. Hoisting you up, he was caught off guard as you collided with his chest.
Did he hit you so hard during training that you were acting dumb all of a sudden?
With a grunt, he steadied you, holding you by your waist. His hands settled quite nicely there, and his hands instinctively squeezed. Your hands were on his chest, as you righted yourself properly. He sent you another glare, this one more instinctual than intentional. You seemed caught off guard, confused, and so many things all at once.
You were confusing.
What was even more confusing was the fact that his mind seemed to want to capture this moment, wanting to sear the memory of you being in his arms permanently in his head. His hands twitched, and his lips pursed at the thoughts that invaded his head. He pushed them away, shooing them away like annoying flies.
A grandmaster should not be plagued by such…odd thoughts.
He sighed as he let go of your waist once you seemed steady enough. You shot him that sunny grin of yours, and commented on how his heart was finally defrosting. It seemed that you finally had your senses back. In return, Sub Zero frowned as he crossed his arms. You always had a knack for trying to make puns out of his powers. Still, despite the disapproving looks he always sent you, you never stopped.
Bi-Han wasn’t sure to think of you as brave for not caring for his warning glares, or stupid for ignoring them. He was inclined to think of the latter. Would you so brazenly ignore a wolf staring you down with predatory eyes? And yet, a small voice in his head told him otherwise.
He didn’t quite like nor agree with the voice. Honestly, he didn’t even know what to make of the voice in the first place.
“Satisfactory job for today.” Bi-Han said, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction as you beamed at his words. You were always too eager to accept any positive words from him. You gave his shoulder a pat and scampered off, probably to eat since it was around dinner time now.
He stood there for a bit longer, watching you disappear, and watching the place you last were before you turned the corner. He frowned as he realized he had been staring. How ridiculous, why had he been staring? With a grunt, he turned around and stalked off to his office.
He couldn’t get the feel of your hand out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.
Bi-Han was not known for little acts of kindness.
“You need to eat.” Bi-Han scolded you, shoving a bowl full of food in your hands. Your fingers brushed, and he pursed his lips, not knowing what to make of the tingle it left on his skin. He’s been more oddly aware of his skin whenever he was around you lately, and he wasn’t quite sure why.
He watched as that stupid confused look overcame your face again as you took it. It always happened whenever he did things like this, but never with anyone else. He felt a bit offended every time. It wasn’t as if he was incapable of kindness. It didn’t sit right with him the idea that you thought he was incapable of it. You looked at him, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.
“You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.” He mentioned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Which it was. Anyone, if they were paying even a smidge of attention to you, would notice how you failed to eat this morning. It actually has been a few days since you’ve eaten breakfast, leading to you complaining and being famished by lunchtime. It had begun to bother him.
Was it just him who noticed these things about you? You even seemed surprised by the information he told you.
How foolish.
“Did you make this?” You asked, peering at the food as you prodded the rice congee with the spoon. Bi-Han nodded, and he felt a strange fluttery feeling in his chest as you took a bite and hummed in delight. You were too pleased by this simple cooking, this was a meal that a child was capable of making. He didn’t like how he craved more of your approval. “This is really good! Thanks Bi-Han!”
Your praise made him feel content. Much to his chagrin, Bi-Han felt his mind churn out some ideas. How would you react if he made you something special instead of this simple breakfast? Certainly you would be more impressed, why shouldn’t you be? His cooking was sufficient. Maybe you’d even praise him more.
Maybe he should make you some more food, sometime.
“You should be eating breakfast, it’s stupid to skip meals.” The cyromancer continued to berate you with a frown. He didn’t like the idea of you skipping meals, it felt…wrong. He watched as you, through a mouthful of food, tried to excuse yourself. He sent you a glare. “There are no excuses. Even a child knows not to skip a meal.”
“But-”
“I just said no excuses.” Bi-Han said, shutting you down with a tone of finality. You sent him a sheepish look, one that told him that you were honestly, and truly sorry. You didn’t have any malice behind your actions, at least. He sighed, leaning forward to meet your gaze. “Just so you don’t go running around without at least some food in your stomach, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Really?” You said. You blinked in surprise, and he nodded. You smiled at him, and he closed his eyes, ignoring how his mind wanted to save that imagery. “I’d like that a lot Bi-Han, thank you.” He nodded, opening his eyes to send you a small glare as he ignored the flutter in his chest.
