#I’m just afraid I’d spend time and money doing tests just to be told it’s in my head or they can’t find anything tbh thatd make me feel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fand0mh03 · 1 year

Text

Runaway; part two

hi! I’ve decided I’m going to make this a series. I’m not sure how long yet, but there will be more parts coming soon. Thank you for reading!

“You seriously described the Boston Tea Party as a tea party held in boston? On a test?” Wanda laughed as she questioned Y/N, who had just told her a story from when she was a teenager.

“Can you blame me? I was out for a week, I had no idea!” She exclaimed, laughing along at the memory. This was the happiest the 24 year old witch had felt in a long time, especially considering today. It was like a breath of fresh air for her. The two women had been chatting away and enjoying the time together for the past 2 hours- making it about 10 o’clock in the night. Wanda was grateful to not have to spend this night alone; well atleast all of it. She was afraid she’d break if she was left alone for too long. Y/N made her feel better, like a plant where after all of the sun, the rain finally came.

“Hey, Y/N, I have to close up for the night, I’m sorry,” a man came out- to which Wanda assumed was the chef and owner of the diner. She looked over to Y/N, who nodded and said good night to the chef.

“Well, Wanda, looks like it’s time to go. C’mon,” She spoke to Wanda, who tried to hide her sadness, so she offered a small smile as Y/N stood up. Wanda stood up with her, and tried to stop herself from blushing when Y/N grabbed her wrist and led her out of the door.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” Y/N’s sweet voice alarmed Wanda, making her look over at her.

“I can manage,” She smiled at her, but Y/N’s face stayed worried.

“I have extra room in my apartment, you could stay there for as long as you need.” Y/N offered, and Wanda’s heart fluttered. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to say yes, but she also had nowhere to go, and wouldn’t be able to access her bank account due to her identity being “dead”, not that she had much money anyway though. And safety aside, Wanda really liked Y/N, she couldn’t just say no.

“Yeah, okay, thank you so much. Can I offer you money or anything, I’m not sure how long I’d be staying for,”

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to pay me, it's fine. Here, let’s go to my car, it’s cold and late.”

Wanda followed Y/N to her car, which was a silver toyota camry, and slid into the passenger seat as she unlocked the door. Y/N buckled her seat belt and started the car, pulling out of the diner’s parking lot and into the streets. They sat in silence for a while until Y/N turned on the radio and started singing along to Taylor Swift.

“We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘till january,” She softly sang, making Wanda slowly start to smile.

“Cause this is our place, we make the rules”

“And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?”

“Can I go where you go?” Wanda joined in with Y/N, causing Y/N to glance over at Wanda with a grin on her face.

Singing lyrics, and laughing at each other, dancing at red lights and stop signs, loving every second of their time together, Wanda couldn’t help but wonder, how long would this last? Would Y/N end up leaving too? This made her smile falter, but she put up the facade of enjoying herself to her wits end. She felt bad for thinking like this, but everyone she’s ever loved was gone, and she was scared of forming new relationships. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t have talked to Y/N for so long, maybe she shouldn’t have gotten in the car.

“My hearts been borrowed and yours has been blue, all’s well that ends well to end up with you”

Nervous, Wanda decided to read Y/N’s thoughts, to make sure she wouldn’t get betrayed (for now at least). And Wanda almost started crying because all Y/N was thinking about was how she was excited about getting a new roommate for a little bit and a potential best friend.

“Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever,” Wanda and Y/N continued to sing together while she parked the car and danced along to the lyrics. Wanda let a tear slip down her face and Y/N stopped singing and gave her a worried, empathetic look, but Wanda gave her a little smile which Y/N returned.

Darling, you're my, my, my, my Lover

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Once they got inside Y/N’s apartment, Y/N took her and Wanda’s coats and hung them up on the hooks by the front door. Y/N scurried off into the kitchen as Wanda followed, taking a seat on the couch.

“Can I offer you a glass of coffee? Water? Tea? Anything?” Y/N stuck her head out of the kitchen to talk to Wanda, who softly laughed at Y/N’s hospitality, and took her up on the offer of coffee, because God knew Wanda needed coffee.

“So, what brought you to the diner?” Y/N asked Wanda, wondering why the hero had decided to stop by a quiet coffee shop late at night.

“Uh…” Wanda didn’t want to ruin this, she knew Y/N would already think she’s a monster.

“It’s alright. I’m not interrogating you, I just want to know a little more about you,” She smiled at the red head, and went to get the coffee.

Wanda took it graciously, and decided to tell Y/N what had happened. At least the rundown of what happened. Worst comes to worse, she leaves, right?

********** think of MOM and her kids running from her *********

Expecting Y/N to freak out, Wanda was shocked and pleasantly surprised when Y/N gave her a hug. This caused Wanda to break down. This is what she was afraid would happen.

Loud, painful sobs racked her body as Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist, allowing Wanda to collapse into her arms and rest her head on her shoulder. Hot tears ran down her face, her eyes shutting closed, and the tears rolling onto Y/N’s bare shoulder. She shook from the mental breakdown, and Y/N brushed the hair from Wanda’s face, holding her and comforting her. Something Wanda hasn’t felt in a long time- comfort.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” Y/N whispered to Wanda, in an attempt to soothe her, which worked, the tears slowing down. Y/N pulled away, leaving a kiss on her forehead, and rubbed the other woman’s arms, only when she felt the tears stop and the shaking came to a halt. Y/N continued to hold her, for as long as she needed, letting Wanda rest on her lap. Wanda’s eyes ached from crying so long, so she shut them, and soon, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

#wanda x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximilf #wanda maximommy #wanda maximoff #Elizabeth Olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #Runaway series #Marvel

30 notes · View notes

vgbellylover · 2 years

Text

Experimental Endurance (FETH Hunger/Stuffing Commission)

Whoo boy. This is my very first written commission and the first commission for actual money. Done for the talented @the-elusive-libbin, it follows you, the professor, and the Academy’s resident dark mage Hubert, in your study of hunger. Given who this is for, I did my best to focus on the hunger part, but since it's me, I also did a stuffing bit at the end cuz IMO, hunger is best when followed by a good, fattening meal. It's also a bit longer than I was expecting. More than 3400 words.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my... I hadn't expected you to fill me with quite so much food. I mean, I was hungry, but now -hic- oof, I'm afraid my stomach is a little too full." Lindhart stifled a belch. "I hope I was able to aid you in your research, professor, but if you'll excuse me, I believe a nap is in order."

You look up from your notes– "Yes, you may leave–" then return to recording results. With some difficulty, Lin hauled himself out of his chair and waddled out of the room, cradling his tightly swollen belly. You, a professor at Garreg Mach, had been studying the effects of adverse hunger on the students and staff of the Officer's Academy here at the monastery. You were a little surprised when the Archbishop agreed to let you perform such an experiment and for the most part, your expectations had been met or exceeded so far. They all showed remarkable discipline. Of course, the promise of an automatic 100 on the next test probably helped. For the students, at least.

You flipped back to the front page for the name of your next victi– er, volunteer.

Hubert von Vestra.

––––––––––

As he was every day, Hubert had awoken before the sun had risen and was preparing for his duties as Lady Edelgard's retainer. He was in the middle of brewing a pot of tea when there was a knock at his door.

Now, whoever could that be? He tugged open the door, only to find his professor standing before him.

"Professor, what can I–"

"It's your turn," was the monotone command.

He sighed. "Of course." The professor had explained this experiment of theirs in class several weeks ago. They had been going through the student body and faculty one by one, making them go without food or water and forcing them through grueling training for two days. They would then be invited to spend the night with the professor. Exactly what happened, Hubert couldn't say, but the student or staff member in question always left heavily bloated.

It was for their own good, they had been told. The dark-haired young man wasn't convinced, however, and was almost certain their instructor had ulterior motives. But, given the nature of this individual, he couldn't quite puzzle them out.

And, he had been ordered to do exactly as he was told. He wasn't really looking forward to this. He had never been a particularly big eater, but that didn't mean he was fond of listening to his stomach yell at him all day.

"I'll need you at the training grounds in ten minutes." The professor then turned on their heel and strode away. The dark mage sighed and closed his door, suddenly wishing he had eaten a bit more the previous evening.

He shook his head. It was too late to worry about that now. He finished preparing his charge's tea and presented it to her, informed her that he would be unable to attend to her today, and left to change into something more suitable for a workout.

He made it to the training grounds just in time, nearly colliding with the professor as he swung open the gates.

"Oh good, you made it. I was worried I'd have to come find and drag you here."

"I apologize. I needed to finish my duties as a retainer."

"Indeed. Let's get started, then."

They started with a primary number of laps around the monastery. Hubert was a bit surprised when the professor followed him. "Oh? You're coming along?"

"Of course. I need to make sure you don't cheat."

The young mage gave them a snide smile. "You think I would do that?"

"That's irrelevant. Others have tried, and I can't afford any miscalculations."

They jogged for about twenty minutes. It was a bit longer than what Hubert was used to, but he managed. And he knew things would only get worse from here.

The next few hours were brutal. When Hubert lost track of exactly what it was he did, but his aching body told him he had used just about every muscle possible. The professor had done everything alongside him, but they seemed barely fazed by the intense workout they had just gone through. And here he was, panting heavily and trembling with exhaustion.

It took him several minutes to regain control of his lungs. "How much... longer?"

A hand was offered to him. He grasped it– "I think that's enough for now–" and was hauled to his feet. The professor held out a bottle of water. "Here."

Hesitantly, the dark mage reached out and took it. "I thought you said–"

"I'm well aware," the professor said, cutting him off. "But I can't have you collapsing on me. If you don't want it, give it back."

Hubert took a step back as they reached for the container, pulling out the stopper and greedily tipping the contents into his mouth, gulping it down as fast as he dared, not wanting to risk looking like a plebian, or waste any of what little he had been given.

As he drained the bottle, he felt his stomach, which had begun to ache due to lack of sustenance, burbled inside him. Obviously, this respite would be brief, but he welcomed it all the same.

He pulled the decanter from his lips with a slight pop and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, which he used to dry his mouth and face. Then he handed the flask back to his teacher, who returned it to that magical bag of theirs.

"Now, go shower and change. I'll see you in class."

