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rinhaler · 1 month

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One Minute, It's a Beautiful Scene

CHAPTER SUMMARY : how has megumi managed to convince you to run away from the class and visit the local aquarium?

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, PG chapter tbh!

WORDS : 4.5k

notes : I PROMISED I'D POST THIS WEEK AND I DID

LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

You observe Megumi as he fills in the last few areas of the bear page. He laughs when he puts his pen down. It’s ridiculous, but he likes it. Yours on the other hand doesn’t compare to the purple dolphin you had done previously. Megumi definitely has you beat this round in terms of colouring. He takes your book again, flipping through the pages for another page to colour in.

“The red elephant definitely wasn’t your finest work, O’Keeffe.” he tuts, focusing on which page he’d like to colour the most.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” you tell him, pouting like a petulant child at the nickname. It is so loaded and filled with hate. But then again, so is the man who keeps using it against you. He huffs, annoyed, just because you’re telling him you don’t like it won’t change a thing. You’re O’Keeffe, to him. Megumi likes it. So Megumi won’t stop.

“Here, you do this one.” he tells you, pointing at a page filled with different types of flowers. It’s cute, and the big sunflower in the centre is calling your name.

It’ll pass the final hour to colour in again at the very least.

You can’t help but smile each time you look over at Megumi. The song ‘Pretend We’re Dead’ by L7 is playing full blast through his headphones whilst he's poking his tongue out in concentration as he colours in an a unicorn.

So angsty and still so cute.

He scoffs when he notices you staring, insisting that you shut up.

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggle.

“Alright, O’Keeffe, focus on your flowers.”

You sigh, looking down at the page. The way your stomach twists and spasms is all too familiar to how you’ve felt ever since you first met Megumi. Looking at the flowers now, despite them not being your own creations, is causing you nothing but pain and heartbreak. Flowers were your muse. They always made you smile, feel loved, feel happy.

But now all you feel is disdain.

His eyebrow quirks and he looks subtly over his shoulder as he watches you close your book without finishing your colouring. He pretends he isn’t interested in what you’re doing as you pack your book back inside of your tote bag and fold the tray table back to where it belongs. You place your felt tips onto his table, manoeuvring your body so you’re facing the window and looking at the sea in the distance.

You’re close.

It’s difficult forgetting who you’re dealing with. Megumi Fushiguro is like no one you’ve ever met. Although there is a familial resemblance to Naoya, both arrogant and nasty, he is so cold and uncaring.

Most normal people tend to ask what is wrong when you begin acting how you are right now. Yuuji would be begging you to share your woes with him.

But Megumi Fushiguro is not Yuuji.

He’ll never ask, although you want him to so badly. You want to scream at him, make him realise what he’s done to you. How he’s ruined something as beautiful and ordinary as flowers for you. And he still won’t stop calling you O’Keeffe! He won’t ask, your only choice is to tell him. But you know it won’t do any good.

He just doesn’t care. And you can’t make him.

“I need some fresh air and a smoke. Why are we even going to this hick town?” Megumi grunts, finishing colouring the unicorns horn in a pretty pastel blue. You scoff, and laugh, earning another infuriated grunt from him. “What?”

“It’s not a hick town, idiot. It’s a coastal town!” you inform him.

“Same thing. Nothing to do but look at the beach and morons walking their mutts.” he huffs.

“You’re always on, aren’t you?” you laugh. “You can turn the angsty teen act off once in a while. It’s okay to like things. You might even like the place, the sea breeze is good for you.” you explain. He shakes his head, resuming his colouring. “I didn’t know you smoke…” you sigh, repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him.

“Nosy.” he says.

Maybe he has a point. But you never thought you’d be comfortable enough with your bully to sit and talk with him like this. You shrug your shoulders in an attempt to appear as if you don’t care, but the look in his eye tells you that you aren’t a good enough actress to pull it off. “You’ve seen me with coke on my nose and you’re surprised I smoke?” he states. Your eyes widen in horror as you remember seeing his dusted nose in the bathroom that day.

“Oh, I—”

“Everything in moderation. I don’t smoke or do drugs often. Every now and then to remind me I’m alive. Or when I’m stressed, I guess.” he hums as he explains. “You ever do drugs?” he asks.

“Nosy.” you tease back. A smile creeps onto his face, shaking his head with a pout as he considers you. “There was this one time when I got spiked…”

“Alright, shut up.”

“Are you ever going to apologise for how you’ve treated me, Megumi? Do you know what you’ve done to me?” you wonder.

It’s hard to talk to him. He’s so fucking unusual and mystifying you can’t help but lose yourself in conversation with him and want to know every inch of his aching soul. That’s your inner empath talking. But there’s a frightened voice within you that can’t let you forget what he’s done to you. Every single thing he’s done and you keep throwing it up in the form of words each time you remember. He asked you a question, and you couldn’t help yourself but remind him of what he is.

He’s a bastard.

A bully.

A monster.

He covers his ears with his headphones for the umpteenth time, disregarding your words and your existence entirely.

Something is telling you that you won’t be hearing from him for the rest of the journey.

Somehow you managed to drift off whilst riding out the final hour of the ride. Megumi was happy with his unicorn colouring and admired it for a while as the vehicle slowed down so that it could park. The other students began to stand up and pick up their belongings so they could get outside sooner. Everyone seemed to be desperate for some fresh air.

The girls of your worst nightmares sauntered by you both. But the blonde couldn’t help but stop and look at the two of you. She sniggers, pulling the attention of the redhead to stare at you as well.

“Looking very cosy, Megumi.” she spits, a loathsome tone in her voice.

Megumi looks to his side, seeing you comfortably resting on his shoulder as you continue to nap. He doesn't want to wake you. But for some reason he let the girl’s comments get under his skin. He shrugs his shoulder, hoping it would be enough to wake you. You stir, but he notes you have no intention of opening your eyes.

“Get up.” he demands, using the full force of his hand to shove you away from him. The back of your head thumps against the window and your eyes shoot open. Your heart is racing at your unfamiliar surroundings, evidently forgetting where you are whilst you had been sleeping. “We’re here.”

“You didn’t have to shove me.” you tell him.

“I’m not your fucking pillow, O’Keeffe. I know princess is used to everyone doing whatever she wants, though, so I’ll let you off this once.” he tells you as he gathers his things. Before you can get out of your seat, he’s shoving his three coloured pages in your face and demanding you put them in your bag. He is a princess. A childish little bratty princess.

“Don’t you want to keep them?” you ask him waving them in your hand wondering if he’ll change his mind.

“No, put them in your book. They’re yours.”

He stands in the middle of the walkway, blocking everyone from getting ahead of him as he waits for you to get your things together and get off the bus. It makes you nervous, you can hear people complaining in the aisle about being held back and it’s your fault. Why won’t he just let them by? He looks unbothered, as always. His expression is telling you not to worry. But how could you not? He towers above you when you finally stand up and guides you out.

The salty air hits you like a brick through a window. You’ve never felt so alive. And you can tell by Megumi’s face he’s enjoying it too. He’s disgruntled when he hears your lecturer inform you that you’re five minutes away from an art gallery you’ll be spending some time at.

He wanted some time to stretch his legs and breathe in the air; it is a crushing blow to realise he’ll be trapped in a stuffy gallery immediately after getting off the coach. You all walk together in the direction of the art gallery nonetheless. But when you get outside, Megumi pulls you backwards and drags you away from the group so that you can hide around the corner.

“What are you—?”

He’s lighting his cigarette and leaning against the wall. His face instantly turns from tense to pure ecstasy. He snickers each time you look around, tense about being caught with him and not inside with your class. As if you aren’t adults. It’s like you’re scared about being caught smoking.

You are.

“Why are you so antsy? Here,” he speaks as he holds his cigarette out to you. Though you politely decline, he continues puffing away and tarring his lungs. “We aren’t teenagers y’know. We won’t get in trouble.”

“We’re meant to be with the group! You didn’t even tell anyone about—”

“Shut up.” he hisses, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the bottom of his shoe. “C’mon then, princess, let’s get you inside before you blow a fucking fuse.” he moans as he storms ahead of you. Your legs work over time doing your best to keep up with his massive strides, still trailing behind him.

It turns out you were worried for nothing as you seamlessly re-join with the class. The two of you lingering in the back as your teacher explains what is going on. Apparently you have an hour to wander around and admire the work, and after that time you need to meet back up in the main room to listen to a speech from one of the curators here. Megumi rolls his eyes at that, immediately skulking off to the nearest elevator to hide on the top floor.

As much as you want to explore and admire all of the art, you know you’re easy pickings by yourself. The girls are eyeing you up like vultures the further away Megumi gets from you. You look between him and them a few times before rushing over to the elevator. He shakes his head in annoyance as he swallows liquid from an energy drink can he pulled out of his backpack.

“Little bloodsucker.” he mutters.

You ignore him, though, knowing it’s easier to listen to his insults than be involved with the girls downstairs. There isn’t much to look at when you step outside and onto the top floor. A few paintings and nothing more. Although there is a comfortable looking bench that Megumi soon makes himself at home on. You sit beside him twiddling your thumbs, unable to help feeling like you’re missing out on things.

“I’m not keeping you here, go look at the art.” he tells you.

“N-No…” you stutter, pulling your laptop out of your bag and searching the gallery up on the internet. “I’ll use my phones hotspot and… it’s fine. See, most of the paintings are on their website so—”

“It’s different in the flesh. You want to make some notes for your dissertation, right? Go look around.” he instructs.

“I don’t want to go. Those girls terrify me... They only leave me alone when you’re with me.”

“Well I’m here now. And there’s some paintings here, too. So go look at those.”

You suppose he has a point. There’s no one here but you and him. You tuck your laptop back inside of your bag and decide to look around.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you while you look at each painting and make page after page of in-depth notes. You’re smarter than he’s given you credit for. He hasn’t even thought about writing his dissertation. He feels a strange sensation in his chest each time you lean forwards and tuck your pen behind your ear as you study each individual brushstroke on the canvases.

He’s getting warmer, and he can’t stop smiling.

He tries to shake it away and drink more of his energy drink. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. About you. Why is he thinking about the time you kissed at your parents manor house?

Fuck.

He gets up, abandoning you as he strides towards the elevator again. It’s hard for you to put your things away and catch up with him, but you do. Standing side by side as the elevator descends to the floor below.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

He sticks close to you as you wander from painting to painting. He even shields you from the girls when he spots them getting a little close, not that you noticed, too captivated by the paintings. They’re all so homely and sweet. The type of painting you’d see in a grandparent’s home. Mostly beachscapes and sea life. You turn a corner, and Megumi whistles as he studies the painting in front of you both.

“Wow…” you huff.

“It’s... big.” he follows.

“And so detailed.” you add.

It’s another beachscape, but with a ton of attractions included in the image. Amusement parks, restaurants, you name it. You’re scribbling down notes furiously as you take in every inch of the beautiful painting. Megumi, meanwhile, is more interested in the floor to ceiling window overlooking the town and bathing the painting in natural light. He notices something in the distance that makes him squint in concentration. His vision begins to alternate between the painting and the window. He takes your breath away as he drags you towards the window so you can see what he’s looking at. You begin to copy him as you look between the painting and the window, seeing what he’s seeing.

“An aquarium!” you smile, excited by the prospect of going.

“Shall we go?” he asks. You shake your head.

“We can’t,” you tell him as you hoist your bag over your shoulder and begin to walk towards the elevator for the final time. “we have that speech thing in ten minutes.” you remind him. When the doors open and you blend in with the group, your lecturer stands proudly in front of everyone.

“Feel free to look around for another ten minutes before the wonderful curator tells us about the history of the town and how it influenced the art on display.” he announces.

You turn to see Megumi standing with raised eyebrows.

Do you really want to stick around and listen to that?

Both his facial expression and your internal monologue ask you that. When there’s an aquarium down the road? Absolutely fucking not. He tilts his head in the direction of the exit, and you both casually walk towards it hoping to not get caught. Once outside, you begin to sprint together down the streets.

“You’re a bad influence.” you tell Megumi as you slow down now that you’re safe enough to walk.

“You feelin’ alright princess? Didn’t think you had this in you.” he taunts.

“Let’s just go,” you demand as you overtake him in your speed walking, “I wanna see some fish!”

Megumi covers the cost of the admission fee, telling you that you have to pay for food. You remind him that you can’t be any later than 5pm or you’ll miss the coach home. He side eyes you as your phone lights up with a text. You reply with a cheesy smile on your face.

Why does he feel so fucking angry about it?

He feels even worse as you giggle with your reply.

“Who’s that? Yuuji?” he asks. Instantly cringing at his questioning. He shouldn’t have asked. He doesn’t care. Does he? Why did he ask?

“I haven’t heard anything from Yuuji since he left.” you sigh, wondering why he hasn’t made the effort to answer any of your messages yet. You hold your eyes shut as you try and dispel the negative thoughts from your mind. Smiling when your eyes open and excited to tell Megumi the truth. “It was your dad, actually.” you chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? You text with my dad?” he queries.

“Not really, he was asking how we’re doing and if you’re giving me any shit.” you explain.

“Gonna rat on me again?”

“No! I—”

“Ugh, you’re sick. You want to fuck each other so bad. It’s obvious.” Megumi pouts, walking away from you as he steps into the first room.

“I do not! I can’t speak for Toji and I wouldn’t blame him because, well, look at me.” you joke as you flaunt your body and your face sarcastically. “But I’m with Yuuji and I love him and I’m happy.” you speak a little louder than intended. He nods, but doesn’t speak. You think he’s more interested in the fish, which is fair.

You spend time in each room. Sometimes you stand together, and other times you stand apart. The rooms all link together, so you take your time exploring them all. From Amazonian fish to cold water ones. By the time you reach the warmer waters room you hear Megumi’s stomach begin to growl.

“There’s a café upstairs.” you tell him as you lead the way.

You point at the window while you wait for your orders to be brought to your table. It’s raining. His face scrunches in disbelief. It has been perfect sunshine all day. Barely a cloud in the sky and now it’s pouring down rain.

“I told you.” you remind him.

“Yeah, you did.”

You note the time on your phone, telling him that you should probably go back to your class soon. But he disagrees. You’ve got over an hour before the bus leaves and you still have a few rooms left to look at. You’re satisfied with your small plate of food but it’s clear that it has barely touched the sides for Megumi. Though he declines your offer to get him something else, he’s more intrigued by the prospect of looking at the sharks.

“Maybe we’ll see a purple dolphin.” he jokes.

He starts to think of all of the colouring you did together on the coach. And the flowers. Why didn’t you finish the flowers? They’re your thing. He calls you O’Keeffe for a reason. He picked that page specifically for you.

Were you just too tired?

“How’s your sketchbook doing? I bet you’ve got a garden growing by now.” he asks, distracting himself from annoying, niggling thoughts. You puff out air, unsatisfied with the question and your current predicament.

Flowers. Fucking flowers.

“I’ve fallen out of love with flowers...” you admit, earning a surprised expression from Megumi.

“Shame. What’s the reason?” he questions, oblivious.

“… You. Because of you, Megumi.”