“You need to wake up earlier though, so you have time to eat.”
“That’s worth it.”
Bi-Han was not known for letting others close to him.
“Hold still!”
You swatted his shoulder, huffing as you glared at him. Your confidence around the grandmaster was almost astounding to the rest of the Lin Kuei. Not many would not even think of glaring at the man, let alone swat his shoulder in annoyance. And yet, here you were, doing just that. The oddest part of it all was that Bi-Han was letting you.
Well, more like tolerating you.
Your efforts were not without some push back from Bi-Han. You received your fair share of glares, huffs, and scoffs. And yet, you ignored all of those. The glares he sent your way were deflected, as if they were mere stares. His huffs and scoffs were like entertainment to you. He watched as your grin grew whenever he did these.
When did you stop fearing his intimidating presence?
Did you ever fear him in the first place?
Bi-Han was left brooding as you tended to his wounds. He felt like a sheltered, pampered dog with a person who fussed far too much over him. His lips pulled into a frown as you pulled his arm into place, making sure to grip it tightly so he could not move and mess up your delicate work.
“I’m trying to stay still.” Bi-Han grumbled, his voice sounded resigned as he let the arm you worked on go limp. He had learned well enough from your previous efforts that resistance was futile. You would probably chase him down to the ends of the earth to dress his wounds. The thought alone seemed ridiculous.
Then again, it was you. And he wasn’t sure when he stopped minding it when it was you.
“Well, try harder!” You sassed, rolling your eyes. The grandmaster kept his eyes on yours, finding them more interesting than anything else in the room. No, he was not fawning over your eyes. Such a notion was unfounded. He simply didn’t think anything else was interesting.
That’s it. That’s all.
Your eyes were simply just more interesting than the same old training rooms he’s known since he could remember. Honestly, most things were. But your eyes were especially a standout. They held a certain quality to them. A warmth that could not be replicated, not even by his younger brother’s pyromancy. No, it was unique. Something he couldn’t quite place.
Bi-Han felt his breath catch as your eyes, the ones he definitely did not find fascinating, met his own eyes. You certainly had to have some sort of magic within your blood. It was impossible that you didn’t in some capacity. After all, why would he be unable to look away if that wasn’t the case?
“What?” Bi-Han asked, his voice rumbling as he continued to look at those strange eyes of yours. He watched as they narrowed once again at him, like he did something wrong. He couldn’t have, though, all he did was stare at you. And you never once complained about it.
“Did you even hear what I said?” You nagged. Realization trickled in, and Bi-Han’s first instinct was to frown. He most certainly did not hear what you said. It wasn’t his fault though. He was far more focused on trying to figure out your eyes than to hear whatever you had been going on about.
Not that he disliked your voice. It was nowhere near ear splitting and headache inducing. He’d never admit it, but it was the complete opposite of that. And by complete opposite, he meant it was tolerable. Nothing more, nothing less.
Seriously.
“No.” Bi-Han bluntly replied, knowing that you’d chew him out if he even bothered to lie. You seemed to read him better than he could read you. It was a bit frustrating. He wasn’t exactly an open book, yet you made him feel like one. Meanwhile, you were open with almost everything and almost everyone. So why could he not figure you out?
“I said you need to be more careful.” You repeated, an exhausted tone in your voice. He frowned, both at your insistence and your condition. Have you been skipping out on sleep again? After searching your face, he determined that no, you were just exhausted by him.
“I am careful.” He retaliated, dropping his gaze to look down at his hands. They were clasped together as he hunched over. He detested the way his mind started to drift back to thoughts of you again. How would your hand fit in his? Were your hands soft and gentle? Or were they rough and calloused like his? Were they warm? Cold?
Why did he always think of you?
“Clearly, you’re not careful enough.” You nagged. For emphasis, you tightened the bandage you were wrapping around his bicep. He should not like the fact that you were concerned over him. He didn’t need you to be concerned over him. “Honestly, for being grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, I thought you’d be more careful.” You muttered.
Bi-Han sent a half hearted glare your way, being met with one of the same intensity. He couldn’t even muster up a retort to send your way. It was just because he knew you wouldn’t care whatever harsh comment he had. That’s it.