The young mage didn't need to be told twice. After he finished bathing, he gratefully donned his uniform again and headed to class. As he entered the Black Eagles lecture hall, he took note of all the occupied seats, chose the most isolated one, and sat down. Thankfully, the professor started the lesson quickly, so Hubert didn't have to worry about any of his peers approaching him. He was positive they would all understand why his stomach was being so vocal, but he didn't want to clue any of them into knowing how uncomfortable he was being starved.

Throughout the entirety of the lesson, the dark mage did his best to muffle, and ignore, the sounds emanating from his empty belly, to little success. He received several slightly reproachful glances from his classmates, but no one said anything.

He somehow managed to make it through first period. When the lunch bell rang and his fellow students filed out of the room, he opted to stay behind. He didn't have much interest in watching others eat, especially if he wasn't participating himself.

No. Instead, he spent the time figuring out how to enchant his uniform to dampen the hollow churning in his guts. It wasn't a particularly difficult spell to cast, but he was exhausted and light-headed so he had trouble focusing.

Second period came and went. Hubert was able to pay attention a bit better now that he didn't have to listen to his stomach growling all the time, but the hunger pains were still there. He made a point to steer clear of the mess hall. Every time his nose caught a whiff of what was cooking, his mouth would water and his stomach would cramp. He had to avoid looking weak at all costs.

By curfew time, he barely had enough energy to undress himself before collapsing on his bed. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow, almost giving Lindhart a run for his money. Almost.

The next thing he knew, someone was shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and found himself looking into the pale lavender gaze of his charge. He bolted upright. "Lady Edelgard, what–"

She cut him off as she straightened. "Why are you still in bed? We have a mission today."

"I–" he started.

"No," she said, holding up an armored hand. "Don't answer that. Just hurry up and get ready. We're all waiting for you." And with that, she turned on her heel and left the room.

Hubert tossed back his covers, hastily threw on his mage's robes, and practically sprinted to the market square where the rest of his class was waiting.

The professor wasn't happy. "Mr. Von Vestra. How nice of you to join us. I never expected you to be the one holding up the rest of the class."

"It... won't happen again," he apologized, avoiding their soulless, penetrating gaze.

"No. It won't." Addressing the rest of the class, they gave a brief overview of the mission. It was fairly basic: a group of bandits have been terrorizing several villages out in the country and the class was tasked with eliminating them.

It took them several hours to march to the affected area. It wasn't hard to find, as several of the buildings were either on fire or still smoldering, making a very clear beacon to follow. They made their way to the village center where the target group of degenerates had all the villagers lined up. Some were stripped bare, and others' clothing was so badly torn it offered little or no protection from the autumn chill. Many of them had visible cuts and bruises as well.

Hubert opened his mouth to suggest they spread out, but Caspar, ever the hothead, charged forward with an expression of righteous indignation on his face before the dark mage could stop him.

"Hey! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Then, to his surprise, the house leader also stepped forward, speaking in a firm and clear voice. "Lay down your weapons and surrender or you'll have to face the wrath of the Adrestian heir!"

The professor sighed and glanced over their shoulder, meeting his eyes. He simply shook his head. Things... went downhill from there and soon, the sounds of clashing metal and magical incantations filled the air.

Hubert was grateful for the noise. It drowned out his belly's angry demands for food. He hadn't had the time to enchant his robes yesterday and the thought of his enemies hearing it churning against itself didn't appeal to him.

Of course, things don't always go according to plan. A wave of opposing reinforcements had somehow managed to sneak up on them as they were tending to the injured. He was only able to narrowly avoid an ax in the back thanks to a shouted warning from Dorothea, who was only a short distance from where he was.

As he struggled to his feet, his stomach produced a particularly loud gurgle. The enemy before him smirked. "What's the matter, boy? Aren't they feeding you enough? Why don't you join us? We'll make sure you don't go hungry."

"I'd rather starve than ally myself with scum like you," he spat, mustering all the power he could manage. He stretched his hand out, palm to the sky, then jerked it upwards. A writhing mass of purplish-black tentacles erupted from the ground to ensnare the rival column. He addressed them with his most contemptuous voice– "Don't ever try to lure me from my Empress's side–" and made a fist with his upraised hand. The restraints that enveloped the criminals constricted and a cacophony of cracking bones and anguished screams echoed off the buildings and trees. One by one, their wails abruptly ended with a rather impressive fountain of blood gushing from their mouth.

He dismissed the AoE as the remainder of his strength seemed to evaporate. The earth seemed to move in waves under his feet as he stumbled across the terrain. His foot caught on something and he felt himself falling. But instead of hitting the ground, as he expected, someone caught him, propping him up by their shoulder.

"Look at you, keeping all the fun to yourself."

"Bergliez..." Simply speaking was a chore now. He felt someone else take his other arm.

"You should really be more mindful of how much energy you expend. It would inconvenience us all if you collapsed."

"Ah, Lin," the young warrior chided. "Don't be too hard on him. You know what he's going through, you just went through it yourse–"

GWOORGLE - BLORLP

The two friends stopped, glancing down at their senior's midsection. Hubert's guts had been emitting a constant thrum since his encounter with the enemy relief. With absolutely nothing in their confines, they thrashed and ground against each other within him. He was so very hungry…

"Geez, I didn't think even my stomach was that loud. You're in for a real treat, though. The professor's an incredible cook. I remember when it was my turn..."

"Cas, don't..." Linhardt warned.

But... he was ignored and the brawler went on to recount several of the dishes he had been fed. Hubert's mouth began to water and his guts erupted into chaos, demanding to be filled with what was being described to them. The pain was almost unbearable.

"Caspar," the older man croaked, "if you don't stop talking, I'll make sure you regret your decision."

His junior stared at him for a moment, then looked away, swallowing hard.

Lin shook his head. "I told you to leave him alone."

His friend didn't respond as they struggled to catch up with the rest of the class.

"Man, he's not very big, but he sure is heavy."

Ferdinand had dismounted. "It might be easier if you put him on my horse. That way you two won't have to drag him all the way back."

"No," Hubert protested. "That... won't be necessary..."

"Get on the horse, Hubert. You're slowing us down."

He blinked, then sighed– "Fine–" turning to the animal. He managed to haul himself into the saddle, with some help from others, aaaaand promptly passed out.

––––––––––

You had just finished setting out the final dish of a small feast you prepared for the final stage of Hubert's stint as your latest test subject: it was time to see just how much he could eat after 48 hours of starvation. You had your notepad, pen, hourglass, and measuring tape at the ready.

There was a knock on your door. You called for them to enter and the Academy's resident dark mage stepped into the room. You saw his nose twitch as the myriad of aromas assaulted him and he stopped, eyes wide when he saw the table. You had made all of his favorites, including, but not limited to, sautéed jerky, Garreg Mach meat pie, Gautier cheese gratin, and cabbage and herring stew.

You pick up your measuring tape and tell him to take off his shirt. He hesitated but complied. Some people never failed to amaze you. The young Vestra heir was surprisingly muscular for a magic user and his skin was the color of light peach cream. Your shake your head to avoid staring and wrapped your measuring tape around his waist. His stomach rumbled against your fingers. Turning away to hide your blush, you told him to sit down and quickly recorded his starting size.

You get comfortable in your own chair and reached for the hourglass, but notice your student hadn't yet touched his food.

"What are you waiting for? It's going to get cold."

He cast a brief glance in your direction, then turned back to the mountainous meal in from of him, pulling the first entrée closer. As you watched him dig in, you were a little disappointed at his restraint. You had hoped he would loosen up a bit under the circumstances. But, given his status, you probably shouldn't have expected anything less.

To think, he was the reason you came up with this scheme in the first place. At a celebratory banquet a couple of months ago, the nobleman had stuffed himself to his absolute limit. It was quite out of character for him. You always had a thing for grumbly bellies, whether they were full, empty, or upset, a chorus of thick, wet squelching and deep, resounding gurgles was always music to your ears.

Hubert finished his first helping, setting the plate aside. You diligently recorded how long it took him to finish. Before reaching for the next, he paused to rub his belly. It had gotten much quieter now that it had something to work on, but was still audible.

Dish after dish vanished into the mage's gullet and growing guts. He paused more and more often to massage his bloated abdomen and his breath became increasingly strained. After sucking down the last bowl of stew, he sat breathing heavily for several minutes. He fiddled with his waistband a bit and you pretend to look over your notes.

POPK-ZIRRRRP!

Hearing him pop his belt buckle open, you figured the weight of his stomach forced his zipper down. Looking up, he was attempting to conceal a rather embarrassed expression. Looking at the table, you saw all that was left was the sautéed pheasant and eggs and super-spicy fish dango.

"You're almost done, don't stop now."

He gave you a tired look and leaned forward, grunting slightly, to pull the rest of his meal toward him. Cradling his heavy belly, he slogged through the poultry and eggs, stifled another belch, and returned the platter to the table.

Now, he just had to make it through the dozen dango skewers and he was done. He picked up the first one and brought it to his lips. These dango were a bit larger than the dessert variations but were still small enough that he didn't need to bother chewing. He simply pulled them off the stick with his teeth, rolled them to the back of his throat, and swallowed thickly. One down. Then two. Three. Four. Five... He methodically downed them all, replacing the empty skewers on the plate. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. His stomach seemed to protest with every gulp. Ten. Eleven. He was so close, just one more! He lifted the last one to his mouth and closed his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths, plunged the skewer into the depths of his jaws and pulled it out clean, and weakly let it fall back to the platter.

You jotted down his final timestamp and pushed yourself out of your chair, taking the empty plate out of his hands and placing it on the table. "Very well done," you congratulated.

Hubert responded haltingly. "I... think I'll just... sit here... and digest... for a while... if you don't mind..."

"Take all the time you need," you said absently. You were too busy staring at his massive belly. Leaning against the edge of the table, you reached out and rested your palms on either side of his navel. It was so warm. And you could feel every gas bubble and gurgle moving around inside him. You press lightly into his flesh and find out just tightly packed his guts were.

Hubert groaned softly. You start moving your hands in soft, slow circles, looking for any trapped air pockets. Your fingers encountered a tenseness just to the right of his belly button and you press your palm into it. Your student started to protest but then something came loose. It clamored through his body and up his throat. He tried to keep it down but he wasn't in any condition to do so. It exploded past his lips in a deep, reverberating eructation, carrying with it the stench of fish and eggs. It wasn't quite in your face but, close enough.