He clears his throat, awkwardly. It’s not that he feels bad, he doesn’t, but it’s like a real look in the mirror. You aren’t joking with him like you had on the bus. You aren’t trying to get him in trouble with Toji. It’s earnest, it’s real.

You’ve stopped loving something that meant so much to you, because of him.

Painting flowers meant so much to you. It calmed you. Brought you joy, happiness, strength. And each time he harassed you, called you names, harmed you, destroyed that. It was like he personally ripped an individual petal from every single flower to exist.

You’ve lost love.

The world has lost its bloom.

He gets up, walking away from the table without a word. You’re never going to get a word out of him. You’ll never get an apology or an acknowledgement of what he’s done to you. What you’ve become because of him. That’s just something you need to come to terms with. You step out into the tropical waters display, a huge underwater tunnel showing you the sharks swimming over your head. The unpleasant conversation seems to melt away from you as you watch the sharks movements and rippling water above you.

The bright blue water illuminates both of you. Though you don’t pay attention to Megumi, he can’t stop staring at you. After torturing you for so long, he doesn’t think he’s seen you truly happy until today. You look like a totally different person to him with an earnest smile on your face.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” you query as you make eye contact with Megumi. He does nought but nod, looking above him at the sea life once again.

“Yeah.” he mutters, so quietly you can’t hear him. He watches you for a while as you take more pictures on your phone.

“Smile!” you tease, pointing your phone at him and catching him off guard. You manage to get one nice one, the rest you take are him covering his face. “Will you take one of me?” you wonder. He hesitates, but nods.

He takes a few as a shark swims behind you, handing your phone back to you to see if you’re satisfied.

“I think you’ve got a new muse.” Megumi informs you. You look deeply into the water, considering his words. Maybe he’s right. It can’t hurt to take some more pictures just in case.

“Come here.” you command him. He gets closer, but begins to retreat as you flip your camera to selfie mode. “Just one, stay still!”

He cracks a smile as you take a photo of yourselves together with the blinding blue water highlighting you both. You consider putting it on your story, but your stomach sinks at the prospect of Yuuji stumbling upon it. He watches you save the image and close out of it, keeping it for your own personal memories.

“Shall we get another coffee and then go?” you ask.

“There’s a gift shop over there.” he points. Your eyes widen. There is nothing more exciting than a gift shop. Regardless of how overpriced they can be.

“Okay. Coffee. Gift shop. Bus.”

“Sure.”

“How cute is this shark!” you smile as you practically shove the shark plush in Megumi’s face. “I want it but—”

“Sure. Hurry up and decide while I go piss.” he sighs as he leaves you alone in the gift shop.

You become incredibly tense after you put down the shark. It was as soft as a cloud, but as the time draws nearer to 5pm, your nerves get the better of you. Where the hell is he? You linger outside the bathrooms for a little while, despite the fact it’s making you feel like a criminal, but he doesn’t appear.

The time hits 5:29 and you can’t help but wonder if he is back to his old tricks. Did he go to the bus alone and leave you stranded here?

You look out of a nearby window, and spot him standing across the road. A cigarette between his fingers on one hand and his phone to his ear in the other. Even from this distance you can practically see a vein bulging in his forehead. He’s yelling, furiously. He tosses his cigarette aside and continues talking as he walks back into the aquarium.

At that moment, your heart sinks.

Right as he walks inside, you see your class’ coach drive behind him and out of town. Fuck. You run faster than you ever have before, sprinting down the stairs and out of the building. You didn’t see Megumi, but you pick your phone up and begin to dial your lecturer again and again.

No answer.

You run back inside; searching each and every room to find Megumi again. In hindsight, it would have been a great idea to finally ask for his number while you were on the coach. He’s nowhere in sight, and you worry you’ll never find him at this rate. Should you wait outside for him? Stay in one room and hope that he finds you?

You rush outside into the torrential rain, tears streaming from your face. You aren’t sad, you’re stressed. You’re scared. Where is he? What the hell are you going to do? You’ve been left here and you’re stuck! How could they do this? How could your school just leave you here and not even try to get in touch?

“What are you doing out here?” Megumi asks, yet another cigarette latched between his teeth.

“Did you do this on purpose?” you accuse him, a dangerous scowl on your face telling him you aren’t playing around.

“I was just—” you cut him off as he raises a bag he’s holding in his hand.

“You knew we had to be back at the pick up site for 5pm. Look at the time! It’s gone, we’re stranded! What the fuck are we going to do?” you rant and rave as he continues to smoke casually.

“I don’t want to be stuck here in this weather with you. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Who were you on the phone to?”

“What?”

“I saw you from the window. Arguing. Was it Toji? Were you telling him your latest plan to make my life hell? No one can save me while we’re here. Haven’t you fucked my life up enough?” you begin to cry harder as the stress sets your mind into overdrive. Why did this have to happen to you? Why is he doing this?

“It wasn’t Toji. It’s none of your fucking business who I talk to on the phone.”

“But—”

“Shut up. Stop crying. Let’s go inside and figure out what we’re going to do.”

You suppose he has a point. Crying won’t solve anything, and maybe you were a little rash in accusing him. Not everything is about you. That’s what you’re sure he’s telling himself in his mind. That you’re a spoilt princess and making something about you which, in reality, didn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just an unfortunate circumstance that you missed the bus home. You need to figure out how to fix this.

You need to find a way home.

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noctumbra · 2 years

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𝒊𝒗. 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏

🍂 summary ─ dead on your feet, fear not, you have bucky who’s willing to help you get back on your feet and make sure you’re safe.

🍂 pairing ─ farmer!bucky barnes x reader

🍂 warnings ─ fluff, bucky taking care of youuuuu, small note, a flower bouquet

🍂 a/n ─ i want me a bucky thank u. oh i also want a muffin

You breathed in the freshly brewed coffee smell as you tiredly stepped inside your favorite coffee shop with your tote and laptop bags slung over your shoulders.

When you couldn’t find any empty cabs, you decided to walk, but you didn’t think how tiring it would be to your already exhausted body. You were cursing yourself for wearing pencil skirt and heels today, knowing fully well that you would have some weight to carry around all day. It seemed like a good idea in the morning, but you should have known better to trust your own judgement in the mornings.

You groaned as you placed your bags on the table, breathing out a relieved and pained sound all in one. You rubbed your shoulders, trying to ease the pain, but you knew only a warm bath and hot press would ease the real pain in them. You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against the cool surface of the table.

Your legs were throbbing, your heels were numb at this point, and your stomach was grunting at you to give something to eat for the past two hours. You sighed. If you had even a little bit energy, you’d have already gone up and got yourself a coffee and a sandwich, no, a muffin. You were drained, though, so you opted out from the moving option. You could rest here a bit before you forced yourself to walk over the register.

So, you sighed again but deeply and tried to relax all the muscles in your body. A little break would do you good, you knew that.

─

You see, Bucky was lucky when he decided to be a good boy, and lately he had been the best. As a result, the universe was blessing him with the coincidence of coming across to you on his day off every week.

There was this voice that kept telling him to go out, to get coffee and treat himself ever since he woke up that morning. He almost didn’t listen to it, almost chose to stay in and under his thick duvet with his baby, Alpine, but he was so damn grateful that he indeed listened to that voice and went out.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to see you.

No matter how tired, sleepy and dead on your feet you looked, you were so pretty.

Bucky was kind of worried, though.

“May I take your order?” The girl at the register, Wanda, her name tag said, asked him gently. Bucky blinked and took his eyes away from you although he couldn’t help but sneak another glance: You were sitting at a table with your heavy-looking bags scattered on the large surface while your forehead rested on the table. “She overworks, no matter what we tell her, she does.”

Bucky blinked again and looked at Wanda. “She does this all the time?” Wanda nodded. “She looks like… she’ll sleep there if you let her.” Wanda smiled a little.

“Nothing she didn’t do before,” she murmured. “We told her not to pull any extra shifts if she didn’t have to, but she…” Wanda sighed. “She doesn’t listen. So, we try to get her blood sugar up and make sure she’s at home safely on these sorts of days.” Bucky frowned as his worry grew.

“Blood sugar up?”

“Yeah, her looking like that means she probably didn’t eat anything either since breakfast or lunch,” Wanda explained. Then, her green eyes observed you resting on the table carefully for a couple seconds. “It’s most likely the formal today.”

“Breakfast?” Bucky asked incredulously. Wanda shrugged. “Oh my God,” Bucky whispered and shook his head. “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll get a vanilla late, grande. A good ole tea for her, whatever size she prefers usually, and a muffin.”

Wanda hid her smile as she wrote down the orders, preparing the cups. It was nice to see that her friend had this charming, handsome admirer who jumped at the first chance to take care of her. “Anything else?”

“Um, can you add a sandwich into the mix?” Bucky asked. “But, like, cut it in half?” Wanda nodded slowly and added the order. She told him the total, and Bucky quickly paid it. Pietro called out for the orders and placed the muffin and sandwich on a small tray. Bucky thanked him and walked towards the empty table right next to yours.

“Hey,” he called out softly, careful not to cause you flinch. You breathed in sharply and lifted your head. Bucky saw the mark the table left on your forehead, he grimaced lightly. “Hey, welcome back.” You groaned and rubbed your eyes, forgetting that you had mascara on. Bucky went back to the register and asked for a wet wipe which Wanda handed him happily. He thanked her.

“There you go,” he murmured. You looked at the wet wipe Bucky had in his hand, and then looked up at him blankly. Bucky frowned. His worry was visible in his pretty blue eyes. He reached out. “May I?” He asked, and you nodded, feeling dumb and sleepy still. Bucky’s free hand took a hold of your chin, his grip very gentle and hand very warm and smooth, while his other hand slowly wiped the smeared mascara around your eyes. After he was done, he pulled back.

He grabbed the tray and put your tea and muffin in front of you. “Why don’t you eat something?” He said. “Tea will warm you up, and muffin will give you some energy.” You yawned, hiding your mouth behind your hand. Grabbing the big cup full of tea, you sipped it. Your eyes closed as you hummed and took a couple more sips from your tea. “Good, yeah?” You nodded. Bucky pushed the muffin towards you. “Eat a little bit of this, and I’m gonna give you a sandwich.” You placed your cup down, fingers found the muffin and tore it apart gently. You popped a small bite into your mouth, softly moaning at the taste. Your stomach grumbled. Bucky grinned.

“We’ll quite it down, don’t worry,” he murmured, winking playfully. “Eat some more.” You did. You plucked small bites from your muffin, almost inhaling the half of it under a minute, when Bucky placed a half-sandwich in front of you. “Want me to cut it into smaller parts?” He asked you, and you shook your head. “Alright.”

You swallowed your muffin and washed it away with a big sip from your tea. “Aren’t you eating?” You asked him. Even your voice sounded tired, and Bucky did not like that at all.

“I am,” he answered you, showing the other half of the sandwich. You nodded. Pushing the rest of the muffin towards him. Bucky raised a brow.

“’s only fair,” you mumbled before biting down your sandwich. You hummed as you ate it, sipping your tea occasionally. You watched Bucky munching on his own sandwich, saw him drinking his coffee and licking his lips.

Your sleepy self was waking up, albeit slowly, but you were utterly thankful for the sugar and some food he brought. You were still tired, your legs still throbbed and heels and shoulders ached, but you felt better than when you first walked in. It meant a lot. Especially when you thought about all the time you were going to spend going home. You made a soft whining noise, but it got lost in to the sound of blender.

“How do you feel?” Bucky asked. You wiped your mouth, finishing your tea.

“Good,” you said. “Better than before.” Then, you frowned slightly. “Still exhausted, though.” Bucky made a soft, broken sound. He wished terribly that he had come here with his bike or his dad’s car. That way, he could have given you a ride instead letting you slave away in a cab or subway.

“Good,” he muttered. His phone beeped. Sneaking a peek, he saw his mother asking him if he could come home a bit earlier. He tried not to frown. It wasn’t everyday his mother asked stuff from him, so he did not get to whine. “Is there anything I can do?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, thank you,” you murmured. “I’ll probably have another tea and go home.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “Thank you for the food and tea.” He shrugged. A shy smile formed on his full lips.

“Anytime,” he whispered. Your heart fluttered like it did back at the park. You cleared your throat. Bucky blinked. “I, uh, I have to go. My mom, she needs me.” He stood up and grabbed his half-full coffee cup. “Please be careful, okay?” You nodded, ignoring your heart’s reaction to his words with your whole will.

“Yeah,” you said. He smiled and sent you a small wave. You waved at him back. As he walked away from you, you slumped on your seat. Closing your eyes as you waited for food to do its job.

You didn’t see him placing a flower into the inner pocket of your jacket with a small note. You didn’t notice it until you came home, actually, since you opted out of wearing your coat because you decided taking a cab.

When you did notice, though, your face split up into a huge smile. All your exhaustion and throbbing limbs were forgotten with a beautiful daffodil bouquet and a small note that said: “You looked very tired and sad, for some reason that I do not know. Hope this will cheer you up and put a smile on your face. Your smile is beautiful.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #muffin