His mind fixated on the gentle way you smoothed out the bandages. Your fingers tracing over his muscles such care that was foreign to the cryomancer. It felt…domestic. His heart skipped a beat at the idea of a domestic life.
Since when did he crave for those kinds of things?
“Someday I might not be here to patch up your wounds.” You threatened, but both he and you knew it was a half hearted lie. You would always be there to bother Bi-Han. Whether it be to nag him, make stupid jokes, or just to…be there.
He’s grown soft, he realized, if he’s actually grown to tolerate you and your presence without too much thought. Looking back, the man realized that, he’s actually grown to be used to you being with him for a while now. This realization would have made the man angry or terrified long ago.
Now he was just…okay with it.
And so Bi-Han sat there, with the overwhelming realization that he’s grown to trust you.
Bi-Han was not known for being vulnerable.
The grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, as much as he would never admit it, is very much human.
He had dreams. Dreams of ascending to higher things than just being a member of a clan that listened to a god to a drop of a hat. He had aspirations of growing stronger and better than he was now. He had flaws, much like any other person. He was ambitious to a fault and was too harsh and blunt, even to his own kin.
But most of all, Bi-Han felt weaknesses.
It wasn’t often, but he sometimes thought of his parents.
Bi-Han’s relationship with his father was strained. To be the firstborn of a clan that was so revered meant he had a lot of expectations on him since he was born. He had to command respect without being harsh. He had to be confident, but not cocky. He had to give up who he was, or wanted to be, for the clan. Because Bi-han was now the clan’s life blood.
The cyromancer never asked for such a destiny. But who was he to deny a path to power since birth? He supposed it was only worthy of him, as he rose to the challenge when he knew many would crumble under the immense pressure. He alone withstood the harshness of his father’s teachings when others did not see that side of him.
No one else had to see the sheer disappointment in his father’s eyes everytime he did not live up to his expectations.
It was suffice to say his father expected much of him. Bi-Han, after all, was going to inherit a lot of power and responsibility. It was only fair. Still, bitterly, the cyromancer remembered how much easier his brothers’ expectations were. But it was fine. It was not as if they were trained to be the next grandmaster of a clan.
It was probably for the better, for now he was a man who could hold his own.
Still, sometimes he wished, deep down, that he had a father instead of a teacher.
Bi-Han’s relationship with his mother was better. Where his father surmounted a lot of pressure upon his son to forge him into a diamond, his mother took care and time to polish him. The man was ever thankful for and adored his mother.
When father had been harsh, she had always been there to provide guiding words to help quell his fears. She gave him compassion and kindness in his times of need. His mother had always been proud of him, even when he felt as if he fell short.
Bi-Han had been hit the hardest by his mother’s death.
Tonight was one of those nights where his weaknesses managed to snag their claws into him and tear at his chest. Lying down on his bed, he stared up towards the ceiling. It was dark in his room. He preferred it that way. But the cover of darkness did not help his mind as he looked into the inky black darkness.
Though he did not feel the chill of his own powers, he knew that the temperature in his room was dropping quickly due to his lack of self control. He should have better control than this. The old man would despise this as much as he despised him.
He needed water. Water would help him get back into the right mindset.
Bi-Han trudged towards the kitchen, a layer of frost following in his wake. Thoughts of the parents he no longer had filled his mind as he went, trying to drag him down. Shards of ice born from his irritation grew on his forearms.
Why were the dead haunting him so much?
It was irrational for him to allow them to have such a chokehold on his thoughts, even after all this time. The cyromancer owed them nothing. He had no need for them to whisper into his mind, telling him how he needed to be more than he was now. How Bi-Han was still not enough,
The knob on the kitchen grew icy as he gripped it. Fragile shards dropped as he turned, shattering like glass on the floor. His steps felt like molasses as he walked towards the sink. The glass he grabbed immediately grew cold, almost threatening to shatter in his hands.
He glared at the sink as it refused to relinquish the water he desperately needed. Bi-Han felt his frustration grow, and he clenched his fists. He trembled and shook from anger. He was the grandmaster, dammit! He should not be struggling with any of this.
The glass shattered in his hand.
“Bi-Han?” A voice rang out amongst the whispers in his head. He froze, the ice on his hands sticking to the sink like his father’s teachings stuck to him. Like a cornered animal, Sub Zero’s head whipped around and he glared instinctively at the intruder.