Heh, bonus points, you thought to yourself.

Once it ended, he clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes a bit wide. "Guh... Pardon me..."

You manage to splutter out a response– "You're pardoned–" and decide to start clearing the table to give him some space. Also to hide the fact that your face was as red as Edelgard's tights.

As you got closer to finishing the dishes, you noticed a strange sound coming from the other room. Quickly stacking the clean china on your counter, you'd put them away later, you go to investigate.

The Black Eagle's tactician was slumped over in his chair. As you neared, you noticed his eyes were closed. You realized why when he started snoring. He had fallen asleep. This gave you the perfect opportunity to do one last thing before carrying him to bed. You knelt in from of him, holding his vibrating gut in your hands again, pressed your ear to it, and sat listening for several minutes.

When you pulled away, you remembered you had to record his final size, too. It turns out, he's a fairly heavy sleeper. He hardly stirred. With that done, you toss his shirt over your shoulder and carefully lift him into your arms. You'd have to tell him tomorrow that he, too, had passed.

65 notes · View notes

mbti-notes · 2 years

Text

Anon #1: I assume my problem comes form Fi Te, is it? Can you give me insights or ideas on how to develop? I’m INFP about to go to university. I’ve been accepted in a good university with the degree I always wanted, in the country I always wanted to study at. However it’s not so demanded (linguistics) and I have vague career path.

In the last few months, I usually get random frustrations about my future, that I’ll find no job and get no money, I read all these opinions of people saying how there are no job and the world is falling and I start to panic as i can’t sleep. Can a one find a job? Is the world this bad? How are my parents and so many people I know do so?

I then start to hate the idea that I’ll go and study what I like instead of just start “hustling”. My family is able to pay fees comfortably, but I still feel like I’m a burden who do nothing but waste money in uni, and then maybe got nothing. I’m generally knowledgeable and I got good skills, and I take care of myself physically and mentally, but I can’t think that I’m good enough to find a job later.

I know this happened because I started to associate my worth with what is outside, because when I was more healthy, I knew that my worth come from within. I knew that this degree would require endurance, I’ve planned different successful possibilities and I’m ready to work hard because it’s something I’m passionate about. But now as the time gets closer, i feel like maybe I’ve done a mistake, all what I see is that I’m worthless, the world is a terrible place and there’s no hope.

to provide more context, dad always told me I should go study business, other wise I’ll starve, period (he didn’t study so but he works in business). Whenever my relatives asks me and I told them about linguistics they said it was stupid decision, especially as I get good grades that could allow me to study something “better”, all my best friends got into medicine, and they tell me i could’ve done better.

Anon #2: I am an INFJ from brazil and I would like your advice. I am 27, and I study to be a judge here in my country. The access to the career is by standardized tests which were never my strongest suit. It's also really competitive and it takes years of hard work, and of course, the result is not guaranteed. I have ADHD, being organiszed to study is hard too. I keep thinking about all the tests I took in competitive environments that didn't go well, such as not attending the university I wanted a couple of years ago. How do I deal with uncertainty? How can still put myself out there to try?

I thought of aiming lower, but then I'd never reach my dream. My financial condition is fine to just spend years studying, I am supported by my mom, but I am afraid not to reach my dream. I know it is contradictory to aim lower in such conditions, however, I am scared of putting out years of hard work and fail. Somehow I think I am too old because people who tried before me started when they were younger, but I was recovering from severe depression. I am scared that I won't reach my dream. How can I overcome fear? Thanks.

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

There are several issues to address:

1) The problem of inflexibility: To live life well, one must have faith. First and foremost, one must have faith in one's ability to adapt. All human beings are born with the capacity to adapt to change. People catastrophize because they feel helpless or incompetent; they don't believe they can handle what comes. This is related to poor N development; you don't have faith in your ability to be creative and resourceful in turning around negative situations. It is also related to poor T development; you haven't spent enough time building your skills and thus don't have faith in using them to get through your challenges.

2) The problem of out-of-control expectations: There are no guarantees in life. You could be the top student and follow each and every rule for everything, but it won't guarantee that your future will be exactly what you want. Everyone has their own path to travel in life and part of what makes life fun and interesting is that you don’t always know. This means there are many ways to define "success". You are both young, inexperienced, and far too narrow-minded, so you only have one oversimplistic idea about what "success" is. This is related to poor N development and failure to consider different possibilities and potentialities. It is also related to low level of ego development in terms of holding yourself up to other people's standards.

3) The problem of childishness: Perhaps you are still too used to being taken care of and you’re afraid of being an adult who has to take responsibility for each and every decision. When you are a child, you look to others to define your value/worth because you have a weak sense of self. When you still have the mentality of a child as an adult, the whole world becomes your “parent”, and you constantly feel judged and shamed for your “transgressions”, for not living up to various external images of how you should be.

You still haven’t set your own standards that are respectful of your own individuality. This makes you afraid of negativity. You believe negativity reveals that you are "unworthy” of love and/or “undeserving” of acceptance - it is painful to see the negative side of yourself. Until you learn to approach situations like an adult, through taking full responsibility for everything you are, positive and negative, you won’t be able to stand strong in yourself.

4) The problem of wrong attitude: It doesn't matter what you do, it is impossible to live a life without challenges, difficulties, problems, setbacks, and failures. Why? Because these things are necessary for people to learn and grow. Your attitude toward challenges is naive; you still believe that life should always be smooth or perfect. An essential part of becoming a mature adult is to be independent, in terms of facing up to the challenges in your life with the attitude of using them as learning opportunities to realize more and more of your potential - this is only possible when you learn to use your N function appropriately. Do you want to realize your greater potential, or do you want to be stuck in fear for the rest of your life?

If you care about realizing your potential, you have to be in touch with where your potential lies, you have to take risks to develop your potential, and you have to learn from your every experience along the way. Living life well isn't about being unafraid. You have an unrealistic view of emotions if you believe it’s possible to banish fear. Living life well is about being afraid but taking risks anyway because you see the necessity of growing pains and you understand that the growth will be good for you in the end. This relates back to the first point: You have to have faith in the process, in order to persist in carrying out long term vision.

#infj #infp #career #faith #adaptability #success #independence #expectations #attitude #maturity #fear #catastrophizing #ask

33 notes · View notes

seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

Home for the Holidays

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warnings: None.

(Edit - A/N: Now why tf did I post this in February...)

Word Count: 1,840

“I’m just a Hufflepuff.”

“Draco, I’ve got to go to class!” You shrieked through giggles as the blonde headed boy peppered your neck with kisses.

“Just five more minutes.” He protested, continuing to attack you with tickles and kisses.

Another round of laughter bubbled out of your chest, a sound that made his heart flutter. Draco had a knee placed on either side of your hips, keeping you secured down to his mattress.

“You said that last time and I missed the entire class. I’ve got to go.” You persisted with another giggle, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but to no avail.

“Are you saying that you would rather spend your Friday in class rather than with me?” He questioned, knowing you’d prefer to stay in bed all day.

“Well, I’d clearly love to stay here all day, but I have an Herbology exam that I can’t miss,” You announced, your chuckles dying off as Draco stopped tickling you; “Professor Sprout is already on to me for missing class last time.”

“As if Professor Sprout would actually punish one of her Hufflepuffs.” Draco sneered down at you.

“You’re just upset because she doesn’t hesitate to take House points away when it's you.” You fired back.

Draco looked off out the window with a laugh, because you definitely weren’t wrong. While he was distracted, you got out from under him and pinned him down on his bed. He fell back onto his pillows with a surprised grunt, smirking as you straddled his hips. He grinned up at you.

“I quite like this view...” He purred, his hands trailing up your waist.

You playfully smacked his shoulder, rolling off of him and his bed. He watched as you threw on your robes and grabbed your books. Draco had Potions first, but he never really cared about being late. You were scuttling around the room so quickly that you didn’t even catch Draco’s sudden shift in demeanor. He sat up, leaning on his elbows.

“[Y/N], we need to talk about Christmas break.” Draco said, causing you to completely freeze.

You gave him a look, really wishing he hadn’t brought it up. You sighed heavily.

“Not this again.” You warned.

He got off of the bed, following you as you continued to gather all of your stuff.

“I want you to come spend Christmas break with me and my family.” He stated as you had previously talked about before.

“I already told you no.” You argued, shoving your quill into your bag.

Draco had mentioned in passing a few days ago that he was making arrangements for you to spend Christmas break with him at the Malfoy Manor. He thought you would be on board with it, which was why he didn’t bother asking you first. Christmas break was only three or four days away, and time was of the essence. He was surprised, though, when you had such a negative reaction to the idea.

“I don’t want you to spend Christmas alone here.” Draco admitted.

It was true, you had spent all five of your Christmases at Hogwarts. Your family situation was...complicated. Needless to say, you’d much rather stay at school during the break. If only you could stay during the summer too.

You had multiple reasons for being weary of spending Christmas with the Malfoy family. You’d love nothing more than to spend Christmas cuddled up with Draco by a cozy fire, but it was his parents that you were more afraid of. You had never formally met either of them, but had heard stories that made you shudder in intimidation.

Lucius was a powerful man. Draco was a spitting image of him, and acted like him at times as well. Lucius Malfoy was known for being refined, formal, and serious at every possible moment. He absolutely terrified you inside and out.

Of the two, Narcissa was the one you were less afraid of. According to Draco and other sources, she wasn’t always an unpleasant human being. However, she was proud to have married into the Malfoy name. She took pride in her wealth, and her pureblood family. She believed in having pristine manners, and being your best all the time. She sounded like a crazy possible future mother-in-law.

Fortunately, you had the fact that you were a pureblood on your side. Realistically, Draco never ever would’ve even given you a second thought if you hadn’t been. You knew that his family would be pleased with your blood status, but that fact that you were a Hufflepuff was concerning.

They were all proud Slytherins. They donated impressive brooms to Slytherin’s Quidditch team every year, and money to wherever else they felt it was necessary. You were petrified of what they would say to their Slytherin son dating a Hufflepuff girl.

“I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to meet my parents? We’ve been together since last January, almost a full bloody year!” He screeched, the tips of his ears turning red with frustration.

“I know that, D. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just-” You stopped off, almost letting it slip.