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dakt37 · 1 year

Text

I love this "Wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday" trend. I don't have any new art, but here's a little ficlet set in my de-aged Tails Boom AU. It takes place before the other one.

~~~

"Never fear, Amy Rose is here!" She announced herself with gusto as she threw open the front door of Tails' house, inviting herself inside. Hearing noises, she immediately looked left to the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

Sonic didn't turn to face her, too focused on his task. "What's it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're scouring a child like he's a dirty coffee cup."

Sonic froze mid-motion, then cranked his head around to glare at her over his shoulder. "Bathing an infant in the sink is perfectly normal. Look it up."

Amy hummed loudly and with much incredulity, walking around behind him to circle the long counter that cordoned off the kitchen alcove. When she got to the opening, she wasn't impressed with the scene inside. "He's closer to a toddler than an infant," she observed. "And you've gotten more water on the floor than in the sink."

Sonic glared at her again, this time over his other shoulder. "Are you here for a good reason, or just to criticize my parenting?"

Amy's eyebrows went up, but she left the label unanalyzed. "I brought food." She retrieved a large glass pan from her flowery tote bag and held it up like a trophy.

Sonic's frown deepened. "He's baby-fied, not dead," he snapped. "I don't need your condolences casserole." He turned back to the sink and poured shampoo into his palm.

Amy's eyes widened, then narrowed. A silence stretched as Sonic pointedly ignored her, the gentle motions of his fingers lathering fur a stark contrast to the emotion twisting his face. Luckily, the little fox under his hands was more interested in the hardware of the sink sprayer than the tension between the hedgehogs.

Eventually, Amy blew out a slow breath. "You know what I think?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," Sonic grumbled, turning on the tap and checking the temperature of the water. With a plastic cup, he began rinsing suds off of Tails, letting the faucet run between refills.

Amy set down everything she had been carrying, and came to lean against the counter next to the sink. "I think," she placed a hand on Sonic's shoulder, causing him to pause again, "you're doing a great job. But you don't have to keep doing it alone."

Sonic silently watched Tails for another moment as the kid twisted the sink sprayer around in its base, examining the trigger mechanism.

"There better not be celery in that thing you cooked," Sonic finally said. He ghosted a finger across the tip of Tails' ear, watching it flick reflexively. "Because I'll tell you right now, he will know and he won't eat it."

"Never, "Amy retorted imperiously. "I do recall the Potluck Incident of last spring. And I don't imagine he was less picky as a toddler."

Sonic slumped then, resting on his forearms against the sink edge and letting his wet hands drip into the basin. He cocked his head to finally face her again, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah," he agreed, "I know you're smarter than that." His eyes flicked away, guiltily. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted." She gave his shoulder a squeeze and added gently, "We'll figure this out. Our little guy will be a slightly bigger little guy in no time."

"Ah, well," Sonic sighed. "It's not all so bad right now. Is it, bud--"

He turned to address the soggy little fox in the sink, and got a facefull of water. Tails giggled, his tails sloshing the shallow water around him. He held the sprayer in both hands, having successfully wrested it from its base and pulled up enough hose to let him take aim at the hedgehog.

"You little gremlin!" Sonic cried in faux outrage, "Surrender your weapon!"

Tails just laughed again and sprayed him right between the eyes.

Amy giggled as well, then pointed at the main faucet, which was still running between sprayer attacks. "You gave him the ammo, Sonic."

Sonic wrapped his hand around his little brother's on the sprayer, and directed it to soak her too.

#the curious case of miles prower #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #dakity yaks #dakt rambles about sonic stuff #i wrote this in October and never posted it because I'm irrationality self conscious about writing prose 🫣#i brainstorm in present tense; if i switch it to past tense it's suddenly the most embarrassing thing I've ever written #idgi either but there you go

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mayajadewrites · 4 months

Text

Never Say Never - Suguru Geto x Reader

Chapter Three: Study

Chapter Summary: Suguru and reader go to the café to study for finals, and we get a bit of Geto's POV in this chapter! Smut coming soon hehe

ao3

"Sugu, you want to study with me tonight? Our favorite café?" I looked at Suguru across the hallway. Finals are coming up and you're nowhere near ready.

"You don't have a date tonight?" His eyes never left his phone screen.

"A date with my textbooks." I roll my eyes. "It's a yes or no question."

"I have nothing better to do." Suguru slid his phone in his pocket, turning his back to me.

Since Gojo's birthday, Suguru has been quieter than usual. He's retreated to his room, which is arguably his safe haven, and is doing God knows what.

Debatably, I miss my best friend. I've been spending some of my time with Toji, getting to know him and avoiding the two of us in bed together. I'm not the type to sleep with just anyone, I need mental, emotional, and physical connection.

I slip on my favorite oversized sweater with jeans and combat boots. I find my tote bag and put it over my shoulder, waiting for Suguru at his door.

He opened his bedroom door and look startled when I was waiting for him.

"Sugu, stop being weird." I cross my arms over my chest. "I've barely seen you. We've barely seen you."

"I'm fine." His backpack hit his back before he brushed past me. I felt his arm touch my skin, leaving goosebumps.

The café is pretty quiet, just the way Suguru and I like it. He orders my coffee for me and brings it to our table. I pull out my laptop and open up my assignments, sighing at the screen.

Suguru sat in front of me, bringing his laptop out of his backpack. I glanced at him before he could notice, observing his chocolate eyes.

Why am I staring at Suguru?

His face looks like he was crafted by Greek Gods, so much work must've went into creating him.

I've always found Suguru handsome. I would never admit it out loud, but it's true. He's tall, has the most beautiful long black hair, and his face is one that I could stare at forever.

He could sense me staring at him and my heart almost stops.

"Do you like what you see?" Suguru smiles for the first time in forever. His long black hair cascades past his shoulders with a little bun holding some pieces. His front pieces frame his face, moving with his words.

I blush, going back to my typing. I've never seen Suguru like this. I've never looked at him in a way that made my core pulse with need.

When he looks down at his laptop screen, I look at Suguru again. He's wearing a black t-shirt that barely covers his biceps. My eyes follow the veins on his arms to his large hands, his fingers typing quickly.

I wish those fingers were in me.

Am I just horny because Toji and I haven't slept together yet?

A message pops up on my screen, interrupting my thoughts.

Sugu: Stop eye-fucking me before I take you in the bathroom right now.

I freeze, trying my best not to let Suguru know that he's not only right, but I wish I could jump his bones right this very second.

Me: Over my dead body.

Sugu: That can be arranged.

I can't help but feel some sort of attraction to Suguru at this moment. Maybe I've always felt this way and didn't do anything about it, but I'm not gonna be the one to admit my feelings first. They might be fleeting feelings anyways.

Geto

God, is she gorgeous.

I've had a crush on her since we were in high school, but being best friends kind of ruins any idea of a relationship. Losing her would be like losing half of me, which at the time I didn't think was a good gamble.

But when I saw her with Toji, a man who looks like he has a roster of women at his beck and call, those feelings resurfaced and I felt them in my mouth.

To be fair, I've brought plenty of women home. Mostly one night stands, and I know she heard me with them. I never thought about her feelings towards that because my romantic feelings were idle. I assumed she was fucking men outside of the house, so my worries subsided.

Now is different. Now, I want to kiss her every time I see her.

Now I want to feel myself inside of her.

Now I want to build something with her.

It might be too late, but oh well.

She took a sip of her coffee, leaving foam on her lips. "You have something right here," I took my finger and wiped it off her lips, then sucking on my own finger. "Cinnamon."

My dick was already hard thinking about what her pussy tastes like and eating her till she's screaming.

"Suguru." She sat up, fixing her hair. "What are you doing?"

"Helping my friend not look stupid." I smirked, going back to my typing.

She sighed, going back to her studying. Her tan skin glowed against the light in the café, and her hair framed her face beautifully as it made its way down past her chest. I watched her chest move up and down as she breathed, slowly and relaxed. I could watch her all day.

The bell to the café rang, signaling someone walking in.

Of fucking course.

You

"Hello gorgeous." Toji sliced your thoughts, pulling a chair up to your table. "I was on my way to my friends house when I thought I'd stop by for a coffee."

"Hi, Toji." I smiled as he kissed me on the cheek. Suguru's face was like stone. "This is Suguru Geto, my best friend and roommate."

"Nice to meet you. Toji Fushiguro." Toji reached his hand out, half smiling.

Suguru didn't say a word, but took his hand roughly, shaking it.

I watched the two as they interacted without saying anything verbal to each other.

An unspoken argument.

"Want me to stop by tonight?" Toji finally spoke, turning to me. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. Not tonight, I'm not feeling my best." I waved my hand. "I'll text you." I reassured him with a smile.

"Okay, I gotta get going. Have a good day beautiful, and it was nice meeting you Suguru."

Suguru nodded, still not speaking.

Toji got his coffee and left after what seemed like ages.

I kicked Suguru's leg under the table, receiving a glare in return. "What the hell was that?"

"Did you want me to hug him?"

"No, I wanted you to at least be nice."

"Why?"

"I'm nice to all the women you bring home." I cross my arms over my chest. "I even pretend I can't hear you fucking their brains out."

"Touché." Suguru nods. He leans forward at the table, insinuating I should do the same. "That should be you." He whispers.

Chills are sent down my spine as he says that, my arousal dampening my panties.

This man is teasing me and having fun with it.

"I'd rather fuck a man with a dick bigger than 4 inches." I whisper.

"Oh baby, add about 5 inches to that." He winked, and I think my pussy heard that before me, because I was soaking.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

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sufficientlylargen · 4 months

Text

Merry Crit Miss

'Tis the night before Crit Miss, and all through your house, not a sound can be heard save the click of your mouse. You scroll through your dashboard with nary a care; you've no clue that Saint Nicholas soon will be there.

You reblog your 500th Goncharov post, and continue to scroll, completely engrossed. When, from up above, there arises such clatter that you leap from your bed to see what is the matter!

In your haste, you forget you were browsing your dash - your laptop is hurled 'cross the room in a flash! It lands on its corner; you're sure it's just broke - with a crunch and a flash the machine belches smoke.

The cloud makes you dizzy, your vision gets blurry, and you lurch through the door to escape in a hurry. You misjudge the door frame, trip, stub many toes, and fall face-first forwards to land on your nose.

The main room is dark but stars flash in your vision and you feel blood drip from the site of collision. Dazed and confused you sprawl out on the ground, when you suddenly hear an odd rapping sound.

It sounds like… A horse? Or some other hoof? It's prancing and pawing up there on your roof? Oh right! You remember that something had clattered! That's why you'd jumped up, why your laptop was shattered!

And now there's a scraping noise from near the flue - Is this some weird break-in? What should you do? You grope for a lightswitch and just as it's hit, a kindly voice booms "HO, HO, OH HOLY SHIT!"

In a twinkling you realize your awful mistake as the room fills with screams and the air starts to bake. The switch which you thought ought to turn on the light was instead that which makes the gas fireplace ignite!

And now you can see, by the light of the fire, the shape of a man wrapped in flames like a pyre! He's trying to open the grate to get out, but it's stuck - rusted shut through neglect, you've no doubt.

You take up a poker and rush to the grate, Prying and trying with all of your weight to force it apart! SNAP! It breaks from the wall! And you and the flaming man to the floor fall!

The grating is hot, and it burns at your skin as you work your way out of the heap that you're in. One last shove and you're free! You stand up, and look down at the stranger who's lying, too still, on the ground.

He's dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, though a lot of it's now turned to ashes and soot. The stump of a pipe still protrudes from his teeth, While ashes encircle his head like a wreath;

The beard of his chin, once as white as the snow, is stained red with blood in the embers' dull glow, And his blankness of eye, and the twist of his head, Soon give you to know that this dude's super-dead.

With horror you notice, right in this man's chest A long metal rod is quite firmly impressed. The poker you'd grabbed when the grating was stuck! It went right through his sternum! Oh shit, you think, fuck!

In shock you lurch back, but your foot hits a snag - It's caught on the edge of late Santa's toy bag. You trip and expect to land flat on your back…

But instead you plunge into the toy-toting sack…

And that, I'm afraid, is the end of this tale, For my observational powers here fail. The toy-bag of Santa's a curious place Where infinite gifts drift in transfinite space

But without good Saint Nick there to tend to the mess What happens within it I only can guess. Perhaps you keep falling. Perhaps ground you hit. Perhaps you awaken some Thing in the pit.

The things that I do know: your house does burn down, And in its remains just one body is found. It's chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, (now stabbed and flambéed by your since-vanished self).

A lot of deer droppings are seen the next day, But nobody sees a reindeer, or a sleigh. And so this poem closes, we've come to the end. Merry Crit Miss to all!

You are not seen again.

#merry crit miss!#sufficiently poetic verse

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kaftan · 6 months

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The mayor wasn’t dead, but he looked like the man might be dying. Was I condoning this by staying silent? I’d told myself I would let Coil’s plan play out until he did something unconscionable and this threatened to cross the line.

Passively observing the mayor bleed and wheeze from multiple stab wounds = totes conscionable

#wormblogging #she’s so silly…

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gretavanlace · 2 years

Text

Cabin in the Woods 11

Jake Kiszka x reader

Part One

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex, etc

*The long awaited sequel...you guys love this Jake so much it’s a little nerve racking, I pray this is at least somewhere close to what you hoped for. Love you all so very, very much ❤️😚

“What’s up with you and Jake?” Josh asks, metaphorically cornering you the second he gets you alone in the kitchen.

Unscrewing the cap off a half-empty bottle of tequila, you peer down at it. “What is this? Why can’t you guys just drink Jose Cuervo like everybody else?”

“Jake likes Olmeca.” he shrugs, holding his glass out for a splash. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

Sammy might be the closest to you, but Josh is far more observant and ever in tune with those around him, especially those he loves. You knew he’d be a problem from the moment you and Jake, tangled together on the couch in the dark, had decided to keep whatever was happening between the two of you, exactly that— between the two of you.

You fill his glass. Get him wasted and talk him in circles seems like an efficient way to go. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You two seem a little less...” he ponders silently for a beat. “A little less like you could joyfully murder each other.”

A genuine laugh rings out of you, causing a pretty grin to stretch across his face. “Joyful murder, huh?”

Now he’s laughing too. “Yeah, you look at him like you want to mow him down with your car.”

A gasp of feigned shock escapes you dramatically. ‘I would never! He might dent the hood!”

Josh raises his brow. “What if I let you use my truck?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of that thing, even if it did mean I’d get to run Jake over.”

He starts to defend his vehicle’s honor, but Jake saunters into the room. “Planning my demise, Princess? That isn’t very nice...and with my brother, no less.”

You throw him an abhorrent glare, much like you normally would, but it takes considerable effort. What you would rather do, is tell Josh to fuck off out of the kitchen so that you could drop to your knees and worship him.