It was you.
You stood in the doorway, eyes wide as you looked at the mess that was Bi-Han. He cringed inwardly, detesting how you saw him at his lowest. Slowly, you stepped into the room, looking at the shards of ice and the frost that had overtaken the room.
“Are you okay?” You asked, now in front of Bi-Han. Instead of the fear he had imagined in your eyes, you only showed concern. Slowly, you reached out a hand to cradle his now bleeding hand. You examined his hands, taking out the bandages you seemed to always carry for his sake and began to patch him just like you always did.
The words Bi-Han wanted to say caught in his throat as he stared at you. He was bewildered. Why were you not running? Why were you still here? It was illogical for you to be staying here when he was like…this.
“I saw all the ice.” You said, your voice gentle and soft. It soothed the pain. It silenced the whispers in his head. “I was worried for you.” You murmured, your gaze focused on his hand that you held so carefully, as if it would break if you breathed too hard.
Normally, he hated being treated lesser than he was. But he knew with you, that wasn’t the case here.
“Sorry if I’m overstepping but…” You said. You paused, uncertain over something. Then, slowly you wrapped your arms around him, giving him a warm gentle embrace. For a moment, Bi-Han stood there stiffly, not knowing what to do. This type of affection was lost to him.
Slowly, though, he wrapped his arms around you too.
And he sobbed into your shoulder.
Bi-Han, most of all, was not known for being soft.
Standing outside in the garden, you stood by his side. You always seemed to find your way there. Bi-Han could not think of a better place he would rather you be. It only felt right that you were there, after everything you’ve been through with him.
The cyromancer glanced at you, letting out a breath as he saw the frost nip at your nose and cheeks making them flush. Bi-Han, in that moment, was jealous of the gentle snow and cold and how it brought the color to your cheeks.
It should be him.
If he made a light snowstorm like the one surrounding you both, would you look at him with even a fraction of the admiration he held for you? If he made an ice sculpture dedicated for you, would you swoon for him and fall into his arms?
No, none of those felt right.
He watched silently with thinly veiled admiration as you spread out your arms, embracing the cold weather. A large smile pulled at your lips, and it also pulled at his heart. The joy on your face was nearly infectious, and he had to fight to keep his lips from quirking up. And yet, if you were to open your eyes and look over, you would see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
No person should have this amount of control over another over a damned smile, and yet here you were. You were able to make the icy grandmaster smile without lifting a finger. All you had to do was to have to smile. By the Netherrealm, you could just look at him at this point and his heart would be jumping for joy.
You had him wrapped around your finger, did you know that?
No. Of course not. You were too oblivious to his feelings. If you did, you would and should be trying to hug him, and not the snowflakes that surrounded the both of you. So instead, Bi-Han just admired your all too perfect face, trying to commit the sight to memory.
By the elder gods, he really wanted to kiss you.
“Isn’t the snowfall just wonderful?” You asked, peeking open an eye to look at him. Bi-Han, snapping out of his stupor, crossed his arms like he guarded his heart. He paused, trying to think of something, anything.
What should he do? Should he try to flirt? No, knowing you, you’d probably laugh at his attempt and think he was trying to make a joke. That, and flirting wasn’t really his style anyways. That was something the arrogant actor would do, and he wanted you to fall for him, Bi-Han. Not Johnny Cage.
So instead he just nodded.
It seemed a sufficient enough answer for you. Your smile grew, and Bi-Han wondered for a moment if you were the embodiment of the sun. No, of course not. You were far more radiant than that stupid star, if anything, the universe should revolve around you.
His world already did, anyways.
“It’s nice to have something gentle for once, it’s usually a blizzard out here!” You exclaimed, and Bi-Han’s mind couldn’t help but to run in circles over your words. Did you prefer a gentleman? The ghost of a smile on his lips disappeared, replaced with his usual frown.
He wasn’t exactly a shining definition of a gentleman.
“Aw, you stopped smiling.” You pointed out, and Bi-Han’s heart skipped a beat. So you weren’t as oblivious as you seemed. You noticed his smile, and even seemed to mourn the loss of it. Did you like it? If he were better at it, he’d smile just for you. His lips pursed, and he suddenly wishes he could smile on command. He’s never wanted that before.