But Draco was observant. He caught your quick pause, seeing the way you stopped short because you were afraid to tell him something. That was one thing Draco never ever wanted. He never wanted you to be fearful to tell him something, but he was still irritated.

“You’re being selfish. I just want you to have a nice holiday and you won’t even accept it.” He snarled.

You didn’t want to tell him. You were more afraid of what he would say about how his parents would react to you being a Hufflepuff. Him acting this way wasn’t helping. You slung your bag over your shoulder, ducking out of his room before he could stop you.

“I have to go.” You said, rushing out of the Slytherin tower.

Draco went to chase after you, but decided to let you go. He’d get to the bottom of this. One way or another. He knew if you didn’t come home with him for Christmas, then you’d be stuck at school by yourself, because all of your friends would be home. He hated the thought of you spending Christmas alone. If you wouldn’t come with him, then he was going to stay with you. However, he still wanted to know why you were so apprehensive about meeting his parents.

You couldn’t focus on Herbology for the life of you. You kept thinking about how disappointed Draco looked when you told him no. You didn’t want to ever hurt his feelings, but the thought of spending two weeks with his parents was far too frightening.

You avoided Draco for the rest of the day, thinking about how you were going to respond when you did finally have to have that conversation. You were quiet during dinner at The Great Hall, refusing to meet Draco’s stare that you could feel from a few tables away. He had been itching to talk to you since you had left him that morning, and he was afraid you were going to make official plans to stay at school over the break. Then you really wouldn’t be coming back home with him.

You booked it out of The Great Hall once you were dismissed from dinner, hoping to sneak back to your dorm undetected. You sighed in relief when you made it to the Hufflepuff common room, continuing your commute to your room. You had originally planned on spending the night in your room alone to figure this all out, but your plans changed when you saw a familiar face sitting on your bed, like a puppy waiting for its owner to come back.

Draco was sitting with his legs folded, and his head perking up when you walked in. You had left dinner in such a hurry that you were quite shocked that he had gotten here before you. You weren’t sure if he was still angry with you, so you approached lightly.

“Hey. How’d you beat me here?” You questioned.

He gave a proud smirk.

“I’m quick like that.” He bragged.

You gave a soft laugh, comforted that he didn’t seem to be angry anymore. You knew he had come to talk. You supposed that now was as good as any other time. He extended his hand to you, requesting that you sit with him. You shrugged off your robes, before taking his hand and joining him on your small bed. Your room was quiet, his hand cupping the side of your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He leaned forward a little, looking into your bright eyes that he loved so much. He could see the anticipation behind them.

“Kiss me.” He whispered.

You met him halfway, kissing him gently. You had missed him today, in all honesty.

“I didn’t see you all day...how was your Herbology test?” He asked after he pulled away.

“It was fine,” You said, getting right to the point; “I’m guessing you didn’t race me back here to talk about Herbology.”

His fingertips danced over the material of your skirt. You knew him so well.

“No, I didn’t,” He admitted; “Darling, why won’t you come back home with me?”

You averted your eyes to everywhere but him.

“You come from wealth and prosperity...your parents are very well known.” You began.

Draco nodded, but didn’t say anything yet.

“You’re all pureblood Slytherins and I...well...” You paused; “I’m just a Hufflepuff.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. He shifted closer to you.

“’Just a Hufflepuff’? You’re not just a Hufflepuff,” He corrected; “Do you think that my parents won’t accept you because you’re not a Slytherin?”

“Are you saying that they will?” You asked, suddenly looking at him.

Draco sighed heavily. He wouldn’t lie, the thought had crossed his mind. He was curious to see their reaction, because they always assumed he’d bring home a Slytherin, or maybe a Ravenclaw. He didn’t want you to be ashamed of your House.

“If they don’t, then they’re going to have to learn to,” He said, kissing your hand; “Because I’m not giving you up for them.”

You gave a short, but rather unamused laugh. You were still worried.

“Do you think they’ll like me? Aside from being a Hufflepuff?” You asked.

Draco smiled proudly, leaning in again so his lips were close to yours.

“Darling, they’re going to love you,” He said honestly; “If nothing else, I want to spend the whole holiday snuggled up with my favorite girl.”

You sheepishly laughed, a smile appearing on your face. You loved the sound of that.

“There’s that stunning smile,” He added; “So, what do you say? Will you come home with me for Christmas?”

You pondered for a moment. While you were still nervous, you realized that the important part would be spending Christmas with Draco, regardless of what his parents thought. You had to admit, it’d be nice to actually have someone to spend the holiday with.

“Yes. I will.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter draco #seriouslysnape

425 notes · View notes

honeypiehotchner · 3 years

Text

Looking Too Closely (Bucky x Fem!Stark!Reader) — part four

Y’all. I am dumb as all fucking hell. I’ve had this finished for days and just keep forgetting to post it. Send help

Summary: Ominous stuff and the Father Test results oooooo

Warnings: angst but that’s it I think

The next day, you and Wanda finally tackle everything Pepper bought you. You’re glad you took Tony’s advice (for once) and asked Wanda for help because it’s so much stuff.

“That is not my color. There’s no way I’d wear that.”

“You won’t know unless you try it on!” Wanda argues, holding the shirt out to you.

You push it back to her chest. “Nope. You take it.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, setting it aside. “Pepper got these for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” But I don’t like owning things.

Wanda sighs. “I’m sorry, but it’s okay to own things, you know.”

You look up in shock. You completely forgot she can read minds.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, grimacing. “I try not to, I swear, but that was a strong feeling,” she raises her eyebrows for emphasis.

“I’m not used to it,” you confess. “Mom never had enough money for us to have anything but the essentials. So, this…” You gesture at the pile of clothes around you and on your bed. “It’s weird.”

“I understand,” Wanda says. “But, I mean, you didn’t have anything when you got here. These are all essentials. It just looks like a lot.”

“You’re probably right,” you murmur. “You can still have the shirt, though. That really isn’t my color.”

“Okay,” she chuckles. “I’ll take it.”

You hear footsteps down the hall, and they sound a lot like Bucky’s, which is why when he knocks on the door, you’re not at all surprised when it sounds like his knock, too.

“Come in,” you call out, and sure enough, it’s Bucky.

“Hey-- Oh, hey Wanda.”

She waves.

He looks back at you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just checking on you.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Why?”

He shrugs, evidently not having a reason. “I...I don’t know. I hadn’t seen you since yesterday, so I guess I just...wanted to check.”

“Oh,” you nod slowly. “I’m good. Thanks for checking.”

“Yeah,” he says, waving once more. “See you.” He closes the door behind him, and you listen to his footsteps retreat back into the main area.

“Weird,” you mutter, grabbing another shirt to examine.

Wanda snickers.

You drop the shirt, giving her a look. “What?”

“Nothing…” She shakes her head, picking up a pair of pants. “These are cute.”

“Wanda,” you sigh. “What?”

“Nothing!” She tries again. “Really, it’s nothing. Bucky is the one mind I can’t really read. He’s good at hiding things.”

“But?”

She shrugs. “He doesn’t really check up on people.”

“Okay? And?”

“Nothing,” she says again. “Like I said, I can’t read him. And we have a bigger thing to worry about. Do you like these?” She turns the pants around for you.

You accept her subject change reluctantly. The pants are cute.

+++

When Bucky returns to the main area, he’s immediately called away by Steve.

“Meeting in five,” Steve says. “At MedBay.”

Bucky follows Steve to the elevator, narrowing his eyes. “Why MedBay?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Steve says quietly, stepping inside the elevator with Bucky.

“Did the results come back?” Bucky asks.

“They must’ve,” Steve sighs.

“What are we gonna do if she’s like us?” Bucky asks. “She has no clue that she is.”

“That we know of,” Steve adds.

“No, Steve, I don’t think she knows,” Bucky argues. “At all.”

“Well, we’ll figure that out later,” Steve says.

The elevator stops at MedBay, letting the two super soldiers off.

They’re met with Dr. Cho, Tony, and Natasha standing around. The look that Nat gives Steve is enough to let him know it’s bad.

Of course, bad is subjective. Because if you are a super soldier, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing (you won’t drop dead from it) -- but Bucky isn’t sure it’s a good thing, either. Especially if you don’t know what you are, because that means you were given the serum against your will and without your knowledge. But who would do that to you -- to a fucking kid?

Tony breaks the silence. “Well, we don’t need to stand around staring at each other. I’m sure you’ve put two and two together.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. “She’s a super soldier?”

Dr. Cho shakes her head. “I’m not completely sure.” She pauses. “But based on the DNA so far...yes. A form of one.”

“A form of one?” Bucky blurts.

“I’ve already called Dr. Banner,” Tony says. “He should be here tomorrow to help us figure this one out. Quickly.”

“Do you think someone is trying to recreate the serum?” Steve asks.

“Not trying to,” Tony says. “If Y/N is anything to go off of, they’ve done it.”

“But how does she not remember it?” Natasha questions. “It sounds like something someone would remember.”

“Unless she was unconscious,” Bucky adds quietly. “Or whoever it was wiped her memory.”

Everyone looks at Bucky, afraid that he’s right.

“We don’t know that, but...I do know her mom worked for HYDRA. Or a group closely associated with them,” Tony waves his hands aimlessly. “FRIDAY is still digging.”

“And you had sex with her?” Bucky laughs darkly. “Of course.”

“Hey, I don’t need your judgement, Barnes,” Tony snaps. “All I need is some help. Because until I say so, this stays between us. Okay?” Tony raises his eyebrows. “Barnes?”

“Okay,” Bucky mutters.

“Understood,” Steve says with a nod, but Tony wasn’t worried about him, or Natasha who nods in agreement, too. Tony’s worried about Bucky because he’s latched onto you in some weird way that Tony can’t quite place, but he knows it’s going to cause issues.

“I’ll try to convince her to start training with us,” Nat says. “At least with Wanda and I first. It’ll give her something to do and I can see how she behaves.”

Steve likes the idea. “If she wants to train with me or Buck, that’s fine too, we can gauge if she does or doesn’t know about her strength.”

“We don’t even know if she has super strength,” Bucky argues. “All I’ve noticed is that her senses are sharper than normal.”

“She’s been on the run,” Nat counters. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s holding things back from us. Don’t give me that look, I’m not saying I blame her, I’m saying I understand.”