He looks incredible, as he always does. Barefoot, with his worn, cuffed jeans and unbuttoned, ridiculously wrinkled shirt.

This seems like the perfect angle to throw a jab. Gotta put on the show and play the game, right? “So did you crumple all your clothes into little balls before you packed, or is this mentally deranged homeless man vibe just a happy accident?”

He smooths a hand down his shirt and grabs your glass off the counter, knocking back a generous swallow of tequila as easily as one would water. He looks you up and down before responding. “Happy accident, I suppose. And you? Is ‘the princess with a stick up her ass’ look one you had to work hard to achieve?”

“Fuck you.” you snap, feeling a little stung, though you know the drill.

He lets out a smug chuckle before finishing off your drink. “Maybe some other time, doll. I promised to wipe the floor with Sam in a game of chess.” His hand juts forward, indicating he’d like a refill. You comply, and watch him amble lazily out of the kitchen with your glass in tow.

Josh grabs a clean low ball and prepares you a fresh drink. The problem is, he does so quietly. Never a good sign.

Once your first sip is burning its way down to your belly, Josh leans forward, elbows on the counter, chin in hand. “Yeah, you know I’m not buying that shit, right?”

“What shit?” you roll your eyes and begin rummaging through the array of snacks scattered about to save from looking him in the eye. Upon their return this morning, Josh and Sam had toted in enough food and liquor to sustain a small army.

“I know you very well, love. And Jakey and I practically share a brain. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Josh,” you offer him the can of cashews you’ve decided on, and he crams his hand inside. “I honestly think you’ve finally lost your mind. I hate to break the news, but I still can’t stand your asshole brother, same as always.”

He moves straight past your defensive tone and speaks around a mouthful. “Did something happen with you two last night?”

Sammy’s voice booms from the living room, shouting for the delivery of booze, unknowingly rescuing you. So, you grab the first couple of bottles your hands happen to land on and scurry away from Josh and his incessant line of questioning.

Hours later, Sammy is lounging on the couch with his head in your lap, pretending not to pout over three lost games of chess, while Jake stares down at the board in concentration, with Josh, clearly the more worthy opponent, now across from him.

“Hey...” Sam reaches up, handing you his empty, sweating glass. You sit it aside on the end table and pet his hair. “Did that guy ever call you? The one you met at that bar the other night?”

“Why? Jealous?” you tease him, but is it Sammy you’re actually talking to? Or are you really asking Jake underneath it all? He doesn’t react, just continues to blink down at his pieces, with the pad of one finger balanced upon the tip of his bishop, but something tells you that he’s listening intently.

“Jealous of what?” Sammy tilts his head up and flashes that famous Kiszka smirk. “I know you love me best. I just think he seemed like a good dude, and he was obviously really into you. Did he call?”

“Yeah, he called.”

Jake takes a gulp of his drink, whiskey now, and bangs it down just a little too hard. “Speaking of calling people.” he says, focus shifting from the game to his twin. “You know who I’m thinking about calling? Jess.”

Josh tilts his head in thought, mentally sifting through Jake’s many conquests no doubt. His face brightens a bit once he thinks he has it figured out. “Turquoise jewelry?”

“Mhmm.” Jake nods, finally sliding his bishop diagonally.

You pray Sam can’t feel the way your body has tensed up, nor the annoyance that must be radiating in waves off of you for as fierce as it feels.

“Why?” Josh sounds slightly annoyed as well and you love him for it. It feels like he’s taking your side, even though he has no clue there are even sides to be had. Not for sure, anyway.

“I don’t know.” Jake leans back in his chair, legs splayed wide like he owns the entire world and everything in it. “Mostly because she had a mouth like a hoover.”

“Oh that’s really fucking charming, Jake.” it bites out of you before you have a chance to control your tone, leaving the venom in your words beyond evident, and it seems out of place. You’ve never been shy, and being this close to a group of rowdy guys for so long has left you with extremely thick skin...normally.

Josh’s face immediately shifts into one of self-satisfied discovery, your reaction having proven his suspicions. At least in his eyes.

For Jake’s part, he flings an arm over the back of his chair and turns in his seat to get a better look at you. “What’s the problem, princess? Do you have something against me getting my dick sucked? Don’t be a cock block.”

“Jake.” Josh says softly, trying to get him to stop.

You shouldn’t feel this angry. So you slept together once? It isn’t like that stakes your claim over him. “I don’t really give a shit what you do. I just don’t care to listen to you talk about what you do with your dick.”

He holds your stare as a smile, arrogant and sexy, plays on his lips. “You sure about that, doll?”

“Sometimes,” Sammy sighs, rising to his feet to get a refill. “I think you two should just fuck and get it over with. God, shut up. You’re ruining my buzz.”

This merely serves to widen Jake’s grin, and he looks so gorgeous, watching you with your little secret dancing in his eyes, that you have to look away.

“You want?” Sam holds up a liquor bottle after spilling some into his glass beside you.

“No, I think I’m going to go to bed.” you stand as Sammy begins to protest. He hates when a party starts to break up.

“Don’t do that.” Jake sounds uncharacteristically remorseful. “I’ll play nice.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jake. I’m just tired.” you stride past, placing a goodnight kiss on the top of Josh’s head as you pass. “You couldn’t run me out of a room if you tried. I’m very adept at ignoring you...it’s easy to do with someone who matters so little.”

You’ve gone too far, even you can admit that...but the flash of pain in his eyes is gone in an instant, only to be replaced with something unreadable, so you swallow the apology that had been readying itself on your tongue, and leave them to drunken chess.

The weight of his body dipping the mattress as he climbs onto the bed is what wakes you. The room is bathed in darkness, but you’d recognize the scent of Maker’s Mark, tobacco and that underlying warm woodsy trace, anywhere. “Jake!” you hiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hush up, princess.” he climbs over you until you’re forehead to forehead. “They’re both asleep.”

“Hush up?” you poke fun at his innocent choice of words. Very unlike Jake.

“Would you prefer it if I just shut you up myself instead?” His hand, warm and calloused, wraps around your throat.

A tiny sound shakes out of you as your eyes adjust to the dark and his face takes shape in the moonlight. He looks like a sinful deity hovering above you, so fucking beautiful and lovely.

“Did you mean what you said?” he whispers, ghosting his lips over your cheekbone. “That I don’t matter to you?”

He relaxes his hold on your neck to allow your answer. “You know I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wanted to take it back.”

Gentle kisses are now being dropped lightly upon your cheeks “So take it back now.”

“Okay...” you nod, already beginning to writhe beneath him. “I take it back.”

“That’s my good girl.” he grinds his half-hard cock against you in reward. When he lifts up to once again hover above you, you mourn the pressure with a little whine.

“Why’d you feel the need to be so mean to me, kitten?” there’s that ego drenched tone that makes you want to fuck his cock right off. “Was it thinking about her sucking me off? Were you jealous?”

You nod as he licks at your bottom lip delicately. “I don’t want to think about your cock in someone else’s mouth.”

“No?” he coaxes softly.

“No. Do you want to picture me on my knees for someone else?” You’re pressing your luck. Maybe purposely.

A low, feral noise growls out of him and a chill races up your spine. “That mouth is too pretty for any cock but mine. A pretty cock for a pretty mouth, right princess? Isn’t that what you said? That you’ve never seen one so pretty?”

“And that I’d wear a picture of it around my neck in a locket.” You remind him, lifting your hips to chase some friction.

He takes pity on you and presses you down into the mattress with his hips, rocking them slowly between your legs. “Keep it up with that shit and I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“Are you really going to call her?” You’re certain he isn’t, but you need to hear him say it. With his hands running lightly up your nightshirt, and his mouth spoiling your neck, and his cock thrusting against you, you need to hear him say it.

“No, baby.” he suddenly sounds so soft. “I’m not going to call her. What are you going to do if he calls you again? Are you gonna let him take you out?”

You shake your head and bite your lip to keep from smiling. So that’s why he brought her up. Of course it is.

“Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself?” he smiles down at you. “Trouble maker.”

He slides his clothed cock against your equally covered cunt a little faster, exhaling shakily into your hair. “Can I touch you? Or are you saving it all for him?” he’s teasing you, but you hate the thought of it all the same.

“I don’t want anyone else’s hands on me, Jake.” you confess, though it’s probably far too soon to voice something like that aloud. “No one else has ever touched me the way you did last night. No one has ever made me feel like that good. Not even close.”

He hums in approval. “You want me to touch you like that again? Right now?”

“Yes.” you whisper, reaching up to sink your fingers into his tangled locks.

“Yeah?” he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your own. “Does my pretty little doll want to cum?”

Tugging his hair in frustration, you whimper his name pathetically. “Jake, please.”

More kisses are bestowed along your cheek. “Do you think they know?” he asks conversationally, if only to drag you along a little further.

You answer him, though what you really want to do is order him to shut up and do something already. “I think Josh figured it out.”

“I think so too. He’s a nosy shit, isn’t he?”

“Are we gonna have a chat about your brother right now?” your hands fall from his hair to his hips, pulling on them to force more pressure where you need him the most. “I’m pretty kinky, but this is too much.”

He laughs too loudly for the quiet bathing the cabin and then dips down, kissing you deeply. You sigh blissfully when his tongue sweeps over your own. He smiles into the kiss at the sound, and it makes your heart palpitate wildly. “You’re pretty kinky?” he asks when he pulls away slowly, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Your face colors with heat, but you adore the sex dripping approval you hear in his question. “Maybe. Are you?”

A wolfish leer appears on his gorgeous face as, at last, he lifts up to make room for his hand, which is now slipping into your panties. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The plan was to answer him, it really was, but his fingers circle over your clit to say hello, and all concrete thought flees your mind for a moment.

“You gotta stay quiet, doll.” he shushes when a high-pitched moan of relief shakes out of you.

You feel scolded, though his words were gentle “I’m sorry.”

He keeps his eyes burning into yours in the dark as his fingers push inside you. “Don’t apologize. I’d give anything to let you be as loud as you need to be. You sound so fucking pretty, I’ve been thinking about it all day. Had to make myself cum twice just to be able to function.”

“Fuck.” you spread your legs wider beneath him and roll your hips into his hand when he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “You did?”

“You like that?” he curls his fingers and finds your sweet spot effortlessly. “Dirty girl.”

“Don’t do that.” you pant, taking hold of his wrist frantically.

He comes to a standstill and searches your face. “Don’t do what, baby? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t curl your fingers...” you clarify, still tugging on his wrist and forearm. “I can’t stay quiet if you touch me there. It feels too good.”

That rumbling growl rolls out of his throat again, and instantly his fingers are back to working away inside of you. “Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I wanna make you feel good...wanna make my pretty little doll cum and cum and cum.”

“Yeah...” you nod in feverish agreement as a moan tears out of your chest, floating into his ear. “Fuck, Jake...right there. Don’t stop, please, baby, please.”

“I know where you want it, princess.” his fiery gaze flickers from between your legs where he’s been watching himself work you, back up to your face. “I’m gonna get you there, you don’t have to beg.”

“So close.” you sound so embarrassingly whiny, you barely recognize your own voice. “So fucking close.”

“Come on, doll.” He sounds breathless, almost as if he wants it more than you do. “Do it for me. I want it so bad, baby...give it to me.”

His desperation to watch you get off pushes you off the tightrope you’ve been navigating and his name is a chorus as you let go around his fingers. Vaguely, aware of his words of soothing encouragement, you run your hands through his hair once again to hold on for dear life, but nothing he is murmuring to you makes sense.

At last, it starts to drift towards a hazy afterglow, but he decides that isn’t the direction in which he would like for things to go. He just keeps going, no matter how urgently you try to escape his fingers, they just keep going.

“Jake...” his name is a choked cry.

“Shh,” he leans in and sucks a trail of warmth up your neck, only to rasp into your ear. “Be still, baby. I’ve got you.”

You try so hard for him, but your body refuses to cooperate, so he splays his free palm out over your stomach and pins you down against the bed as his fingers continue to fuck into you. “You gonna cum again for me, princess? Gonna be a good girl make a mess of my hand with this gorgeous cunt?” his brow knits together in desire, as if he’s getting himself off right alongside you. “One more time? Right on my fingers? Can I have it, baby?”

He just sounds so needy for it, and he gets nothing out of this aside from watching you come apart. “Yeah?” your voice is thready and soft, but you manage a teasing lilt. “You want it that bad?”

He nods urgently with his bottom lip tucked deliciously between his teeth.

Riding his hand a little faster, you press on. “What do I get in return if I give it to you?”

“Come on, princess.” It rings out harshly, like a demand, but there’s a pleading look in his eyes that gives him away. “Give it to me. You can have whatever you want.”

There’s only one thing you want. You’ve thought of little else since he made mention of her mouth earlier. Your palms squeeze down on his shoulders for stability as his fingers fuck into so perfectly you think you might scream. “I want you to cum in my mouth.” You beg, desperation edging it’s way into your words...you’re just so fucking close.

“Fuck...” he sounds like he’s in pain, but in the prettiest way. Gritty and breathy. “I tell you that you can have anything you want and you ask me to cum in that soft, pink mouth of yours? Is that what you want, doll? You wanna taste me?”

“Yes. I want it...” your eyes squeeze shut, but you instantly miss him and force them back open. “I want you to feed it to me. I want to feel it on my tongue, warm and wet...wanna swallow you. I want it inside of me, so every cell in my body knows you and wants you, all the time, everywhere.”

His eyes widen a flicker and then narrow with lust so intense it steals the breath from your panting lungs. “I have never, ever, wanted anything as badly as I want you, princess. Even now, with you right here beneath me, my fingers buried inside you, with your cunt all tightened up and fluttering around my skin...it isn’t enough, I still just fucking want you.”

His confession stretches the white hot band searing and tightening in your belly to its breaking point. “Don’t stop, Jake. I’m gonna...” you stutter out a hitching cry when he presses and curls even harder, as if beckoning your release closer to him.

“That’s it, baby...” he nods against your forehead. “That’s my good little girl...you look so pretty, you sound like music. You’re my very favorite song. You just relax and let me take you there.”

You do as he says and sink down against the mattress bonelessly. “There you go, sweet girl.” His praise arches your back, you could live the rest of your life solely in search of new ways to please him. “Just breathe, love. Just feel for me. You deserve to feel this good, all the time, every day. You’re my pretty princess, and I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

It flutters through you gently, but it’s so perfect you forget to miss that frantic feeling. It’s warm, and slow, and all consuming, and you want to live right here in this moment with him forever, as he watches down over you with rapt, awestruck attention, taking it all in. “Jake...” you hardly make a sound.

“I know, princess. I know.” His spare hand brushes the hair out of your face as the other fucks you through it. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

A small nod is all you feel able to handle as you gaze up at his glowing face. He’s dark eyed and rosy cheeked, biting at his lower lip again, licking over it each time he releases it from the clamp of his teeth.

Working you through it gently, his eyes hold on to yours unwaveringly. They are so striking, golden brown and flecked with light...and the way he’s looking at you, it makes you want to ask him what he’s thinking. If only you could make your lips move.