Bi-Han’s eyes wander, and they look towards you hair and the snowflakes that decorate it. You looked absolutely ethereal. It was like the universe was trying to set him up for failure. How could the universe decorate you just so…perfectly?
“Man, I should have brought gloves.” You complain. You bring up your hands, which were trembling slightly from the cold. You exhaled into them before rubbing them together to try and bring back some warmth into your body.
“Here.” Bi-Han said, and his body worked faster than his mind as he grabbed your hands. For a moment, he was pleased with himself. Then, in the next, he felt foolish. His hands were probably cold, what was he thinking? He stared at you, trying to gauge your reaction to his impulsive actions.
At first, it was shock. Then, that melted away into something that felt…bashful? Bi-Han’s heart skipped a beat, and he forced himself to engrave the look on your face into his brain. He never knew someone could look so breathtaking.
“Oh, thank you.” You said, your face becoming ever more flushed. The grandmaster’s heart swelled with pride and joy. He made you feel this way. Certainly that had to mean something, right? You bit your lip, and he couldn’t help but be entranced. How could someone have such kissable looking lips? “I…um…I need help with something else too…” You trailed off, swallowing as you nervously looked away.
“Hm?” Bi-han hummed, entranced by the usual shyness. He leaned ever closer, eyes searching your face. Whatever it is you wanted, he would give.
“My lips are cold too.” You managed to mumble out, before giving him the most hopeful smile he’s ever seen. Bi-Han’s lips grew into a soft smile as his stomach did backflips. He leaned forward, until his lips hovered just a breath away from yours.
“I can help with that.”
Then, he gave you a kiss.
Bi-Han was not known for doing small things for others, nor for his kindness. He never was known for letting others in or for vulnerability. And most of all, he was not known for his softness.
And yet, he’d be all of that and more, if it was for you.
#mk1 x reader#mortal kombat x reader#sub zero x reader#sub zero#bi han#bi han x reader#mk1#mk1 2023#mk#mortal kombat#mortal kombat fanworks#imagine#mortal kombat imagine#one shot#fluff
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Behind The Facades | Part III
An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.
Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)
Words: 1.9k++
Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader
Warnings: near assault, bickering, mini(i think?) grovelling, tiny fluff and of course what else than angst.
P/S: Thank you so much for your support from previous chapters! At first, I didn't plan to make this a mini series at all, but here we are. Anyway, enjoy!
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Y/N wished that she could live up to her own expectations. That she would enjoy every second of this date. But who was she kidding?
How was she supposed to be present in the moment and savour the wonderful dinner or relish the breath-taking scene of glimmering city lights through the windows at their table, when all she could ever think of was Bucky?
Bucky.
Bucky.
That god damn son of a bitch, Bucky.
She felt suffocated by both anger and pain. Completely distracted by the thought of him.
"I can't do this." Y/N abruptly stood on her feet as she confessed her truth. She paced and paced, despite the voice of Daniel calling out her name from behind.
She could barely hear him, or maybe she shuts it down on purpose because she can't afford having more thoughts in her spiralling mind.
She only realized that she was out when the sound of the hustle bustle of the city invades her hearing. She stood still for a while, wondering if she let her feet takes her away, where will she ended up then.
Before she could walk away any further, she felt a grip on her arms, pulling her to the alleyway besides the building. It was surprisingly dark and eerie even with the lively lights of the city leaking through the ends of it.
Considering he was an agent of SHIELD, he does have a quick reflex when he managed to grab both of her wrists and pinned her to the wall.
Honestly, she wasn't completely oblivious at Daniel's physical advances throughout the night; hands hovering over her ass when he lead the way, fingers grazing her thighs through the slit of her dress.
They were subtle but still relentless.
"Just where the fuck do you think you're going?" Daniel seethed in her ears, his impatient breaths huffed in between her neck.
"Oh, for fuck sake." She sighed with a slight annoyance in her undertone. She was really tired of everything at this point. Especially when this fool who thought he could throw her around like a ragdoll.
Y/N managed to twist her hands free from his grasps as her knee raised towards his defenseless crotch. However, the hit never happened, as a familiar black and gold metal hand wrapped tightly around Daniel's neck.
In a split second, Bucky had Daniel up against the opposite wall, head slamming into the hard crooked bricks of the building. Loud cluttering sound of the empty steel cans echoed down the alleyway, almost drowning Daniel's strained groans.