Bucky doesn’t stop glaring at her, but he does nod.

Tony breaks the tension with a clap of his hands. “Now that we’re all on the same page, I need to go. I’ve got some news to break to the kid.”

All heads slowly turn toward Tony.

“Wait…” Nat furrows her eyebrows.

“She’s really yours?” Steve asks quietly.

“She’s really mine,” Tony nods, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Talk about being father of the year. Not even knowing your kid exists until she’s almost twenty.” He laughs it off because that’s all he knows how to do, but everyone can tell he’s beating himself up inside.

+++

When you see Tony again, Wanda is gathering the few clothes you decided not to keep.

“Hey munchkin,” he says, knocking on your door with two knuckles. “You got a minute?”

“Sure,” you shrug.

“I’ll see you later,” Wanda waves, punching Tony lightly in the arm on her way by.

“What’s up?” You ask. You’re grateful he’s come in now because it gets you out of hanging all this shit up, but you won’t admit that to him.

“Thought we could take a walk,” he shrugs. “I realized I haven’t given you the grand tour.”

You chuckle. “I’ve been almost everywhere, I mean, what else is there?”

Tony only smiles.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “Fine, lead the way.”

Tony doesn’t seem nearly as happy as you thought he would when you agreed.

Still, you follow him, and you don’t question his mood. Even if the two of you do bicker like hell, you kind of don’t mind spending some time with him. Working in the lab yesterday was more fun than you expected it to be.

Tony takes you down to the garage where all his cars are. There’s a couple motorcycles, one for Steve and one for Natasha. Bucky, surprisingly, doesn’t have one. Tony doesn’t point a car out and say it’s Bucky’s, so you don’t know if he even has one.

From there, he walks you through the business floors, nodding to the few people that pass by. You notice the odd looks you get, though. Tony doesn’t bat a single eyelash.

It’s when Tony walks you through his lab again that you realize he’s stalling about something, but you say nothing, letting him do whatever it is he’s doing. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re kind of enjoying the tour.

The last stop is the balcony near the very top of the tower. It’s right outside Tony’s office, unsurprisingly, but you truthfully didn’t even notice it the first day you were here.

You take in the view of the city from here, the breeze on your cheeks. You have a feeling you’ll be sneaking in here more often than not to come out here.

“So… The results came in.”

Slowly, you look over at Tony. “The results?” You pause. “From the paternity test? Already?”

“Dr. Cho uses different technology here,” he shrugs. “It’s quicker.”

“Okay…” You murmur. “What’s the verdict?”

Tony chuckles as he takes his sunglasses off. “What do you think?” He pauses, looking down. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, leaning against the railing. “What did you want it to be?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a father,” he admits, surprising you. “But the fact that it never happened just told me I wasn’t cut out for it. And even now, I think that’s true. I mean, look at me,” he scoffs. “I didn’t even know I have a daughter until she’s almost twenty, and she had to come to me. I couldn’t even go to her.”

You stare out at the city, not blinking, not moving, barely breathing.

“I always said I’d try to be better than my dad if I was one,” he continues. “I’d be around more. I’d be more involved in my kid’s life than I would in my work. Guess that one didn’t work out.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” you chuckle, trying to slice through some of the awkward tension, “every time my mom told me you’re my dad, I...I would be two seconds away from telling her to go to hell. But I never did.” You shrug. “I never believed her, though, either.”

“Do you believe her now?”

“Hard to argue with science, I guess,” you admit. “We can ignore it, though, if you’d rather I just...quietly leave.”

Tony shakes his head. “No. No, I’m not gonna make you leave.”

“Okay.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he says. “And you can change rooms, too, just let me know. There’s bigger ones a few floors down that are empty. It’s just Bucky and Steve on one end.”

You snicker. “You sure you want me rooming on the same floor as them?”

“Yeah, you know what, I take that back,” he nods firmly. “You’re staying where you are.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he replies almost instantly.

Heavy silence settles over the two of you for a few moments. The city breeze is the only noise in your ears, aside from the car engines, but you’ve gotten good at tuning those out.

“You’re not gonna get pissed if I don’t call you dad, right?” You ask.

“As long as you don’t get pissed if I keep calling you munchkin.”

You sigh. Win some, lose some. “Fine.”

“Good deal,” Tony says with a nod.

“Can I ask something else?”

“Shoot.” He pushes away from the railing to face you instead, leaning his hip against the glass.

“Do you remember my mom at all?” Before he can reply, you say, “It’s fine if you don’t. I’m just curious.”

He hangs his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry, munchkin.”

You shrug. “Probably for the better, anyway.”

Tony stills. It’s the first time he’s ever heard you talk about your mom, really, but with what he knows, it only makes him more suspicious. FRIDAY won’t finish digging until sometime tonight or tomorrow, but the beginning of what she’s found doesn’t look positive. And neither does your current expression.

#looking too closely #bucky barnes x fem!stark!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

205 notes · View notes

echo-of-sounds · 3 years

Text

exploratory birthday

-Gang Orca xf!reader-

Headcanons and a smut drabble for Kugo’s birthday! And look how his little nose wiggles like a bunny’s! It’s so cute!

As with most things in a relationship, celebrating his birthday with a partner is new to him. Kugo’s celebrated it before, but there’s a different feel when you’re with your friends, relaxing and laughing with one another. And when you’re beside your partner, it’s intimate, softly praising their life, cherishing their mere presence.

He isn’t completely opposed to a birthday party. Keep it small with his closest friends and he’ll enjoy it. If they’re too many people and too many things going on, he’ll get a little overwhelmed.

To really amaze him, book a hotel room someplace far away for an entire week. Kugo works enough that he’s able to get decent chunks of time off. Use it to your advantage and spend that time together, cuddling, caressing, and kissing in a bed overlooking the sun setting into the ocean, drinking wine, and listening to gentle music.

For a nice afternoon together, lounging on the beach is the best option. The water may be too cold for a swim, but Kugo still appreciates the sounds and smells. And he might go swimming despite the freezing water. His body can tolerate it. Don’t worry, he won’t drag you in.

Museums, zoos, and aquariums are also a good option. He enjoys learning, especially if it’s about something you’re interested in. Love rocks and gems? Take him through the geology exhibit at a museum and explain everything. He’ll listen to every single word with a huge, loving smile.

He doesn’t know how to properly answer the question: ‘What do you want?’ He’ll stare and say something like socks, unable to think of anything else. He doesn’t need nor expect you to get him anything. He has plenty of money to buy whatever he wants.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get him a present. Because you should. He deserves plenty of them.

Clothing is simple and always a good go-to for anyone. Though Kugo does require more specific clothing than those without mutation quirks. There are a few stores he frequents. Contact them and order a new suit, sweatpants, or just a nice T-shirt. His clothes get ruined quickly, so he’s always in need of more.

Firming your voice and pumping yourself up, you slid the sweater off your shoulders and spoke, “You have another present.”

Kugo answered from the couch as he tidied up, “From whom? I thought I opened them all.”

“Me. I was waiting until we were alone. It’s kinda for the both of us. I hope you like it.” You lingered in the doorway for him to turn.

When he finally did, his eyes opened wide.

“You said you liked lingerie. I figured your birthday was a good time to buy some.” He stared. It agitated shame through your body. “Did I not get a good set?” He just stared, not moving, not speaking. You recovered your body with the sweater. “Sorry if it’s wrong or not what you wanted. I thought- I wanted to try something-”

“You’re remarkable.” The pillow fell from his hands. He walked closer and gently pinched the sweater. “May I move this?’

You nodded. It dropped, allowing him to see and fondle your stomach. Palms shaped around to your sides. Your skin pinched between his fingers. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your feet left the floor, turning your reply into a yip. He carried you to the bed, sat you on the edge, spread your legs, and helped himself to you as he pleased. A wet, thick tongue swept over your panties. Hands felt up the thigh-high socks.

He hummed against you, “Very soft.” His tongue slid under the material, taking a taste. “You’re so soft, everywhere.”

You moaned the further his tongue wormed in, freely twisting and writhing inside. But it left all too quickly. He asked, “What’s this now?”

“It’s your other surprise. I saw it at the shop and wanted to try it.”

Kugo glided your underwear down your legs, sucking in once he saw the pink jeweled heart. Nails clicked against it. Each one ever so slightly fluttered the plug in your ass. He spread your cheeks to see the complete view. “It looks perfect. It suits you beautifully. What?” He questioned your smile.

“Nothing, honey. You’re just cute.” You petted his forehead. The neverending compliments got repetitive, but his curiosity and service were beyond adorable.

“May I?” He grabbed the heart.

“It’s for you.”

To start his experiment, he twisted it, watching the jewel intently. The plug fluctuated up and down. Next, he gently pulled it, spreading you around its widest part. Right as it was about to pop out, it pushed back in. He purred handsomely, “You really bought this for me?”

Nodding and moaning, your legs opened more to let him play. It sunk as deep as it could go, twisted, and pulled, and sank again. Then it withdrew entirely, suddenly. You whined at the stretch and pop.

His warm tongue lapped over you in apology. The tingle made you squirm and giggle. “What?”

“No one's ever licked me there. It’s weird. It tickles a little.”

“I should have done this sooner. You taste wonderful,” he groaned gutturally. His tongue returned, waving around, tenderly loosening the muscles, releasing them enough to nudge inside.

Your hips jerked. The foreign feeling gradually died. Your body accustomed to the wet intrusion, quite enjoying it, hungry for more. “Kugo, it’s-” A thumb massaging your clit induced a cry, “Deeper.”

Two fingers widened your cheeks. It gave him room to push flush against you, rubbing his nose, delving his tongue as far as it could go, dripping saliva, stretching greedily. The thumb pressed and rolled hard, unlike his usual caring motions.

The slick stroking pushed up, curving your back with an intense moan and tightening muscles. You gripped the sheets through the fall, humping his face, thanking him repeatedly.

When you slumped, his tongue slowly retreated. It left you oddly hollow. You opened your eyes to his naked body and very eager erection. His gaze locked in between your legs.

But he was big. It couldn’t fit comfortably in your ass. You mumbled, “Kugo, I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Relax, my love. I wasn’t going to. I’m not ready for that either. I’m afraid I’d hurt you.” He rubbed your thighs, kneeling and licking back down to your ass. His tongue only gave a few brushes before the butt plug touched you. It slicked over his spit, tapped your entrance, then playfully poked in, smoothly twirling as it stretched you again.