The only thing you can focus on through the pink fog of bliss he has created in your head is his face, his eyes and the unbridled longing and awe you find there. They make you feel beautiful, and adored, and safe. Desired and wanted.

When it becomes too much, you reach down and circle your fingers around his wrist.

“Well, wasn’t that the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen?” he hums with a tender smile tugging his lips into a mouth-watering pout.

“I’m so sleepy now.” You whisper, feeling drained in the most perfectly warm, blurry way.

His thumb brushes over your lips affectionately. “Go to sleep, princess. I’ll stay with you.”

It makes you feel even softer than before, though you wouldn’t have thought that possible. The fact that you can feel how badly he needs you-- his cock, hard and pulsing, twitching and throbbing against your thigh. Yet here he is, telling you to go to sleep. That he’ll curl up beside you and suffer through it if it means you’ll have what you need. It seems so very unlike him, but now you know, it’s exactly like him.

You also know, rest is the very last thing you want in this moment. You grab him by the shirt, your fingers clutching the same wrinkled linen you had made fun of hours earlier. Did he even try to sleep? Or did he simply lie there, waiting for his brothers to pass out so he could sneak into your bed?

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Jakey.” You yank him in close enough to lap delicately at his lips. “You gonna give it up? Or am I gonna have to take it?”

His eyes catch the moonlight deviously. “Watch that mouth of yours, princess. You remember what I think about doing to you when you won’t shut up, don’t you?”

You return that devious energy of his and arch an eyebrow. “Up against a wall?”

“Yeah, baby...” He jerks you up into his arms and off of the bed so roughly, a shocked gasp sounds out of you. “...up against a wall.”

He holds you in his arms like he never wants to let go and then slams you into the wall that separates your room from Sammy’s. Was that intentional? You’ve always been more ‘Sam’s’ girl, even if it’s never been anything but platonic. The thought of him feeling territorial over you makes you ache with heat as you struggle to reclaim the wind he’s knocked out of you.

The sound of him fumbling with his belt as he pins you to the wall is all it takes for you to whine a needy, “Hurry.”

He hitches your thigh up over his hip and clutches at your throat with his left hand. “This was about shutting you up, kitten. Remember? Pull your fucking panties to the side.”

In record time, you’ve hooked your fingers into the soaked lace to bare yourself to him, and he’s lining himself up with something very close to a whimper crawling up out of his chest.

The cry that escapes you when he slams inside could shake the rafters, and definitely could wake the dead, let alone the sleeping...but it barely registers, you’re so lost in him.

“Yeah?” he taunts, sounding much less in control as he’s pretending to be as he rips your shirt over your head, pinning up with his weight “You like that, princess? Did you miss my cock?”

“Fuck, Jake...” your hands have woven their way into his hair again. It looks so tangled all the time, but it feels soft as satin. “Missed it so much. I wanna cum on your pretty cock again. Will you make me?”

Your legs wrap around his waist as he begins fucking into you savagely in response. “I’ll make you, baby.” he sounds choked and gorgeous. “You know I’ll fucking make you. Then what, where do you want me?”

With a snap of your wrist, you yank his head back by the hair, tilting his face up to yours. “I told you where I want you. Right in my mouth.” He groans wickedly and presents his tongue, an invitation for you to lick it, as you’re holding him in place and he can’t reach you. It’s so pretty, so pink, and it reminds you of all the sinful things he did to you with it last night.

When you suck it into your mouth his rhythm falters inside you, but he gathers himself quickly and pulls away. “Keep your fucking shit up and I’ll cum right now. Behave, baby...unless you’ve decided you’d rather have my cum in this pretty cunt instead of down your throat.”

“Tell me it’s pretty again.” you beg. Closer and closer with every thrust of his hips, every word, every moan he can’t manage to stifle.

“It is, princess.” he sounds gentle, in contrast with the absolutely brutal snaps of his thick cock inside you. “So fucking pretty, and soft, and wet, and fucking tight...you have the sweetest little pussy, don’t you? Thank you for letting me fuck it.”

“Thank you?” you’re stunned and so turned on your vision goes hazy.

“Yeah.” he nods, pressing his cheek into your palm which is now cupping his face. “Why shouldn’t I thank you? You’re fucking perfect.”

Without warning, you’re cumming hard around him. Clenching and squeezing like you want to keep him tucked up inside you for the rest of your life. Tugging his hair with one hand and pounding a fist into his shoulder over and over with the other as you futilely fight to stay quiet.

“There it is.” he croons, babying you with the softness of his praise. “That’s my girl. That’s my pretty little doll. Fuck, you feel so good. You tell me when you’re ready for it...I’m close, babe...c’mon.”

Rather than trying to cling to your orgasm as you normally would, you actively attempt to fight your way out of the fog in favor of being on your knees for him. “Now, Jake...” your voice sounds fucked out and strained. “I’m ready for it. I want it. Please.”

He drops your thigh and jerks himself back to pull out of you, watching like he’s a blind man who has seen for the first time as you drop down before him.

“This is more than just fucking, you know?” he asks with a confidence that tells you he already knows you feel it too.

“I know.” you agree. He nods with a tiny smile and your focus lowers.

You think for a flash about wrapping your hand around the thick base of him, but quickly decide you’d rather him fuck it into your mouth all on his own. He seems to understand this, and suddenly, your mouth is full of him. Flooded with the taste of yourself glistening all over his cock, and the underlying subtlety of him.

“Not gonna last.” he chokes.

You nod around him, gazing up at him like the god he is, and he slides in deeply, gritting his teeth when you gag lightly around his length. A hiss of a breath sucks in through his teeth, evoking from you a vibrating hum around him that sets him off.

The smallest, “Oh fuck, baby...fuck!” sighs out of him as he begins to jerk wildly in your mouth, pumping his release, hot and perfect, against the back of your throat as you greedily swallow him down. He is your new favorite taste and you want it on your tongue every fucking day.

With a final push of his hips, he buries himself in your throat until your nose brushes the soft skin of his belly, and then he gently pulls you back, staring down at you like you’ve stolen his soul, or at the very least, his heart.

“C’mere.” he strokes your face and guides you to your feet until you’re face to face. And there you stay for a while, pressed against the wall, with the weight of his body grounding you, staring at each other, sinking into the quiet little world, that is this quiet little bedroom, in this quiet little cabin in the woods.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @gardenofgreta @moonlightbrekker @theweightofstardust @celestialfauna @kdarling1 @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @shesalrightshesouttasight @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @jake-kiszkas-smirk @seventieswhore @gretasmokerising @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @tripthelightfandomtastic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @dakotadovato @joshsmama @joshkiszkas @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @weightofdreams-gvf @alisonwonderland29 @agirlwithmanytastes @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @janegvf @sparrowofthedawn @greta-flanveet-admin @obetrolncocktails @tbagggvf @xserenax-13 @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @loofypoofy @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @prophetofthedune @gretavanflowerpower @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @spicedandicedtea @saoirsemaeve

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfic #jake gvf #jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka #gvf #gvf x reader

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revelisms · 10 months

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Excerpt: A Smart Little Fool

Sevika and Silco share a meal.

From 'both sides of the moon,' a oneshot exploring Silco and Sevika's relationship through a series of business ventures. Full story on AO3

She isn't a mistress to be toted at his arm, even in the weeks business demands them to walk stride-for-stride: their city's Eye and Teeth, dagger and shield, blood-peppered and glistening and crowds carved in their wake.

Other men may have tried. Worn her strength off the crooks of their elbows, like a weapon flashed in the face of more foolish eyes. Seen her companionship as a blessed respite from it all, and let their treatments of her unfold into gauzier territories.

She'd snap their wrists, before they even dared.

There's nothing she so despises as pampering. Kindreds forbid any man get in her way, try to sweeten her up like some solstice water-pig, and dream of walking free with his head still attached.

As such, his versions come passively.

On a given day, it's in the form of extra coin—an unspoken gratitude for the disposals she ensures, the weaklings she delegates, the wreckage she suffers by the day under the brat he hasn't yet the nerve to call his own.

(His ward, his foundling, the youngest in his care—those titles, he throws about freely. Never daughter.)

She may have tried to pick through the layers of that—unravel the threads of his insistence on keeping all things at arm's length, even the girl he himself had carried back from the fires—had housed and clothed and armed and cared for, of his own will—if the sentiment, strangely, didn't seem to resonate.

The little sprite can't string together any paternal words, in his company. Not Father, not Dad—not even Sir, as Sevika's own cracked cattleprod of a sire had insisted upon. But she gravitates to him, like a moth to a flame. Stays sewn at his hip, now, more days that not—even more than Sevika, herself.

A part of her will not chew on the threat that sits in that. In the reality of a child placed above her, in the seat of his succession.

But the threat is there—and Silco knows it.

He observes, as equally as he is observed by her.

The coin and speciality shipments and allowances for more evenings than she needs run deeper than gratitudes—a sign that he's routed every inch of her doubts, before she's even let herself crack open the lid of them; that he will squash them where they lay, before they grow four limbs and crawl.

The rarest of his privileges is a meal.

Some nights, they're given in white-tableclothed businesses of his own, surrounded by up-and-coming Zaunite work-classes and dinners expensive enough to strip common-folk of their month's salary. Others, in the Drop's back kitchen, bowed about the heads of a hand-selected few.

The old pub had been a headquarters, before—and had since blossomed beneath his hand, to become one, again. History bled through the cracks in the walls: a place surrounded by myth. Revolutionaries had plotted war and reparation for two decades, in the Drop's mildewing cellars—revolutionaries and unionists and a Hound and a Bloodshark, freeing laborers and leading surges of protests, taking their city by the horns.

Times had changed.

The Hound was dead, now; the Shark still living—standing at the head of his table, surrounded by the knights of his keep, in a long sweep of black and red and a cigarette at his fingers: pouring out short-glasses of whisky and gin and stories few could claim the privilege to hear.

Tonight, though, the meal isn't around the war table.

They sit in one of their six main Sumpside fronts: a blue-walled, low-lit monstrosity of posters and portraits, clustered around a catacomb of varnish. It's the newest of his ventures. Among other social frivolities, the Siren boasts smuggled cross-river fare and live folk-players, and deals backhanded trades of shimmer from the storerooms.

On a better day, Sevika may have been more mindful of the gesture—may have found herself more appreciative of the steaming plate slid before her—if that blue-headed spitfire wasn't ticking the silence to a metallurgy seminar.

At his side, Jinx sits in a self-sewn patchwork of purples and blacks: finger-sheared gloves and striped stockings and hacked off assortments of fabric, all cross-hatched together in bright thread. A fork jitters in her knobby fingers, the skin stained with soot. She prods at her food, like it's waiting to bite back at her.

Those storm-blue eyes leap across the table, catch Sevika's own, and glare. In tandem, the two of them make an educated choice to look elsewhere.

A glass of scotch lazes between long fingers.

Half-mindedly, Sevika follows the sharp cut of his ice as it clatters around the crystal. He's slouched back in his seat, one arm hooked over the cushion's spine. He favors corner booths like this one: clear vantage points across his constituents, tucked away from prying eyes.

Subconsciously or not, she mirrors him. Plucks up her pint by the rim and swigs it. Sees the spearhead of his conversation coming, before it's thrown.

"Your meeting with Ilanna." Order, more than inquiry.

Sevika scowls. "As we expected." The young heiress had made a mess of her evening, in no small part for her under-table dealings with Finn. They'd had an eye on her, for weeks—waiting, inevitably, for the ball to drop. "Has the worm wrapped around her little finger."

His eyes lift. Teal skewing blue, in the room's light: a scepter forged in jade and moonstone. The lamps play a trick on the ink-smear of his dead iris, as though the thing was still living—golden, instead of bloody tones.

Silco sips down his liquor, clean as water. Mulls over the glass, "And what do you make of her?"

Sevika chews on that. Waits for him to reorient on her. He's wandering, again—plotting an unhurried assessment of the movement that unspools around the room. The lamplight cuts his profile to a hawkish point: turns the flick of his eye feline.

"She's like every damned heiress I've seen," she answers him. "Used to getting things at her beck and call." At his shoulder, the little runt fidgets with her plate. Sevika pulls her eyes away from her: cocks her brows at him, instead. "What do you?"

The scarred edge of his mouth thins. His breath portends a sermon.

"She's a smart little fool." He's fixed on the reflection that circles his liquor. The lowball finds an unhurried lay upon the varnish, tipped corner-to-corner: crystal prisming blue-gold light. "She knows what she wants—and what to play, to get it. I'll give her that."

Ire, in that admission.

For a man housed on the highest rung of their city's polluted circles, it puzzles her.

She would have assumed that he, like most of the power-hungered blights she had spent her youth guarding, would drain their streets of every pretty, handsome thing in reach: would claim it all, devour it, with a vile entitlement.

For reasons she does not understand, he won't.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #silco arcane #sevika arcane #jinx arcane #silco & sevika #still thinking about these two #they're just #*shakes fist*#augh #writing #both sides of the moon

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mariacallous · 2 months

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Moscow CNN — Two years ago, when Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, I was among the many long-time observers of the Kremlin who got it wrong.

Few could fathom why Vladimir Putin, Russia’s calculating leader, would embark on such a risky military adventure, especially when the mere threat of a Russian invasion was already yielding results.

In June the previous year, as Russian forces massed near Ukraine, US President Joe Biden met Putin at a superpower-style summit, describing the US and Russia as “two great powers” elevating the Russian leader after previous US administrations had sought to downplay Russia’s influence.

In the days before the 2022 invasion, Washington offered a “pragmatic evaluation” of Moscow’s security concerns, signalling openness to compromise.

Pitching Russian forces against one of the region’s biggest standing armies seemed uncharacteristically reckless and, therefore, unlikely.

There were others, though, who rightly saw the invasion as inevitable, better reading the Kremlin’s intentions, and confidently predicting a swift Russian victory at the hands of Moscow’s vastly superior forces.

Two years on, I like to think that those of us who doubted the Kremlin’s resolve were wrong for the right reasons.

What Moscow still euphemistically calls a Special Military Operation has been a bloodbath of catastrophic proportions, unseen in Europe for generations. Even conservative estimates put the number of dead and injured at hundreds of thousands of people on each side. Small gains, such as the recent capture of Avdiivka, have come at enormous cost.

Russia’s once revered military has shown itself painfully unprepared and vulnerable to modern weapons in the hands of a determined Ukrainian resistance. Even if the war ends tomorrow, it is likely to take many years for its strength and numbers to recover.

And the past two years of brutal war have twisted and distorted Russia internally too.

Hundreds of thousands of its citizens have fled abroad to avoid conscription. Frustrations with the way the war was being fought provoked an armed uprising in which gun-toting Wagner mercenaries marched on Moscow, posing an unprecedented challenge to the Kremlin’s authority.