Although Y/N was not able to see Bucky's face, but she could imagine the cold grim in his eyes when the grit of his voice growled, "Touch my girl again and you'll see what Hydra had made of me."
She averted her eyes down to the dark and murky color of the ground when a strike of pain ached within her chest.
She hates it when he acknowledged Hydra's label on him.
A weapon. A monster.
It's imbrute and dehumanizing.
Her view didn't change its imagery until a pair of black combat boots entered the picture. She lifted her gaze just to spat at her saviour, "I could've handled him myself."
Bucky's eyes soften as a proud smile appeared on his lips, "I know, doll."
Very contrast to his gentle expression, Y/N's face was rigid and irritated. Ironically, they were imitating each other's default guise.
Y/N rolled her eyes before pushing him aside and started to walk away, leaving Bucky alone in the dark alleyway. Though her attempt was unsuccessful when Bucky managed to grab a hold on her wrist, "Wait, y/n."
She halted but refused to look back, "No. So, can you let go of my hand now?" her hands bundled into fists as she try to hold back her wrath.
Though the sidewalk was not crowded with people, in fact it was nearly empty, however she didn't want to make a scene.
"Please, hear me out." Bucky pleaded.
At least, she tried to keep it in.
Y/N yanked her hand from his, "Why the fuck should I listen to you, Bucky?!" she snapped, eyes flashing with fury.
Bucky was honestly not prepared for this, he went here without thinking of a plan to coax her. He ran to her with a sole purpose of telling her the truth, and Y/N yelling at him is not helping his nervous wreck, "Because..bec.."
Growing impatient to his hesitation, she fumed even more, "What?! Just what is it that you want from me Buck--"
And then all loud sounds of the roaring rage in her head suddenly fell into complete silence when she felt his lips on hers.
The sensory within her skin abruptly heighten, becoming sensitive to Bucky's contrasting touch on her cheeks; hot and cold in either side as he cupped her face in his palms.
His soft lips, his intoxicating scent, his desperate touch.
Everything was too overwhelming for her short-circuited brain to process an appropriate response; in fact any type of response.
So when she let her body go on auto-pilot she found herself leaning forward, craving for more of the delicious friction.
It was a short lived moment of deafening sound of her own beating heart thundering in joy and excitement before the noises of rationality came rushing back to her.
Y/N ripped herself away in complete shock and panic, "Wh--what" even she herself was lost for words.
What have she done?
She pushed Bucky harshly she shouted, "Why? Why did you--? Y-you have a girlfriend, Bucky! You have Gail!"
God, how could she kissed her friend's boyfriend?
"I can't believe you just kiss me knowing that." And she reeled into the pure anxiety.
Bucky's pleads sounded muffled as her mind spiralled in guilt and shame. He grabbed her by the side of her arms before briefly pulling her back into reality, "Listen to me, y/n"
Y/N ran her hands through her hair, gripping it in her fists as her mind turned into complete chaos, "No, god this is wrong." He could hear panic in her trembling voice.
Bucky snapped as he yelled, "y/n, we broke up!"
There was a pause in time and air. Her body frozen as his words seemed to infinitely repeated in her ears. Head slowly turning towards Bucky; finally giving him the attention he demanded.
She just blankly stared at his truthful eyes with her own pair, wide open.
"He's bluffing. He's just making excuses."
"Bullshit! You looked very much in love last time I saw you, which let me remind you, it was few hours ago!"
Bucky thought about it for awhile before he replied, "It's hard to explain everything now but she wanted to end it, for my sake." He paused. "...It's over."
He was not lying. Y/N knew that; she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He was telling the truth. But, it didn't make sense; why why why.
Gail was perfect for Bucky. He needs someone like her. He deserves that type of love that she gave; soft and tender.
"No no no. That can't be it. W-why the fuck are you here then? You gotta get to her Bucky! You're not suppose to here. Not with me. Go before it's too late--"
He is worthy of someone who's completely unbreakable, someone that can stay with him even at the darkest times, someone that won't see him as a weapon, but a human being.
Someone who will love him unconditionally.
Because, Bucky of all people, deserves to be loved.
"You don't mean that, y/n"
It hurts Bucky to see that Y/N thought she was unfit for a place in his heart, when she literally owns it. It pained him that she keeps putting up this facade that she unable to see her true self.