Once it nestled inside, you reached for his arms and told him, “Lay down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It is your birthday after all.” He lounged and you straddled him, immediately kissing along his forehead. His skin cooled your lips the lower you grazed. His tongue was out, waiting to sweep into your mouth. The soaked weight drew a long moan from your throat.

You sat up and went to unhook your bra. But he stopped you. “Don’t. Keep it on.”

“You like it that much?”

“It’s beautiful on you.” His hands stroked over your breasts and the bra’s soft material. Reconnecting the kiss, you positioned him. Hands shot to your ass when you lowered. His words jumbled with his tongue in your mouth, “You’re tighter.”

“So you feel it?”

He hummed, holding your body tight as you swayed your hips, testing the new sensations. Between him and the butt plug, you felt as full as ever. He seemed to enjoy it too because his hands never left your chest. His eyes never left your breasts. His mouth never stopped its praise.

You didn’t get to grind for long though. Kugo lifted your thighs for you to bounce. With hands leaning on his chest, you did, moaning every time his head kissed your front wall, sweeping along it tediously. Arousal leaked onto his skin. It sleeked and stuck to yours.

You didn't get to do that for long either. He stilled your hips. “Wait. I want to try something.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Turn around.” You lifted off of him and turned, bracing yourself on his thighs. He lined himself up and, supporting your back, instructed, “Lower onto me.” You did, slowly, hesitantly, feeling him stretch you differently in the different position.

When you seated fully, he asked, “Are you all set?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Hands smoothed up your sides, carefully pulling you back to lay on his chest. You gasped as the change flattened him firmly against your front wall. The pressure was angelic. He guided your hand to your lower stomach, then your pubic mound. The area swelled with him within.

You sighed his name. Kugo didn’t move at your whining. Nor at your digging nails. Nor at your lame attempts to hump on him. Fingers just pawed all over your stomach, kneading, clutching, sneaking under your bra to pinch your nipples. A heavy tongue washed over your neck and shoulder, sparking sensitivity, lust, need.

“Kugo, move,” you weakly fussed.

Hands drifted bottomward, gripped, lifted you till only his head remained inside, then released, letting you plunge all the way, completely stuffing himself in you. Your moan mixed into a yelp.

He froze. Concern threaded his voice, “Was that too much?”

“No, I- No, Do it again,” you panted, hooking his arm.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I- Again.” He listened and dropped you just as intensely. “More, please… Please…”

He did it over and over, hitting hard and deep and so fucking wonderfully. Your eyes rolled back. Your spine curved higher each gorging fall. Yet his hands kept you close, leading your joyride.

“Fuck me- fuck- more.”

He thrust up, meeting you in the middle, rooting himself deeper, richer, nearly too much, but the pinch of pain only added height to your peak. Lewd sounds gushed out. The sheer luxury and gluttony in you didn’t care. It just felt fucking amazing.

His flattery continued through his slapping and sticking. Your words caught in your throat. You could only grip and moan in his control, waiting for the final fall.

And it came, wet and loud. Your legs straightened. Your muscles went taut. Kugo quickly joined. Dense heat drained from him to you. Claws grated into your skin, holding you down so he could fill you full. It melted the ache his thrusting caused.

The high ebbed with his cuddling hands. His tongue lapped your jaw. You blindly felt backward for his cheek, tipping him for a kiss. “I love you so much… more than you’ll ever know.”

His hands stopped protectively on your lower stomach, right over where he released. He nuzzled your cheek, whispering, "You're better than anything I could have ever asked for."

You kissed him. Both of you nested on the bed, holding each other, feeling him mix and twitch deep within you.

#gang orca #gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata #kugo x reader #gang orca smut #gang orca imagine #bnha #bnha smut #bnha imagines #bnha x reader

431 notes · View notes

intheticklecloset · 3 years

Text

Kacchan’s Gift (My Hero Academia) / 12 Days of Ficmas

One Shot

Day 12/12

Requested by: @kiyachi-tickles

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Shipping: Bakugou x Deku (BakuDeku)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!! :D

Aaaah! I’m so honored that you asked for a 12 Days fic; I LOVE your MHA fics so freaking much, you don’t even know! Also - WE MADE IT! This is the final day of the 12 Days of Ficmas! I hope you enjoyed them all as much as I enjoyed writing them! This was a fun and challenging journey that I’d love to do next year as well! Kiyachi requested a fic in which Deku is feeling down because he’s struggling to find the perfect gift for Bakugou, and Bakugou tickles him until he agrees the gift doesn’t matter that much. I spiced it up just a little; you’ll see what I mean. Enjoy!

Note: This fic will remain unconnected to my other MHA fics. As with the poly ship one, it’s just for the 12 Days! ^^

“What’s going on with you, nerd?”

Deku yelped in surprise, turning just in time to see Bakugou closing the door to his dorm room behind him. His heart rate kicked up a notch. Kacchan was in his room with him. Alone. Okay, this was fine! Definitely fine. Not at all flustering in the slightest!

“K-Kacchan,” Deku stammered, unconsciously taking a step back when Bakugou moved further into the room, closer to him. The green-haired boy swallowed nervously. Bakugou looked good in his tank top and gym pants. It was entirely common for the explosive teen to show off his muscled arms like that, but when the tank top in question was white rather than black it somehow seemed…different.

“Answer me. What’s going on with you? You’ve been way jumpier than usual around me lately. I haven’t even made a move like I was going to touch you.”

“Oh, it’s…it’s nothing like that, I…I’ve just been…” Deku’s mind suddenly went blank. What was he supposed to say? No, Kacchan, I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’ve just been panicked trying to find you the perfect Christmas gift and I have no idea what you’d like and Christmas is only a few days away and…

“You’ve just been what?” Bakugou insisted, closing the space between them even further.

Deku gasped when he felt the wall against his back, strong and solid and keeping him trapped where he was. He had to be blushing by now. There was no hiding it when he got flustered like this. He let out a small “eep!” and immediately wished he could hide his face. Bakugou grinned wickedly at him, and it was his undoing. “I’ve b-been trying to find you a C-Christmas gift, and I…I don’t know what to get you and I’m kind of…freaking out about it?”

Bakugou, clearly surprised, blinked at him. “What? Why are you worrying about that? I don’t care about Christmas.”

“W-What?!” Deku cried. “B-But why? It’s so fun and festive and you get to get together with friends and family and—”

Bakugou slapped a hand against his mouth, silencing him. “I don’t mean it like that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just mean I don’t care about getting gifts. I don’t want anything or need anything. I’m good to go. You can stop worrying about getting me anything.”

Deku swore if Bakugou covered his mouth like that again he would not be able to stop himself from melting into a puddle.

“But…Kacchan, I…”

“Seriously, Deku. Don’t worry about it.” Bakugou took a step back and shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Deku’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Once his friend set his mind on something, there was no talking him back out of it. It usually was an admirable trait, but in a situation like this…

“But…I care,” he said quietly, averting his eyes. “You mean a lot to me, you know, and I…I want to show you how much I…” He stopped himself from saying how much I like you.

Bakugou let out a heavy sigh and turned away. “What do you want me to do, idiot? Tell you I want a new pair of socks so you can run out and get them and make yourself feel better? The point of gift-giving is to make the other person feel good, right? Well, I’d feel a lot better if you just didn’t worry about it. Deku, I don’t want anything. Seriously.”

The green-haired hero was silent for a long time. Then, finally, in a tiny voice, he said, “Okay, Kacchan. If you don’t want anything, I won’t…won’t get anything for you.” He winced saying the words out loud, hating them, but not knowing what else to do. Bakugou was nothing if not immovable.

Bakugou, for his part, turned to look at him and immediately felt like a jerk. It was clear that Deku was upset, and he hated being the one to make him feel that way. But what could he do? He honestly didn’t want anything from anyone. But he didn’t want Deku to feel like crap, either. How was he supposed to fix this?

It hit him, suddenly, what he could do to turn this situation around. He smirked and moved right back into Deku’s personal space, putting his hands on either side of him, trapping him against the wall. He saw how pink the smaller boy’s cheeks became in response and chuckled. “You know, actually, maybe there is something you can give me.”

Flustered beyond belief but feeling a spark of hope, Deku stammered, “W-W-What is i-it?”

Bakugou gently took Deku’s hands in his, guiding them up the wall to a spot above his head. With one hand he secured both wrists in place, and with the other, he gently pinched Deku’s hip. “Your laughter.”

The sound Deku made was the most adorable thing Bakugou had ever heard. Something akin to a yelp, whine, and moan all at once, the smaller hero’s face went dark red and he bit his lip. “I-I-I…y-you…w-want me to…l-l-laugh f-for you?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou pinched his hips again, a little harder this time, testing the waters. “I think that’ll do nicely. You get to give me something without spending any money, and I get to make you laugh so hard you see stars. Oh, and beg, too. I definitely want to hear begging.”

Deku’s knees nearly gave out beneath him. He didn’t mind being tickled, but Bakugou was different. He was harder, rougher, more merciless than any other tickler Deku had ever had. The fact that he had a crush on him did not make this situation any less flustering for him.

But…why not? Bakugou was right. It would work out for both of them if he agreed to go through with it.

So, with a deep breath and a nod, he assented. “All right, then. M-My laughter will be your Christmas present. H-H-Have as m-much of it as you w-want.”

Bakugou smirked and dragged Deku over to the bed, making quick work of pinning him down and straddling him. “Careful what you wish for, nerd.” Then he drove his hands into his underarms, and Deku burst into shrieking laughter, already bringing his arms down defensively as he kicked his legs, trying to hold as still as he could while his nerve endings were spazzing out and failing miserably.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA KACCHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN WAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!!” Deku cried, laughing loudly and pushing weakly at Bakugou’s hands. “WH-WHY CAHAHAHAHAN’T YOU EHEHEHEHEHEVER EASE ME IHIHIHIHIHINTO IT GEHEHEHEHEHENTLY?!”

Bakugou’s smirk became a grin upon hearing the instant hysterics he was pulling from his rival. “Because I’m not gentle. You know that. Why are you so surprised?”