International disdain has made Russia the most heavily sanctioned country in the world. Even President Putin has been indicted for war crimes at the Hague.

And now Putin’s most vocal critic – Alexey Navalny – is dead. Amid a broader crackdown on dissent, this country has plunged further into isolation and darkness.

Take a longer view, and the direction of travel seems tragically clear.

I was in Chechnya when, in 2000, a newly installed President Putin brought that rebellious Russian region to heel, unleashing a relentless Russian military. We will bomb them in the outhouse, he remarked, in a crude but popular refrain.

In 2006, a leading Russia journalist, Anna Politikovskaya, was murdered, on Putin’s birthday. Her brave dispatches from Chechnya struck a chord. Other critics were silenced at home and abroad.

By 2008, Putin was intervening in neighbouring Georgia, carving out pro-Russian regions from the Georgian state. Before the territory of Crimea was annexed from Ukraine in 2014, Russian forces had for years successfully propped up the Syrian regime in that country’s own brutal crackdown on rebellion, despite international condemnation.

But February 24, 2022, was a watershed.

It’s not just that Putin miscalculated in his ambition to conquer Ukraine, although what was meant as a limited campaign is very much now an open-ended war.

Rather, his full-scale invasion of Ukraine was the moment Putin finally abandoned all semblance of cooperation with the West, and all pretence that dissent and criticism inside this great nation would be tolerated.

And there is currently little sign of any change in course.

In fact, two years into his Special Military Operation, Putin is tightening his grip on power with opponents silenced and elections in March set to confirm his fifth presidential term.

Privately, many Russians remain quietly hopeful that there will, one day, be a change in course. But few believe it is unlikely to be now or even soon.

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cypherscript · 1 year

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In Bad Taste Part 1

The Observants have both succeeded and failed in the most spectacular way; they've finally Ended the Phantom brat. They were ecstatic because now he could never become the king, minus one hiccup; he was now a full ghost and pissed. He could never go home now, never be with his family and so Phantom spent the following days hunting down every Observant before Ghostly Wailing their observatory out of existence.

His heart ached, or maybe now it was his core, he was exhausted beyond belief from using so much energy. (Even with the Zone charging him he was nearing empty.)

"Why?!" Phantom wept as space around him warped, curling in on himself until he felt nothing more.

***

Batman strode into the Watchtower's briefing room, "Thank you for meeting on such short notice. I've gotten intel that the League of Assassins have found something on a dig in Greenland.

Captain Marvel speaks up at this, "Is that the country that's nothing but snow or the one that's not snowy?"

Batman just gives him a stare, "Technically both have snow but I know what you are referring to. It's the one with a lot of snow."

"Ah, good. Just wondering."

Batman taps away at his seat's console and an image appears on the monitor, an orb of black and blue crystal sits on a dais with a cushion, "This is what the League found in a small tomb there. It measured about four inches across and was nonreactive to most chemicals. However my informant reported that once the orb was brought near a Lazarus pit the orb began to glow green and the Pit in the location dried up."

"Dried up," Wonder Woman asks, "Isn't that a good thing? If the pits are gone then they cannot resurrect their companions."

"It would be a good thing but we don't know what the orb is. However we do know what the Lazarus Pits do, they bring back the weak and dying. My guess is that the orb is using the Lazarus Pit to bring something back, either by acting as a relay to something else or as itself."

"Is there anything else," Superman asks as he looks over the pictures, "I's say it could be a form of kryptonite but I've never seen colors mixed like this before or of any being two colors at once."

"Yes, I've not been able to contact my informant for several days since he sent the pictures of the orb. Zatanna had volunteered to check the orb for magic but she's not reported in just yet."

[25-Zatanna to Watchtower.]

"Speaking of, there she is." Batman looks to the door as Zatanna enters looking ragged. "What's wrong?"

"Batman, it's worse than we thought. It's much bigger than you said, the League's base is a ghost town, bodies laying around the compound. The orbs at least four feet across now."

_________________________________________________

So I started writing on and off during work this morning, kept getting distracted, I'll have to write the rest of it later but there will be a part 2 and maybe even a part 3 if the muses are kind.

#danny phantom #justice league #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #full ghost danny #the observants are totes dead #ghost king au #danny fenton #batman #superman #wonder woman #shazam #zatanna #dc

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soopsiesdaisies · 1 year

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nightcourt.gov

Chapter 4: batsy bunch log

Read on AO3 + Masterlist

Mor sees an opportunity during Feyre's second week in the Night Court, and as a result, we are able to take glance at the past. Happens around the last emails of chapter 1.

[15-02-501, 22:38PM]

To: givememor@/nightcourt.gov

From: iminyourwalls@/support.nightcourt.gov

Subject: As you requested

—

Morrigan,

Attached is a copy of the chat of last month, held prior to the arrival of miss Feyre Archeron. Please remember that any attempt at blackmail of user ‘blue-dabadee’ will be held against you, as I have full access to your StarMessage backup as well ♥️

Do what you will with that information.

👻

📎: [CHATLOG_StarMessage_thebatsybunch_15-01-501AH]

the batsy bunch

3 Online

[00:02]

rice: Vanserra’s emails are getting progressively more panicked lol it’s fucking grand

blue-dabadee: Have you been threatening him?

rice: not explicitly. I’m not that stupid

blue-dabadee: 🤔🤔 Debatable

rice: may I remind you that I’m the one who pays for your housing and food

blue-dabadee: May I remind you that I am more than prepared to hunt and forage and, perhaps, live in a tree?

cassplay: upside down like a bat?

blue-dabadee: No, perched on a branch so I can throw myself, knives at the ready, onto an unsuspecting general at a moment’s notice, like any good Illyrian ought to

blue-dabadee: Obviously I’d be upside down Cas what are you on 🦇🦇

cassplay: fckin life, man

blue-dabadee: Maybe lay off it a little bit

cassplay: …are u saying i should die?

blue-dabadee: If that’s what you’re getting out of that 😊

cassplay: i hate u sm

blue-dabadee: sure ❤️

[01:13]

rice: ok I’m going to bed gn boys xx

cassplay: do u need me to tuck u in bby??

rice: Cassian.

blue-dabadee: Do we need to though?

rice: Azriel…

blue-dabadee: Yes, that’s my name, how very observant of you

rice: I will put you into one of my pocket dimensions and let you choke

blue-dabadee: Hot

blue-dabadee: Talk dirty to me more 💦💦💦

rice: 🙄🙄

cassplay: i can totes tuck u in tho rhysie

cassplay: maybe have a bit of a cuddle with u as well

rice: that was ONCE

blue-dabadee: You were crying

rice: I was touch starved. Emphasis on WAS

cassplay: u might still be tho??? cassian is always here if u need a cuddle ❤️❤️❤️

rice: I don’t need cuddles

blue-dabadee: 🤭 It never fails to surprise me how much bluster exists within such a wee Illyrian

cassplay: right?? he a pint-sized bat filled to the brim with bravado

rice: both of you, please

rice: PLEASE

rice: drop dead

rice: and good night

rice is Offline

cassplay: he totally needs a cuddle

blue-dabadee: 💯💯

[07:34]

cassplay: hey gm lads

cassplay: do snails have feelings

[07:52]

cassplay: guys cmon do snails have feelings?????

cassplay: because if they do ill cry

[08:00]

blue-dabadee: What did you do? 👀

blue-dabadee: And why would snails have feelings

blue-dabadee: They’re snails

cassplay: y do u automatically assume i did smth

blue-dabadee: Please read that again and think about it really well🙄🙄

cassplay: k

[08:04]

cassplay: ur a twat

blue-dabadee: Takes one to know one❤️

blue-dabadee: But to answer your question, no. I don’t think snails have feelings

cassplay: k thank the cauldron

cassplay: i stepped on a snail by accident :(((( i heard the crunch n then it was already too late

cassplay: if they had feelings i think there wuld be an uprising against the giant who crushed one of their kin to death

cassplay: id get murdered by snails :(((

blue-dabadee: Snails don’t have the brain to conspire against you, Cas😐

cassplay: U DONT KNOW THAT

blue-dabadee: I do.

cassplay: oh? did u ever do scientific research about snail brains? snail abilities? snabilities?

blue-dabadee: …No

cassplay: yea i thought so. go fuck urself

blue-dabadee: I can’t believe I ever decided to hang out with you

[08:15]

blue-dabadee: Wait fuck. I really don’t know whether snails have the brains to conspire against you.

blue-dabadee: I can’t communicate with them so how would I even know😔

cassplay: do u see now y im worried???

blue-dabadee: Yeah 😔😔

blue-dabadee: I’m sad now 😔😔

blue-dabadee: If I’d known snails would ever assassinate you I would’ve attempted to communicate with them ages ago

cassplay: AWWWW to save me?

blue-dabadee: Don’t be ridiculous

blue-dabadee: I would’ve drawn out a plan of action for them

cassplay: ….

cassplay: i shouldve left u to rot

blue-dabadee: Yeah, thought so👻

[08:37]

rice: oh, are we talking about snails?

rice: I used to make snail hotels, and then I’d get angry when they left after laying eggs

cassplay: snails lay eggs?????????

rice: it felt like child abandonment

rice: Cas… buddy.

rice: yes, snails lay eggs

cassplay: how was i supposed to know that

rice: like snakes

cassplay: was i supposed to grow up watching snails fuck

rice: snakes are just like really dry slugs

blue-dabadee: Imagine a pregnant snail

rice: and snailfucking is quite SFW actually so yes, I’d expect you to have grown up watching snails fuck

rice: Azriel, each day you bring me closer to death

blue-dabadee: Well, I’d hate to disappoint 👻

cassplay: sorry that im blissfully unaware of the logistics of snail sex and reproduction

cassplay: in hindsight it does make sense they dont give live birth

cassplay: considering theyre not mammals

rice: yeah they’re not platypuses

blue-dabadee: I’m sorry. Just imagine a snail breastfeeding

cassplay: do snails have nipples??

rice: no

rice: they do not

cassplay: wait no they wouldnt

cassplay: bc theyre

blue-dabadee: No, because they lay eggs

cassplay: yea

rice: snail tits…

cassplay: not mammals

blue-dabadee: Yeah

blue-dabadee: And also, NO😊

rice: guys

rice: GUYS

blue-dabadee: Don’t you dare

rice: imagine snail milk

cassplay: a snail breasting tittily to assassinate cassian ❤️

blue-dabadee: I will not imagine snail milk

rice: a national delicacy

cassplay: and also very sexy

blue-dabadee: This would be my last reason, had I not already been in the third circle of hell

cassplay: whats hell

blue-dabadee: Don’t worry about it 😘

cassplay: k 👍

rice: Dawn eats snails right?

rice: imagine Thesan drinking his daily morning glass of snail milk

blue-dabadee: NO.

rice: glug glug bitch

cassplay: u know what im wondering now? how u would even get enough snail milk to have a daily glass of it

cassplay: snails are so tiny

rice: Dawn has snail farms

rice: Thesan took me once

rice: it was interesting actually

cassplay: snail farms???? for what????

rice: to breed snails

cassplay: y would anyone breed snails

blue-dabadee: Because they eat snails in Dawn

cassplay: oohhhh yea

cassplay: yea yea ok

rice: what did you think snail farms were for?

cassplay: i had no idea, which is y i asked

rice: snail milk?

rice: pshj

rice: as if

cassplay: i was thinking maybe like

cassplay: the juice

blue-dabadee: The juice💦

rice: THE JUICE

cassplay: i forget what its called

rice: the snail juice, not to be confused with the snail milk

cassplay: guuuys

blue-dabadee: Hmm yes, I sure am thirsty for a glass of snail juice right now

cassplay: its snail juice

rice: slime?

cassplay: how am i supposed to know snail terms

rice: snail slime?

blue-dabadee: Mucus

rice: mucus!

cassplay: slime, mucus, thank u

cassplay: the biology lesson is appreciated

rice: np bud

[09:28]

rice: so did you really think snail mucus gets farmed in Dawn?

cassplay: man i just forgot snails are a food

blue-dabadee: You sure you’re feeling well?

cassplay: thanks for the concern but yea

cassplay: y

blue-dabadee: I just can’t believe you forgot about a food 🤔

cassplay: LISTEN

cassplay: i dont go to dawn much

rice: you don’t go to Summer much either but you haven’t forgotten mollusks

cassplay: ☹️ mollusks are good though

rice: they’re basically snails but from the sea

cassplay: ??? are they???

blue-dabadee: Rhys. There’s very much actual sea snails

rice: they’re related species

rice: octopi are also related to snails

blue-dabadee: Ah

blue-dabadee: Perhaps the snail’s cousin from Summer will attack you instead, Cas👻

blue-dabadee: I’d be able to find a way to communicate with an octopus

cassplay: ur so mean :((

rice: you’d lose to an octopus, yeah

cassplay: rhys im leaving u for thesan

rice: ok. don’t forget we’re having dinner next week

blue-dabadee: Is it too late to ask Nuala and Cerridwen for snails?

rice: probably not!

cassplay: i hate u two sm

[14:25]

blue-dabadee: Hey, do snails piss?

cassplay: wtf az

blue-dabadee: It’s not a pressing question. Just curiosity.

rice: I know that snails shit

blue-dabadee: Yeah

cassplay: yea i reckon theyd have to shit

rice: idk if they piss, though

cassplay: maybe they like

cassplay: secrete mucus instead of the usual waste

rice: or maybe they do it at the same time?

cassplay: we can bing it

rice: like birds?

cassplay: …

cassplay: birds do that?

blue-dabadee: Yeah

blue-dabadee: The white stuff is pee, I think

rice: it’s why it’s so liquid-y

cassplay: by the mother

cassplay: that’s never occurred to me

rice: Cas

rice: I love you

rice: but like

cassplay: yea i know ://

cassplay: i just dont know stuff sometimes

cassplay: love u too tho

rice: you know lots of things

blue-dabadee: Yes. Just not arguably useless information about snails and birds

blue-dabadee: I don’t think the knowledge that snails lay eggs will ever help you in combat👻

rice: you’re plenty smart!

blue-dabadee: Just not in terms of snial piss

cassplay: snial

rice: snial

blue-dabadee: I’m TRYING to be nice here.

cassplay: i know. ur doing great

rice: yeah 😊

blue-dabadee: Good.

blue-dabadee: I may not help the snails to assassinate you now, Cas❤️

cassplay: thats awfully sweet

rice: it’s

rice: it’s really not

cassplay: no one asked u

rice: nobody asks me anything :(

rice: people are always like “where’s lord Rhysand?” and never “how’s lord Rhysand?”

rice: always “how’s lord Rhysand so terribly attractive?” and never “maybe lord Rhysand would like to be pet on the head?”

rice: take take take.

rice: I’m so tired.

blue-dabadee: Ah, yes. Being revered nation-wide must be so hard for you.

rice: it is

rice: also my mate hates me 😔

cassplay: but we dont hate u

cassplay: much. usually.

rice: very courteous of you, Cas. thanks.

cassplay: i live to serve

blue-dabadee: Has it perhaps occurred to you that your mate hates you because you were being Rhysand and not Rhys?

rice: I’m pretty sure she’d hate me either way

blue-dabadee: Well damn, buddy. Can’t help you there then🙄

rice: ugh.

rice: her wedding’s this evening.

blue-dabadee: …Ah

cassplay: wanna get plastered?

rice: …yeah

rice: as long as I don’t end up in the middle of nowhere without my clothes

blue-dabadee: Honestly that’s not a guarantee, knowing you

cassplay: u bring the booze?

rice: to my own pity party?

cassplay: to ur pity party with ur best brothers in the whole wide world

rice: you’re my only brothers

blue-dabadee: You’re very special to us as well, Rhys❤️

rice: UGH

rice: fine.

rice: six?

cassplay: ill get u so drunk ull forget all about ur mate

blue-dabadee: Nah he won’t. The heartbreak will just hurt less

rice: great to know you’re still supportive, Az

blue-dabadee: That’s me, your majesty

rice: fuck you

rice: see you at six

rice: don’t be late

cassplay: id never

blue-dabadee: Not to drinking, no👻

cassplay: ill have u know im always fashionably on time!!

blue-dabadee: You don’t even know what fashion is

cassplay: ur on thin ice, buddy

blue-dabadee: I can fly over it, buddy🦇

rice: UGGGHHHH

rice: I should’ve left the both of you rotting.

[15-02-501, 23:05PM]

To: iminyourwalls@/support.nightcourt.gov

From: givememor@/nightcourt.gov

Subject: RE: As you requested

—

You’re the best oh my gods xxxxxxx

#acotar fic #nightcourt dot gov

48 notes · View notes

bluenpjm · 2 years

Text

the kang code ✹ 3 — knj x oc

synopsis. when you can’t trust your instincts anymore, what do you turn to?

genre. murder au + detective namjoon + angst + fluff

pairing. knj + oc

rating. M

wordcount. 2.1K

warnings. there’s a killer on the loose and he’s about to make a mess!

chapters. previous — three — next // new chapters every day at 00:00 KST

May 9th, 2022.

Hyori was lying. She lied to Seokjin. And then she lied to me. The coroner had just finished the autopsy when Seokjin was interviewing her and it was impossible for her to hear a scream. The girls were already dead when they were dropped in the alleys. She never heard a scream. So, what was she doing there?

I haven’t told Seokjin about us- about my connecting with her. I know I should have.

I don’t know what to do.