It burns her heart to let him go but that shows how far she was willing to sacrifice for Bucky, "I do. I mean it.." she can feel her tears pooling in her eyes, "You deserv--"
"Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself." Bucky couldn't understand she keeps pushing him away. If he truly deserve to love someone then why can't it be her?
"Lying?"
Y/N find it harder to breathe as her chest tightens. Did he see right through her? Her voice trembled as she struggled to let the words out, "I..I'm not lying."
Bucky almost scoffed in disbelief, "You think I didn't noticed it, y/n?"
All those masks she hides in. Behind the facades she wore so boldly, so willingly. Hurting herself over and over everytime she had to put up a brave face.
No.
He made her do that.
If he was honest from the beginning then things wouldn't turn out like this. She wouldn't suffer as she did. She never needed to.
"And fuck was I so stupid to turn a blind eye on you for the sake of keeping you." Bucky was breathless with anger. A rage towards himself; for his foolishness.
"Do you know why I get together with Gail?" Bucky felt as if his chest was burning, searing with flames, that if this goes any further then his heart will turn to ashes.
But Y/N deserve the truth even though he knows he need to admit his shameful doings, "Because she reminds me so much of you. Warm, gentle and so unconditionally kind. And I let myself fooled by the illusion of you that I saw in her."
"I'm a bad man y/n. I hurt her. And I hurt you. Fuck, I hurt everyone around me." His eyes stung to think how effortlessly he destroy every single person he love; as if he was designed to do so.
"I know that I deserve every single curse and scrutiny that come my way. I've always known that."
"But for once in my fucked up life," his voice betrayed him by revealing its' stuttering form, "...I also know that I am lucky to have the chance to love someone as unforgivingly enchanting as you."
There was a brief pause where the air was still and soundless; reserved for the painful sounds of their breath.
His raw emotions was laid out unfiltered in a form of streaming tears across his cheeks, "I won't ask for your love in return." He reached his hand to hers and held it dearly, "All I ask is for your forgiveness."
His eyes searched her soul, willing her to bare with him a little longer, "Because god I can't lose you. I can't."
Bucky felt like he was drowning; as he was 70 years ago at the Austrian Alps. The unbareable emotions rushed in like the frozen waters that filled his lungs.
Panic. Shame. Regret.
Y/N never thought she could come this far.
She thought she would able to lift the weight; and with the long record of success, she thought she wouldn't able to break.
But after all, she was just a human and there will always be a limit to where she will end up at.
What's the point of pretending when the person she loves is as miserable as her?
The tripedation of her only give false signals to Bucky; this is it, he was losing her.
But, there it was, the forgiving embrace he longed for. In her arms the world stopped still on its axis. He felt her body pressed in, soft and warm. This was the love he'd waited for, prayed for. Bucky's shaky hands roamed from the side of her waist before his arms crossed behind her, squeezing her closer, tighter.
How could she not forgive him? When he had pour all of him as he did.
There was no time, no wind, no sound. Just the heat of their body against each other. The melody of their heartbeats intertwining. Bucky's mind was at peace. So was hers.
No more more pretending.
No more putting on act.
She settled into the crook of his neck and whispered so soft and quiet that some won't be able to hear but Bucky did.
"I love you, too."
End.
<< Part II
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for your time to read my work. Feel free to express your thoughts in the comment/reblog! I love to hear from you~
Taglist: @ghostofwinter @angstysebfan @erinallene @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @paarthurnax59 @nomajdetective @kentokaze @dexter99 @nana1000night @prettyinpink350 @calwitch @unadulteratedbeardpeanut @kandis-mom @abitofblues @obsessivelycraftygothfandomwitch @its-daydreamer23 @hopelessromantic423 @rabbitrabbit12321 @lovely-geek @loonalockley @superforgottensoul @awkwardalie @peter-parkers-gf @opheliabarnes @blackhawkfanatic
#winterarmyyfics#behind the facades au#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#avenger!bucky#bucky angst
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question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?
well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (4/4)
(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)
hobie brown. — guilty of falling hard for you.
summary: hobie never thought that he'd feel anything more than a friendly feeling with you–and he never wants that feeling to end.
pairing: hobie brown x gn!reader
genre: fluff !!