With a squeal, Deku gave up and let his head fall back on the bed, laughter spilling out of him at a high-pitched and uncontrollable rate. He still kicked his legs and pushed at his tickler’s hands, but it was obvious he wasn’t really trying too hard to get away or make it stop. For a couple of minutes, Bakugou contented himself with aiming for lesser but still ticklish spots – underarms, ribs, sides, stomach. He even wiggled a finger into Deku’s belly button at one point, making him squeal again with an adorable red-faced smile.

But then he decided it was time to switch gears. “Stay here,” he said as he climbed off of him for just a moment. He went to the dresser on the other side of the room, grabbed one of Deku’s red ties, and returned to straddle his waist once more.

Deku’s eyes widened. “W-What is that for?”

“I’m making the most of my Christmas present,” Bakugou replied with a smirk, snatching up Deku’s hands and making quick, easy work of binding them to the headboard of his bed. “You told me to take as much as I want, after all.”

“Th-This isn’t…I didn’t know you…ah!” Deku’s giggling came out sounding panicked, the realization of his newfound helplessness sinking in all at once as Bakugou slipped his fingers under his t-shirt and scribbled along the bare skin of his torso. “Oh nohohohohohohohoho! Please, Kahahahacchan I d-dohohohohon’t think I can—”

“Don’t think you can take it?” Bakugou teased. When Deku nodded frantically, he chuckled and lowered his voice. “We both know you’re beyond strong enough to snap that tie in half if you really wanted to get away. So what are you waiting for?”

Deku said nothing in reply, but his cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree.

Bakugou smirked. “Exactly. Now stop whining and let me unwrap my present a little bit more.”

That said, the explosive teen shoved the hem of Deku’s shirt up to his chest, revealing his bare stomach and ribs, which he then proceeded to dig into with renewed vigor, grinning all the while at the yelps and shrieks and giggles coming out of the boy beneath him.

Not being able to bring his arms down now made this situation three times harder for Deku to endure. He twisted and whimpered and laughed, clenching his fists in an effort not to do exactly as Bakugou suggested and snap his tie in half. Because his tormentor was right – he could easily get out of this if he wanted to. But he didn’t; that was the point. This was Kacchan’s Christmas gift! He had to do his best to let him enjoy it.

Still, when Bakugou’s fingers moved lower and drilled into his hips, Deku couldn’t help the scream that came from him, followed by bellowing laughter he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. “AGH!! NO KAHAHAHAHAHAHACCHAN NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Heh.” The blonde smirked wickedly. “This always was a good spot.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! KACCHAHAHAHAHAHAN!!” Deku clenched his fists and made a conscious effort not to break out of his bindings right then and there as his hysterics began to overwhelm him. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Bakugou chuckled. “There’s the begging. It’s so satisfying to hear it from you, nerd.” He moved his fingers back up to his sides, lightening his touch. “But I don’t want to wear you out just yet. I intend to make the most of this moment.”

Gasping for breath, Deku broke into a new round of giggles, blushing at his friend’s teasing words. “K-Kahacchahahahan…”

For some reason, hearing Deku’s nickname for him when he was giggling breathlessly like that made Bakugou feel something…different. He couldn’t explain it. It was like a sudden rush of warmth, of familiarity and fondness. He brushed it off quickly, though, and raised a brow at his green-haired victim. “Yes? Something you want to say?”

“Y-You…seheheheem to be…h-having fuhuhuhun…” Deku managed between intakes of breath.

“Yeah? Right back at you.” When the smaller hero once again said nothing in reply, the blonde dug in a little harder. “You like being tickled?”

“I-I-aiehehehehehehehe!” Deku squeaked, turning his head to try and hide his blushing face. “I d-dohohoho when yohohohohou’re dohohoing it.”

Again, that rush of something foreign. Bakugou paused for a moment, watching him, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. But before Deku could look back up and see his face, he suddenly went for the hips again. “Well then,” he chuckled in between his victim’s screams of laughter, “this really was the best Christmas gift for both of us, huh, Izuku?”

Lost in his laughter and increasing pleas for mercy, it wasn’t until after Bakugou had thoroughly wrecked him and they were laying on his bed together a while later that Deku realized Kacchan had called him by his first name in that moment. He smiled to himself and snuggled a bit closer to his old friend who was now becoming something more.

Merry Christmas…Katsuki.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #12 days of ficmas #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #deku #midoriya #bakugou #kacchan #bakudeku #christmas #tickling #ticklish #gift #holiday

221 notes · View notes

css1992 · 3 years

Text

Guilty Pleasure

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost two months after moving out of Beck’s place, Peter was able to rent an apartment in the same building as Ned and MJ. It was tiny, of course, but pretty inexpensive, compared to other options he found around that area. Besides, with the money he made with Just4Fans over those few weeks, he would be able to afford it comfortably for at least a few months – largely thanks to YKWIM. He still planned on saving up as much as possible, so he put a lot of effort into making his account grow and it was working – by the end of April, he was up to five hundred subscribers.

He didn’t check to see what Beck was doing, he was too afraid to look and see him with his new boyfriend, but he got lots of comments from his old fans, who still followed Beck, telling him that the new boy had nothing on him. Again, he didn’t dare to check, but the ego boost was nice, even if he didn’t really believe them. Also, he was down to crying once every two days instead of every other day, so he was counting that as a win as well.

His apartment was still pretty empty, specially because he spent most of his time downstairs at his friends’ place, but he decorated the bathroom and his room to the best of his ability, since they would be the background of pretty much all his videos and pictures. He also bought some new lingerie sets, a few costumes and sex toys he wasn’t even sure how to use, but he was slowly figuring them out.

Aside from decorating his room and the bathroom, he also bought an armchair and placed it by the window with a couple of pillows. It was a nice spot to spend the afternoon reading or working on his computer. The light in that apartment was great, sunlight streamed right into his living room and warmed it up nicely. As they approached the end of April, the weather was getting better everyday.

Some days, he felt happy. He felt okay with the fact that he was still doing porn and that it wasn’t a terrible crime. Sure, it wasn’t what he had planned to do with his life, but he was young, he would eventually figure things out. For the time being, he needed that gig and he couldn’t beat himself up for it. Also, it wasn’t so bad now that he was only doing solo stuff.

Some other days, though, were just – hard. He remembered all the videos that were still online and he felt awful for the sole reason that they existed. Not so much for the ones he filmed with Beck, he was somewhat okay with those, the guy was his boyfriend after all, they had sex anyway, the only difference was the camera in the room. But the other ones…

When he started filming with other men, it quickly turned into an unpleasant experience for him. He hated every second of it and always ended up feeling guilty, used and disposable at the end of the day. Beck didn’t make it any better with the way he looked at him afterwards as he told him to get in the shower.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasons why those videos bothered him so much, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even him in them. It was like he was watching a different person, he looked at himself and felt completely dissociated from that boy – at the same time, he looked at him and he knew – he knew – exactly what he was feeling when those were shot.

But that was a lot to unpack and he just wasn’t ready for that particular crisis.

So in short, sometimes he was still a little unsure about how long he would be able to keep his Just4Fans account, because even though most days he didn’t feel too weird about it, sometimes it reminded him of things he preferred to forget. But that was fine, he was usually able to work around that. Also, most of his subscribers were great and didn’t make him feel like a cheap whore, so he had that going for him as well.

YKWIM was one of the good ones. They chatted almost daily, and Peter always sent him exclusive pictures and videos just because. He never posted those pictures on his feed once he sent them to him, it was their little secret. In return, he got his own collection of short videos of YKWIM finishing himself off. He didn’t know much about the person behind the videos, he’d taken to calling him daddy because most of his subscribers seemed to like it and YKWIM never complained, so it stuck.

Peter did know he lived in New York – which made him shiver – and that he was a businessman of some kind, but he also always talked about a workshop, so Peter wasn’t sure and he avoided asking personal questions. He worked most of the day and into the night, they usually talked when it was late, always around two in the morning.

He traveled a lot, too, and sometimes sent Peter small clips of his hotel rooms or the view from his balcony. In return, Peter sent him pictures of his messy bedroom and the horrible view from his window as a joke. It was nice talking to him, he always made Peter laugh – and then it often ended with a very satisfying orgasm that put him right to sleep, which was awesome.

Peter estimated YKWIM was older than Beck, but not by too much. He clearly had a fit body, which at first led him to believe he was in his thirties, at most; but he noticed YKWIM sometimes talked about the 80’s like he lived them, so he had to be at least in his forties, but Peter couldn’t be sure. He really wished he would show his face, though, it would be nice to have one to fantasize about. But then again, maybe it would ruin the whole thing.

One afternoon, after Peter spent hours taking pictures, shooting videos and editing them so he could post them over the following week, he got a message from YKWIM. He hurried to check it and was shocked to see that he had sent him yet another tip – forty thousand dollars this time.

“For you to buy pretty things so you can show them off to me.” Said the message that came with the money.

Peter almost dropped his phone when he saw it. It had been only five weeks since his last insane tip, so that made fifty thousand dollars in just a little over a month. For, like, thirty nudes. Who even was that guy?

“Wow, daddy, that’s way too much!” He added a flushed face emoji, for lack of something better to say. He was honestly feeling a little overwhelmed, even if the guy had millions to spend, there was no way just giving someone that amount of money was normal.

“That’s not nearly enough for what you’ve given me, baby.” Peter’s cheeks burned.

“I’m very flattered, but please, I really don’t think I deserve all this.” He was pretty sure he sounded pathetic, but that was how he felt, so. Yeah.

“Oh, but you do. Trust me, you really, really do. You’re worth every penny.” Peter bit his lower lip, a little unsure and still a little shocked.

“At least tell me what you’d like to see from me, please. Do you have any kinks that you’d like me to perform? Don’t be shy.” He asked, even though it always made him nervous to offer that kind of thing. Sometimes people were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make the weirdest requests.

But, to be fair, he had been talking to YKWIM for over a month, so he somewhat trusted him not to ask for anything too absurd. And then again, the guy had just paid him forty thousand dollars.

“Well, if you insist...” Here it comes, Peter thought, bracing himself. “Red and gold are my favorite colors. I’d love to see you wearing them.” Oh. Not what he was expecting at all.

“Done! Anything else? Come on, there’s gotta be something else.” Again, risky move. But again, forty thousand dollars.