Namjoon looks at the watch on his wrist as he sits on a bench just a few meters away from the entrance of the suspect’s apartment. His eyes are heavy. He had managed to get only a couple of hours of sleep.

The door of the building he had been watching finally swings open, and the person he had been anticipating seeing for at least the last half hour finally appears.

Hyori walks at a quick pace and Namjoon forces his legs to move, trying not to lose sight of her.

Seokjin had insisted that Namjoon should be the one keeping an eye out on the woman who had quickly become the number one suspect in the Kang case. All her lies, including the ones Seokjin was clueless about, had made her a person of interest, climbing right to the top of the list. And as such, she had to be watched.

The killer hadn't delivered any more clues, nor had any more bodies appeared. Namjoon was nervous about that. The killer had presented himself to be careless, impulsive — most likely used to acting upon instinct during most of his life. This sudden stop was killing Namjoon. The waiting… Namjoon was usually patient — more than most people — but this… it felt too close to home. It was as if he was already too invested with the case. And he wanted to solve it as quickly as he possibly could.

Hyori is small but surprisingly fast. Namjoon is having a hard time keeping up with her. The streets are busy and most people meander, drunk on sleep, as it seems to be too early to even try to be happy, making Namjoon easily left behind, as Hyori seems nothing like the ones around her.

Stopping a couple of stores down, Namjoon notices Hyori make her first stop of the day. A small café. And it doesn’t take her long to come out, hand finding the strap of her mask to remove it and take a sip of the liquid on the cardboard cup she carries.

She resumes her walk, this time at a much moderate pace. The tote bag she carries keeps falling from her shoulder and he notices how quick she is to switch it to her hands. Practical.

Noticing a bus stop reaching, Namjoon slows his pace a bit more, the possibility to be caught seeming terrible at this time of the day. He hadn’t gotten up this early to go right back to the station empty-handed.

Hyori sits down. So, she takes the bus to work. Namjoon makes the mental note. He has his notebook stuffed into his bag but prefers to keep commenting on what he’s observing to himself. Adjusting his mask and cap, he hopes to remain as invisible as possible, the simple possibility of the woman laying her eyes on him now that they have both stopped makes the palms of his hands' sweat. He had never really appreciated this part of his job.

“Oh, no, please! I insist!”

Namjoon’s thoughts are interrupted by the sudden soft voice of Hyori as she stands up from the bus bench to offer it to an older woman. Underneath the mask she wears, Namjoon can see a soft shade of red begin to adorn her cheeks. There is a little back and forth between the woman he has been watching and the old lady that had just arrived at the scene, the latter refusing to accept the seat and the youngest standing her ground. Eventually, the lady takes the seat, many thanks falling from her lips as Hyori keeps bowing, eyes smiling.

The bus arrives and Namjoon is the last one to enter. By then, Hyori had already taken her seat, eyes glued to her phone and headphones in. Namjoon can breathe with ease as he sits a couple of rows behind the girl.

As the bus comes to a halt just a couple of minutes before 8 AM, Namjoon has to rush after Hyori as she makes her way to work. She stops just outside a big building, windows for walls as the sun shines on the glass, illuminating the entire street. He watches as she quickly fixes her outfit, taking the opportunity to catch her breath before going inside.

Deep down, Namjoon finds all of this useless. Hell, he was never one to trust his gut feeling over all the concrete evidence he had. And if he had to be completely honest, Hyori was conveniently placed in all of this. Still, something inside him screamed that he was chasing her for the wrong reasons.

Across the street, he spots a bench, placed perfectly so that he could watch the main entrance of the building without being too suspicious. He had nothing but time to think of the case and to think of the woman that had been making him slowly go insane, unable to sleep properly as she kept on crossing his mind. Taking his notebook out, he begins to brainstorm all the details he has about the case so far. The coroner’s report brings new light and he hopes that by lunchtime, he will have an idea of what to do.

“Sir,”

A boy comes rushing, stopping right next to Namjoon, and hands him a crumpled piece of paper. And just as quickly as he was there, Namjoon watches as he runs. As an instinct, he gets up, mind trying to decide if it would be more important to catch the teen or see the content of the paper he had messily handed to him.

“HEY! KID!” Namjoon screams, but he’s long gone. “Fuck!”

He sighs, hands finding a place at his hips. His tongue clicks and he figures he might as well look at the paper. Turning his back on the building, he unfolds the crumbled piece, trying not to damage it.

Taking his pen out, Namjoon is quick to solve the code, now familiarized with the killer’s way of writing. His heart begins to beat as he reads the message out loud.

You are so easy to find. Are you taking the right steps? Think again, pig. No one is safe. Tic toc…

“You… find… the… right… steps… tic… toc…” He whispers under his breath.

His heart begins racing and he stands up high, breath shallow as he looks around. No one stands out, but his head is still spinning. This entire time, he was being watched. And he had no clue.

“Are you lost?” A voice makes Namjoon jump and he turns quickly.

“Hyori!” His voice trembles. “What are you doing here?”

“I work just across the street.” The woman tilts her head towards the big building Namjoon had had his eyes on for the past 4 hours. He had been so engrossed with it he had forgotten to beware of his surroundings.

“Oh, I see.” Namjoon eyes the building, head continuously nodding in a slow movement.

“Do you need to go anywhere? I’m on my lunch break but I can take you if it’s close by.” She smiles gently.

“No, no. It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to keep you.” Namjoon reassures. It might be best if she keeps a safe distance from me, he thinks.

“Are you working on the case?” Hyori eyes him suspiciously as she notices him looking around, paper sloppily folded in hand. He grabs it so tightly that his thumb has started to lose color, now looking a faint white. “I won’t pry.”

“Yeah- I can’t really talk about it.” He finally looks at her, his eyes meeting her expectant ones. He feels at ease once again. “Sorry.”

She chuckles at his apology. As if one was needed. “It’s okay. Have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, no.”

“There’s this place just a couple of streets down. It has the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten.” She balances from one foot to the other. At the lack of response from him, she continues. “I was thinking of eating there.”

Namjoon looks around one last time. The boy that had handed him the paper was long gone and it would be impossible for him to identify the real killer with all these people around. Except… “Can I join you?” He asks, now smiling at the woman.

“Sure!”

They walk quietly, Hyori enjoying the fresh breeze that runs in the air. Her hair floats and Namjoon notices as she continuously keeps pushing the same strand of hair behind her ear. She puffs, arms shooting to the front of her body as she checks her wrists.

“Do you need a rubber band?” Namjoon lifts his sleeve up, taking the elastic from his wrist and handing it to the woman.

“Thank you!” She smiles politely, eyes quickly scanning the rubber band. It’s a simple, black band and it looks as good as new. There are some fissures on it, but it wouldn’t be from the weight of the hair.

Namjoon watches as she makes a messy ponytail, just glad that she was able to take the hair from her face. “You look nice like that.”

“You think?” Hyori lets out a giggle, embarrassed by the sudden compliment but even more by noticing how red the detective’s cheeks had gotten.

He nods, a dimple appearing on his cheek. Hyori finds him absolutely adorable. How a man so big and strong is able to sound so soft.

Yet again, Namjoon watches Hyori, this time from the building he had earlier that day seen her enter to what he believes to be the way back to her house. She doesn’t rush home this time around, walking slowly instead. She’s different from every single person around her, he notes.

Hyori takes a stroll around the park Namjoon had been sitting in. He has to hide behind a tree when she abruptly stops. He watches as she kneels on the floor, hand stuffed into her bag for a moment. She approaches the pound and unravels what she had fetched from inside the tote. The ducks that had been swimming nearby quickly approach and delight in the crumbs of bread she offers them.

She sticks around for some time, just enjoying the company of the birds. Snapping some pictures of the scenery she finds herself in, she begins to walk again. Namjoon can’t help but fight the urge he has of joining her. He could see himself mimicking her actions if he had been in Seoul, enjoying a day off from work.

She doesn’t stop at the bus stop. Instead, she keeps walking. Is she taking the long way home? Namjoon ponders. He was already feeling tired, the muscles of his legs asking for some rest. But Hyori walks swiftly to the sound of the melody playing in her headphones. Until she stops abruptly, eyes fixated on her screen.

The sun was setting and there were fewer and fewer people out on the streets. The paths Hyori takes divert further away from the main road until they are in walking through alleys, not a soul to be seen. Namjoon finds it more difficult to find places to hide. With no one in sight, he was sure to be spotted and scare the girl away.

Standing behind so he can remain hidden, Namjoon loses sight of Hyori for a couple of seconds. He decides it is time to move again, stealthily walking at a rushed pace. He peaks his head at the corner, Hyori already far off. She’s walking faster now, her tote bag already hanging low on her arm. She keeps on looking at each of her sides. Something’s off, Namjoon can feel it.

Something cold hits Namjoon’s head and the last thing he sees is a black van pulling up just down the alley and Hyori trying to run the opposite way. He wants to cry out for her to run but finds himself as a mere spectator, his body now lying on the floor, head pounding with the pain.

A man leaves the van, grabbing Hyori and pushing her inside before driving off.

It takes Namjoon forever before he gets his senses back. As he opens his eyes, he’s still lying on the cold floor. His hand reaches for the back of his head, feeling the somewhat dry blood already mixing up with his hair.

He sits up, looking around him. It’s dark. The sun has already set and he feels disoriented.

“Hyori…” He murmurs, suddenly being hit with the memories of what had happened a couple of hours ago.

[ chapter four ]

53 notes · View notes

toxxxic-mess · 10 months

Text

Mini-Rant

Incase it’s not obvious, or you didn’t read pinned post, I am not dominant. I hate being dominant and being asked to “control” you is not going to happen.

While I am happy to make you worse, it will be from a POV of a creepy perverted beta loser, because that’s what I am. I want to get creepier and more of a loser with you, not dominate you. Calling me Sir will outright stop conversation dead in the tracks. And that’s fine if you don’t want a loser to goon and get worse with, and want a strong dominant master to obey. We all what we want, and we can find what we’re all after on here somewhere. But don’t try and force someone to be what they’re not. Find someone who is what you’re after.

Sometimes, I’ll throw a curve ball if I’m on the fence when someone begs. Some people pass, and generally these people are fun to talk to. Some people fail, and the ones I continue to briefly talk to are as dull as I imagined they’d be. I’ve just had a follower beg with the any question line, then when they failed, complained about it. When gave them subtle humiliation they wrote a wall of abusive text because what I was giving them wasn’t what they had imagined asking me to control and humiliate them would be like in their head and calling it all bullshit. You may not like this, but I’m here to goon too, not cater to your imagination of how being a controlled slave would be. Ironically their pinned post is about how they refuse to pay for the service they want to be personally catered to 100% of their fantasy.

Anyway; because I got a wall of abuse, I thought I might explain WHY I do/ask certain things, even though explaining it makes it obvious what the answer is.

A) You message me saying “Please ask me ANYTHING”

I respond “Explain to me how the Observer Effect works in quantum physics when particles aren’t sentient so don’t know when they’re being watched.”

Obviously I don’t care about the answer. I just want to see how you respond when you’re giving me free reign but don’t like the outcome. But also, it’s a task without you you realising it’s a task. Even people who are ’just’ smart don’t understand quantum physics. Let alone average people or dumb people. So you’re going to have to look it up most likely. Then, you have two choices. You can copy and paste the first thing you find. Also known as doing the bare minimum approach. You do this, you’re boring. Go away. You can try your best to explain it. It’s still not what I’m after, but you at leat tried. Bonus points for pointing out sentience has nothing to do with it. You were set a task, and you may not have liked it but you did it anyway. Shows promise for the perverted tasks I will set. I’ll happily talk to you. Or, you can go the third option, and point out you’re way too stupid to ever know anything about that, you’re too brain dead to even spell any of it. It’s why I like to ask this to self proclaimed bimbos, like the person who got annoyed at me blowing him off for copy pasting an answer. If you’re a bimbo, prove it. Be all “OMg liek I dunno wat that even means?? That stuffs totes hard and like the only hard stuff I like is fun stuff like cock *giggle* At least that stuff sould get cute guys, that wheel chair guy is fugly!!!” Or tell me you were too busy staring at girls in class to concentrate. Bring it around to gooning. That’s the best option and I will 100% make you a worse person.

B) You message me saying “Please, I’ll do ANYTHING”

I respond “Start getting fit and working out. 20 squats, push ups and sit ups each day along with a 1K run. Daily.”

Same as when you gave me free reign to ask anything, how you respond to being told to do something you weren’t expecting shows whether you’re gonna be interesting to talk to or not. You could whine and say that’s not what you meant. If you’re going to whine being told to do something on first interaction that isn’t going to humiliate you, then what are you going to do if you do get told to do something humiliating. And if you do it, who says it won’t BECOME humiliating? Once I know you’re fit, maybe I’ll get you dressed in pink yoga pants and sports bra and get you doing Pilates with the hot girls down the gym. If if you’re a pain slut, I’ll turn your regime into torture, making you do obscene amount of exercise with no food or sleep until you’re not fit but a skinny withered runt any girl could beat up. Just because you can’t see the humiliation yet doesn’t mean it won’t come. But if you want to be controlled then question it as soon as you get an order then what’s the point? And again, there’s the third option of saying you tried but you got scared by all the alpha girls taking their insta selfies and you end up making a mess in public and go back home to jerk to how cute they were. You’re a loser act like it, not a petulant child.

C) You beg for something humiliating at least.

You’ve worn me down and I give you something simple and humiliating. Being worn down isn’t fun though so don’t expect any effort. This is your last ditch attempt. I tell you to go buy pair of panties. It’s simple. It’s cheap. And it’s humiliating. Anyone can do it. So if you don’t, or you say you’ll do it later, can you have another task, or you pretend you did it, good bye. Sorry but I have a lot of fun losers to talk to, especially when people from old blogs re-find me. I like to spend decent time gooning with each of them. If you’re gonna waste time, then I’m not getting involved.

Sorry if got bit ranty, this was supposed to be short, but having a “submissive loser” swear and act like an incel cunt because I wont vocalise his inner fantasies like he wants because he won’t pay a femdom to do that for him has irked me.

So here’s some super hot dominant ladies I hope you all enjoy

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lindgaardcardenas51 · 1 month

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babybluesquid · 8 months

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Session 1, Attack of Jack-in-Irons!

Our Players this Week:

Hog 112, they/them, Weapon Thaumaturge, skirmisher warforged, the leader of the inquisitives agency and founding member, tends toward practicality and following a command structure.

Forward, he/him, Champion Paladin, infantry warforged, Hog’s second in command and founding member, follower of the Legionnaire Creed sect of the Sovereign Host and idealist.

Vestige, they/them, Bones Oracle, warforged placed into a human body, a healer and the agency’s fleshborn face, remains on the periphery with an individualistic streak.

Strategy, it/its, Empiricist Investigator, officer warforged, an old model who’s seen much action and uses the tactics they learned back during the war now under Sharn.