hobie brown does not care about labels, they do nothing but confine him to one facet of himself, and he finds that utterly displeasing. he's finally able to live his life with such bohemian freedom that he doesn't wanna let go of it by conforming to what people think of him. though, there is one label he doesn't mind considering as the truth... being the boy who loves you the most.
hobie brown has always seen eye-to-eye with you, despite being strangers not too long ago. the minute he met you, he could tell here was something special about you; maybe it was the way you talked, the way you walked, the way you laughed, your personality, your determination to never give up so easily... but whatever it was, you had him hooked on you.
hobie brown had never met anyone quite like you, and that was the best part about you--you had your own uniqueness, your own spark about you. every time he thinks he knows everything about you, he's suddenly thrown into another world, another side of you that he had never seen before and inevitably got blown away by.
hobie brown loves how you're like a firecracker--colorful, unpredictable, fiery, and hot--you're full of surprises that only he knows about, you're full of life and vigor and he gets more and more interested in you the more he sees you this way.
hobie brown can't believe, though, how easy it is for him to just like you. everyone at the spider society, every one of his close friends, all love you, that's for sure. but what he can't believe is how innate liking you seemed to him; it came as easy as breathing and blinking, as natural as it was for his heart to beat and for his brain to function.
hobie brown was sure that you weren't just anyone, no, you were... ethereal, you weren't ordinary; and nobody thought you were ordinary, you were aware of that. you were never one to comply with what society declared you should appear or act as, you were you, and that was the person hobie was most fond of: the real you.
hobie brown found himself tinkering with a new gizmo he had going on, he was a little anxious while making this, in complete honesty. he hadn't always been confident that every machine he makes'll work out the way he wants them to or even work at all, but he's accepted failure as part of the process. what he's anxious of is... if you'll like it.
hobie brown is shaking in the knees right now, but he's trying to play it cool, to shake that shaking out of his joints and act as calm and composed as he usually does around you, but it's too hard. it's too hard to calm around literally the most perfect person in the world that looks up to you and calls you their closest pal and who also has the sweetest laugh and smile in the world and the most perfect personality that anybody could ever seek for in a lover.
hobie brown is conflicting with himself right now, and this hasn't happened to him in years. hobie's muttering to himself the lines he practiced, trying to run by himself how being cool was supposed to be, because when he's trying to get a grasp of himself back in his mind, his mind defaults to thoughts of you.
hobie brown is blanking out right now, finally faced with you. he clears his throat and involuntarily flashes you a tiny, quivering grin. he's stuttering and stammering, which is quite uncharacteristic of him, but he was always unexpectedly cute no matter how he carried himself.
hobie brown finally says 'screw it' and clears his throat for the final time. "now, i... i might sound ridiculous right now, but... i remember you said you had a music box as a kid back then, always played the melody you hummed and taught me way back when we first met. a-and, well... i'm not the most skilled artist in the world, but, i'm your artisan, like you say. and this artisan hopes... that you like it." he said as he handed you a little box colored in your favorite hues with all kinds of colored papers, paints, and little designs on them with a wind-up dial on its side.
hobie brown anxiously watches you open up the box, and as he takes your hands in his to show you how to wind-up the dial, a couple of cats were on the little pedestal that popped up and twirled slowly as a soft beat from a song in your childhood played.
hobie brown smiled wider as he watched you grin and chuckle at the adorable little thing, he felt his heart skip a beat or two when he realized you were happy seeing this, having this in your hand, hearing those familiar notes from your childhood... and it was also here, when you told him a 'thank you' that his world became brighter. he got a bit heated in the face, his smile unwavering but instead growing, and he nodded as you leaned closer against him. he's decided, finally, that he indeed, does love you; and from that love... he fell, and fell hard for you, wanting to see that smile of yours every day not because of the music box or anything he gives you, but because of him. that is all hobie wants and needs in his life, that is all he yearns for to be complete--you and your happiness.
tags !! @k4tsu3 @euphovlq @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @popeheywardssecretgf @arachnoia @solecitoszn @conitagray
#hobie brown#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown x y/n#hobie brown fluff#hobie brown fanfiction#spider punk#spider punk x reader#atsv#atsv hobie#atsv fluff#atsv fanfiction#atsv x reader#atsv x you#atsv x y/n#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction#spiderman across the spiderverse fluff
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