Samanta, she/they, Swashbuckler Fencer, skirmisher warforged, a spotter during the war who turned to spying for one of Sharn’s criminal families before joining the inquisitives agency.

Clever, she/her, Reverie Psychic, psiforged, a young warforged created illegally in an experiment, naive without respect for authority but well-meaning in their endeavors.

——————

A quiet day at the Hog, Forward, & Associates Inquisitives Agency on Washery Street, LLC, interrupted! A letter from one Ash of the Red Hammer urging our inquisitives to spring to action, for there have been eight murders over the past few months. Such a case demands full mobilization of the agency’s best inquisitives: Forward, Hog 112, Strategy, Samanta, Vestige, and Clever. And so the party of forged sleuths sets out to answer Ash’s call.

Blackbones, The Cogs. The district is full of poor forged, goblins, and humans going about their work. No coppers in sight, only private guards protecting the beating hearts of industry. They pay no mind to the unsavory among the crowds, as long as they do not stray too close to the foundries. There’s a hot black dust in the air, the promise of ill f ortune to come. The Red Hammer is part tavern, part smithy, all for warforged. Within, Ash tends to her forge, repairing an armor plate part corroded off some poor fella, probably by the alchemical acids involved in materials refining. Inside is Twelve, an old squad mate of Samanta, talking to some Thranish model. She approaches the old companion, asking about the murders which drew the inquisitives there. They tell of some beast what ripped the bodies apart.

Meanwhile, Forward takes the lead on speaking to Ash. She’s knowledgeable about the case after compiling the various accounts to bring to the Watch’s attention. However, the Watch hasn’t helped, so now she’s asked for the HF&A’s assistance. See, a month ago, Leatherneck was found by Shadowblack, unfortunately dead beyond repair and with both arms ripped off and nowhere to be found. Over the next month, seven more were found dead as well, all torn up and missing pieces: Flame, Voice, Hunter, Bear, Thunderer, Axes, and Hook. Curiously, all these murders were connected in another way, each forged worked for the Tain Foundry. The locals fear a dread specter, Jack-in-Irons, to be responsible for the attacks. Ash directs Forward to speak to Dandy, who found the last victim four days ago, and to Sledgehammer, who also works for the Tains. Forward asks to see the bodies, but they aren’t at the Red Hammer. One Lord Slogar d’Cannith has them, down at the Cannith Forgehold. Lastly, Ash hands Forward a handdrawn map of the murder scenes. They make a rough circle round the Foundry, with Hook nearest.

Hog goes to gather Dandy’s account of the murder. Dandy’s tall, much taller than Hog, infantry during the war, but has since sworn himself to pacifism. Now, he totes a instrument and wears gaudy orange and teal, aspiring to the life of a bard. He stands by a table, motionless except for a quiet shudder, staring down past the floor. “You’re scared,” Hog observes. “Yes, I am,” Dandy replies. “Where did you serve?” “On the northern front with Karrnath.” Hog is able to commiserate, the monsters of Droaam being a similarly fearsome foe to the undead of Karrnath. Then, they ask what Dandy saw. It was in an alley close to the foundry. Poor Hook was torn apart, a whole leg rent from his body by the killer. He caught but a glance at the form, but he knows it was no warforged. It was tall, about his own height, long limbed and humanoid. He fears for his life, having witnessed the act, but Hog 112 reassures him. No one would be fool enough to come for him in the Red Hammer. Dandy offers one more bit of information, Cross was Hook’s best friend, maybe he’d be able to help.

Hog knows of Hook and Cross, members of the Forged Fists both, a group which tends to vigilantism. The gang tussles with foundry guards and Daask alike, doing the street work which their more respectable advocate colleagues cannot. They’ve got some “secret base” in the sewers, which Hog figures shouldn’t be too difficult to locate. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Clever offers. Hog inquires about what Dandy might’ve heard, being so close to the killer. Dandy answers, “yes, muttering, and when they ran it sounded like metal on the pavement, like armored boots.” “Doesn’t sound like a ghost to me,” Hog remarks dryly.

Meanwhile, Forward finds Sledgehammer and strikes up conversing. Sledgehammer is sympathetic to his cause, showing some interest in the Legionary Creed and meeting Questions. Now though, Sledgehammer sits quiet with an air of conspiracy. They’re watching themselves closely, for all the victims have been their own coworkers. About their neck, they wear a link of chain, which they tell Forward is a charm. The artificers claim it to be magic, a ward to frighten away Jack-in-Irons. Course, Sledgehammer couldn’t afford the one they were selling, and they made this one themselves. It’s a pale imitation of the gold link that Manager Molric took from one of the crime scenes. Forward’s heard some tale of this Molric, that he’s a new dwarf manager as of this past year, and cruel. What he’s doing with a piece of crime scene evidence, Forward can only guess. Guesses don’t solve cases. He’ll need to do some digging on this Moric character.

It falls to Vestige to speak with Shadowblack, their brother not by making, but by sentiment. Outside the agency, few know of Vestige’s true heritage, believing them to be human. Shadowblack is one of the few to know the truth of the matter, and one of the fewer to actually believe it. Shadowblack’s small and lithe, with blackened metal plating and daggers sheathed at his sides. Despite blank features, it’s clear he’s seething with fury, see, Shadowblack is a Blade. “The injustice getting you down, brother?” Vestige asks on their approach. “Certainly is,” he responds in his deceptively quiet voice, the voice of a built assassin, “all the people talking about a ghost are ridiculous.” “True enough.” “Why all around the Tain Foundry?” Shadowblack asks, a question leading to a conclusion. “You suspect a targeted attack?” “The foundry’s warforged killed again and again? Who do you think could be doing that? The guards and Molric can’t be trusted, they’ve been spreading word of Jack-in-Irons. Could make a good cover story.” Naturally, Vestige has come to the same answer, “wouldn’t be the first I’ve heard of corrupt bosses harming our siblings. When and where did you find Leatherneck?”

Shadowblack found her some time after the attack had happened, hard to tell when that was exactly. She was in an alley, probably on her way home from the foundry. That bastard killer had stripped the metal plating right off her, as well as taken one of her eyes right out. Then, the damned Canniths rounded up each of the victims as they died and took them back to the Forgehold. Shadowblack suspects Slogar d’Cannith is behind it, that ass believes the forged ought to be House property. Vestige promises to get the bodies back, so they can be properly honored in death.

Just then, another fellow enters the Red Hammer. Their model is tall and skinny, with copper colored plating, and they carry a sack of clattering metal. Loudly, they ramble on about Jack-in-Irons, terrified of the monster what has come to kill them all. Ash whispers to Clever that this is Copper, the poor forged had been rattled in the Mourning and their sense never returned. Nobody bothers the Mourned fellow as they go about delivering their scrap to Ash.

Hog and Forward go about convincing Dandy to return to the scene of the crime, surmising that he’ll be able to provide more testimony there. The forged initially refuses, but Forward sympathizes with his fear and Hog promises his safety, so he agrees, but only to visit the spot they personally witnessed. Hog 112 offers him a dagger for security, but he refuses it, he’s a peaceforged now, and won’t have any weapon on his person.

The scene of Hook’s death is near within shouting distance of the Tain Foundry where they worked. The inquisitives set to work picking over the scene. The alley is between two warehouses, narrow, with no windows looking in and some bends that leave it quite isolated. The area’s well trafficked, but Strategy is able to pick out some odd activity. One set of bootprints, clearly metal bottomed and Cannith forged, which entered the alley and lingered for quite a while. They’re big too, indicating the owner was tall. The tracks hastily leave the alley after the long time hanging around, but soon the trail is marred by a spell of foul liquid and is lost. Dandy is able to confirm that’s the way the killer fled. Looking around for any other sign, Strategy sees no marks from weapons, but there is a recent scuff on the wall. The mental image that comes to it is some forged being roughly thrown into the bricks. Meanwhile, Hog discovers a single link of golden chain on the ground, and surmises it may match the one Molric wears. The party’s gotta check on that.

As agreed, Dandy goes back to the Red Hammer as the sleuths split to investigate the other crime scenes. Though most find nothing with the locales being old and picked over, Hog 112 finds three links of gold chain and a scrap of black cloth, while Strategy also finds two links of that same gold chain. Reconvening, it’s clear to Forward that the chains are some kind of calling card, a way to take credit for the crimes. However, Hog suspects the chains are bait, as the three they found were spaced in a rough trail. Perhaps the warforged were lured to their dooms with the promise of wealth. The links are sizeable and thick, would probably sell for a tidy profit. With that, Forward tells Vestige they ought to speak to Molric. Though reluctant, they agree. Strategy and Samanta both offer to come along, but Vestige reasons that’d be intimidating. A Cannith heir only needs one bodyguard if they’re walking into friendly territory. So, they pick Samanta come with. Vestige takes off their mask, thus donning their disguise. The two approach the Tain Foundry.

The two are halted by a hobgoblin thug, but Vestige introduces themselves as Andrea d’Cannith and the two are ushered in. It’s blistering hot inside, and the air is bone dry. Warforged mill about, pouring the ingots and carrying the trays. The molten iron glows and runs, fueled by raging furnaces. The thug leads the two right past all that though, up a set of stairs and to the manager’s office. The thug gives the door a good knock and the manager opens it up. Manager Molric’s a dwarf, and he’s got no hair on his head but his eyebrows, bushy and pushed together into a glower that makes his eyes narrow slits. He’s got a link of gold chain, the same gold chain, strung about his wrist, and a knucklebuster sticks a bit out of his jacket pocket. He looks like the type who can fight, and win, if the healed brawling scars are any indication.

Molric’s gotta look of contempt as he glances from his thug, to Vestige, to Samanta as the pair’s introduced. “I didn’t have any scheduled meetings,” he says with a voice what belies suspicion. “This is not concerning your certification, Molric,” Vestige offers. “What’s it concerning, then?” Rather than answer, Vestige makes a big show of looking over at the hobgoblin and shaking their head. Getting the message, the thug leaves with deference. Then, they speak, “House Cannith is concerned by the deaths of eight of your workers. I’m here to ask a few questions.” “Why would House Cannith be concerned about the deaths of eight warforged?” Molric scoffs and crosses his arms. “You’ve heard of Jack-in-Irons, I’m sure. The rumors are getting the warforged into a panic, and if they panic, productivity will fall,” Vestige’s voice remains dispassionate, thought they’re enraged to be speaking this way. Molric doesn’t hide his anger though, insisting there is no issue. The workers are working and the Foundry is guarded. Vestige insists this is negligence and Molrics is about to lose his grasp on the morale, so he resolves to hire inquisitives to look into the matter and send patrols into the surrounding area. Vestige warns him the warforged won’t take kindly to strange inquisitives, he ought to hire local. Molric ignores that suggestion.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party makes busy by asking around the workers and surrounding businesses. Most everybody blames Jack-in-Irons for the killings, and there’s even another testimony about the specter’s tall, lanky figure. However, no other leads present themselves. It’s time to inspect the bodies. When Vestige and Samanta emerge, confirming the gold chain link, the party sets out for the Forgehold.

Cannith Forgehold, an oasis of the higher levels down in the Cogs. It’s clean, well guarded, and doesn’t belong at all. The warforged guard allows the inquisitives inside with no trouble, where they encounter a young woman in the atrium. She’s dressed in Cannith green and greets the party. Clever introduces the Hog, Forward, and Associates Inquisitives Agency on Washery Street, LLC, and Hog produces a business card with proof of registration. Seeing as the whole matter’s quite official, she agrees to let the group inspect the bodies.

The eight of them are laid against a wall, covered in a black silk sheet embroidered with silver sigils. The woman pulls the sheet free, revealing the bodies. Leatherneck, Flame, Voice, Hunter, Bear, Thunderer, Axes, and Hook are all mostly present. Between the lot of them, two heads, four arms, four legs, and eyes and large chunks of livewood and armor plating have been stolen. Strategy notes that all the missing parts were taken with clean, precise cuts. Hog wonders if such skill in dismemberment would require a trained artificer, but it can’t say for sure. Each forged has the same deep stab wound, right through the armor of their chest, which appears to be the killing blow. There’s minimal damage, beside that wound and the stolen bits, and one warforged even has an armblade, still sheathed. All in all, it looks like the killer struck quick and hard, got what they came for, and fled.

Suddenly, a small man, dressed up in glossy blue velvet and wearing a proud Cannith seal barges into the room. He’s Slogar d’Cannith, obviously, and his displeasure is evident. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” He demands. “We are investigating these murders,” Forward explains. “I did not hire you to investigate.” “Why do you think you’re the only person who cares?” Clever asks with an accusatory tone in her voice. “I and my agents are close to solving this case. I want you out of my Forgehold,” he demands. “These bodies are not your property,” Vestige says, “if you’re almost done solving this case turn them back over to the community.” Slogar dismisses the idea, “if you would like these concerns addressed please make a formal complaint to the House.” Forward suggests that, instead, the bodies could be moved to neutral ground, like the watch office. Hog requests that the group could be allowed to continue the investigation of the bodies under supervision. Slogar doesn’t budge an inch. He tells the inquisitives to send all the appropriate legal documents to his lawyer, then they can inspect the bodies. As the party is escorted from the premises, Strategy feels something is terribly amiss. Slogar’s hiding something.

Stopping back at the Agency, Forward tells the group’s lawyer to open up the legal procedure for seeing the bodies, as well as to involve their contact in the Sharn Watch. Then, the group heads down to the sewers to see the Forged Fists. He knows the way, having been a couple times. In the Fists’ secret base, there are several forged talking. Two spar. Cross is reading the book by Questions. Forward approaches them and asks about the murders. They’re willing to share. See, Hook and Axes were brothers in the Forged Fists both. Right before Hook’s death, they had gotten into a scuffle with Daask, and then they were off to their shift. They never came back. Forward then reveals the gold chain link, and Cross recognizes the thing.

They remember Copper came in to the Red Hammer and used one just like it to pay for repairs. Course, they don’t suspect the fellow. Copper wouldn’t harm anybody, least of all another forged. They probably just came across the gold chain while scavenging. Cross lets Forward know that Copper lives at the Tain Foundry, in one of those closet apartment types, if he wants to ask any questions. Forward asks for the Forged Fists’ aid in protesting the Forgehold holding the victims’ bodies, and Cross agrees that’ll be proper. They also let on that Shadowblack’s close to solving the whole thing. This prompts Forward to rush the party back to the Red Hammer with Cross in tow, fearing what the Blade could be up to.

——————

Notables:

Ash, she/her, proprietor of the Red Hammer warforged tavern. She’s aware of the goings on of the Cogs, but saw the Agency as a last ditch effort to solve the Jack-in-Irons case.

Jack-in-Irons, the specter said to be a serial killer targeting warforged. The story doesn’t quite add up though. What kinda specter makes footfalls?

Leatherneck, Flame, Voice, Hunter, Bear, Thunderer, Axes, and Hook, the poor lot of Tain Foundry workers who met their end and lost their parts in the hot alleys of the Cogs.

Dandy, he/him, saw something we’d all hope we’re past, with the war being done and all. He’s a pacifist and a bard, hopefully this cruel world doesn’t beat him down any more.

Shadowblack, he/him, Vestige’s brother Blade. He’s seeking justice for the murders done against his kin, and he’s sure the fleshborn mean ill.

Molric, he/him, the manager of the Tain Foundry. This bastard is utterly unconcerned for the safety of his own workers, since they’re forged. But is there malice as well?

Slogar d’Cannith, he/him, the Lord of the Cannith Forgehold in the Cogs, has taken possession of the forged victims’ bodies and stifled the investigation. But what does he have to hide?

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