“I’d love to hear you. You’re always so quiet in your videos. If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear you call my name.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at that request. It sounded… almost sweet? It obviously wasn’t meant like that, it was completely sexual, but out of all the wild things he could have asked for, he wanted to hear Peter call his name.

“What’s your name, daddy?”

“Tony.” Tony. Peter tested the word out on his tongue, saying it out loud once, twice. Tony. It suited the image he had created in his head. Tony.

“I can definitely do that, Tony. Anything else?”

“Buy yourself something pretty and send me a picture wearing it. Nothing sexual. Something you’d wear to a date with me.” Peter’s breath hitched. He supposed it was probably just a weird, rich people kink or something, but his mind went wild anyway. Very, very wild.

“I don’t know what I’d wear to a date with you, daddy. Any advice?”

“I like expensive and beautiful things such as yourself, baby.”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t appreciate being called expensive, like he was a thing to be bought, but he felt weirdly flattered by the answer. He promised YKW – Tony – he would send everything he requested over the next few days, and he was actually excited about the whole thing. And of course he knew that feeling was trouble, there were warning signs flashing like crazy before his eyes, but he ignored them and convinced himself that he was just having fun and he was allowed to have fun if he was going to keep doing porn. He didn’t have to feel miserable and guilty all the fucking time. He could – and should! – take some pleasure from it. He deserved it.

So the following day he asked MJ to go shopping with him, but he still didn’t tell her the whole story, he just said it was for his Just4Fans and she readily agreed to go. They went to Victoria��s Secret and Peter told her what he had in mind.

“So, how’s the job going? You’re doing okay? Not too overwhelmed?” She asked coolly as they searched through the panties section.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s different when I’m in control, you know? Like, I know my limits and I don’t need to count on other people to respect them. Well, most of the time. So it’s cool.”

Some subscribers were a little pushy sometimes, asking for things Peter wasn’t willing to do and then getting really aggressive after being told no. But it didn’t affect him as much as it did when Beck ignored his boundaries, because those pushy subscribers could be easily blocked, whereas with Beck, well. It was a different story.

“Don’t ever feel like you need to push your limits, okay?” Michelle stopped what she was doing to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at her. “If you ever feel like stopping, for whatever reason, just do it. No matter what, you’ll always have me and Ned, understand? We’re family, we’re here for you, we’d never leave you alone. If you want to stop, we’ll figure something out together, you hear me?” The way she looked into his eyes made him understand that she really meant every single word of it.

Family. He had a family with them.

Peter felt silly tearing up in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, so he pulled her into his arms and hid his face in her neck.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” he muttered, as she squeezed him a little tighter, before pushing him away.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all teary-eyed on me, come on, you’ll ruin my reputation.” She looked around, sniffing, then stuck her hands in her pockets. Peter laughed halfheartedly, drying the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, there are panties to be bought.”

They spent a couple of hours searching the store, but in the end he found the perfect set. He bought some other pieces, too, for his feed, people had been asking for lingerie a lot lately, after a slightly weird phase of cat ears and tails. Once they left Victoria’s Secret, Peter was nervous because he had to tell MJ at least part of the truth to get her help with the second part of Tony’s request.

“So, listen,” he started and she turned to him, happily sipping her large coffee as they walked down the street. “I have this subscriber. He’s, like, a rich, old dude who always sends me tips and stuff. Anyway, he gave me some money and asked me to buy something nice and pose for him, but like, not in a sexual way. He wants to see me clothed.” She frowned, staring at him suspiciously. “Um. I was wondering if you could help me with that?”

She was silent for a few seconds, just looking at him with narrowed eyes. He looked away discreetly, trying to avoid her mind-reading skills.

“Should I be worried?” She asked, finally. He shook his head and chuckled nervously, waving a hand dismissively.

“He’s harmless, just some lonely, old dude. So, will you help?” He looked at her expectantly. She was still frowning and definitely knew something was up, but she nodded anyway, to Peter’s relief.

“What do you have in mind?” MJ asked and resumed her stroll down the street, Peter had to jog a little to keep up.

“Something expensive and beautiful,” He quoted Tony, like an idiot, because he honestly had no idea what that meant.

“That’s oddly specific and somehow not helpful at all.” She lifted an eyebrow and looked around the busy street. “How expensive are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Very?” He answered nervously, and, yet again, she looked looked like she wanted to rip the truth out of him, but she also knew that was not the way to go with him.

“How much did this guy give you?”

“Um. for – five thousand dollars.” He stuttered. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the actual amount, because it sounded absolutely insane and she would worry unnecessarily.

“Holy shit!? Fuck, why aren’t I doing porn?!” She screeched and Peter hurried to put his hands over her mouth, because at least three people turned around to look at them.

“Don’t even joke about that, you hear me? You have a bright future ahead of you, don’t fuck it up,” he told her seriously and she looked like she wanted to argue just for the sake of being annoying, but something in the way he looked at her must have made her realize he meant it.

“Chill, I’m joking.” She patted his shoulder and looked away. “So. Five thousand dollars? We can work with that.”

He was a little scared of the weird gleam in her eyes, but followed her anyway.

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, it was a lot of fun and he even got her a pair of shoes she kept staring longingly at. She was worried they would go over the budget because she wanted him to save some of the money, but he assured her he could afford it. They managed to put together a great outfit that he was very confident about and then called Ned to meet them for dinner in the evening.

Later, they took the subway home and, for a while, he felt like a normal 20-year-old guy – happy, weightless and just a little heartbroken, like everyone was bound to be at some point in life. He was going to be okay, he realized. That thought hit him like a punch in the face and it felt fucking awesome.

He rested his head on Ned’s shoulder with a sigh of relief, feeling the warmth of MJ’s hand on his thigh.

It was around midnight when he got home, which for him was still a little early, he had developed the terrible habit of going to bed well after two in the morning – he blamed Tony, but to be fair, many of his subscribers were mostly active around that time as well. He debated whether or not he should start working on Tony’s requests, he was a little tired from a long day of walking around carrying bags, but also surprisingly eager to show the older man what he got for him.

He took the Victoria’s Secret bag and displayed the new outfit on the bed. It was a simple, but beautiful lingerie set. What Peter loved most about it was the fabric – it was made of deep red satin, smooth and glossy, and it felt simply amazing on the skin.

He decided to try it on, just to make sure it fit properly.

The top was a delicate bralette, two little triangles only big enough to hide his nipples and a little bit of his pecs. It was the perfect size for him, it sat flush with his skin, no unflattering cup gaps. The panties were tiny, Peter wasn’t too sure about those back in the store, he was worried not everything would fit in it. It did, but just barely, but it actually worked in his favor, in his humble opinion. Lastly, he put on the garter belt, which was just a thin piece of fabric that went around his waist, with two straps that hung down to clasp onto two elastic bands that went around his thighs.

Since Tony said red and gold, he also put on a thick, golden choker, just to see how it would look.

Once he was dressed, he went to check in the mirror. He bit his lower lip, running his hand over the fabric that covered his chest. It felt really smooth, and the way it brushed against his nipples sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Tony’s hands on his body. They looked strong enough to hurt, but he imagined they would be gentle with him, as they traced a path from his collarbone to his neck, to wrap themselves around his throat – but not tight enough to choke him, just a promise.

He sighed, as if to check that he could still breath under the pressure, and slowly slid his hands down from his neck, brushing his hard nipples on their way down to the front of the panties – God, it was so smooth...

For some reason, he imagined Tony would be a gentle lover. Maybe it was the way he talked to him, always so charming, all sweetheart and baby, all praise and compliments. Maybe it was the way he never demanded anything, only asked nicely, all please and thank you.

Tony wouldn’t ruin him, like he promised so many times in those last few weeks, he would fuck him long and slow, raspy voice whispering sweet praise in his ear, rough hands holding him down, hips snapping with each unrelenting thrust.

He bit his lips, knees buckling as he felt the front of the panties getting wet, while his leaking cock struggled to get free.

Well, then.

He grabbed his camera from the closet and positioned it on a tripod in front of the bed, just a few feet away, and programmed it to take pictures every five seconds. He sat on the bed, facing the camera, feet still on the floor, and just closed his eyes for a minute, letting a sigh escape his lips as the fantasy from before filled his mind again.

He spread his legs and his fingers reached down to the front of his panties again. His cock felt impossibly hard, straining against the delicate fabric, dark pink tip peeking out of over the top of the tiny underwear. He touched himself slowly, hips rocking lightly to match the pace of his own hand, as he listened to the clicks of the pictures being taken.

He had to force himself to stop, before he lost control, and moved to kneel on the bed, with his side facing the camera, and lowered his chest until it was touching the mattress, letting his back curve in a sinful arch, head turned to the side, staring right at the lens. At Tony. Imagining what he would do if he were there.

He sat back on his heels and turned his back to the camera, spreading his knees, each of his hands grabbing one ass cheek, pulling them apart, only a thin, barely there strip of fabric hiding his nakedness. He looked over his shoulder and waited for the camera to take at least a couple of pictures.

Next, he laid on his back, side facing the camera again, left hand rubbing one nipple over the silky fabric, as the right one reached down the front of the panties, to finally give himself some sort of relief. He let out an almost pained moan as he wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, once, twice, but all that teasing was driving him a little insane.

He knew he should probably take a few more pictures, but he also knew wouldn’t last much longer.

He got off the bed and went to the dresser where he kept all of his “work stuff”. He grabbed a tube of lube and a vibrator that was neither too small, nor too big, it was a size Peter was comfortable with.

He switched the camera to video mode, pressed record and resumed his position on the bed, knees on the bed, holding his lower body up, and chest resting on the mattress. He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, pushed the panties a little to the side and circled his hole gently, slowly, because that was how he imagined Tony would do it. Those big, rough hands would have grabbed him by the hips, put him in that exact position, before teasing him mercilessly.

He moaned quietly and closed his eyes, rubbing slow circles around his rim, pressing a little against his entrance, but not hard enough to breach it. He felt his cock pulsing, begging for attention, but he didn’t dare to touch it, not yet.

“Tony, please...” He whined, pushing his hips back against his own hand, he was so lost in his fantasy he almost forgot he didn’t need to beg. Almost. “I need you...”

Gently, he started pushing one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, he was so aroused he barely felt the burn, just delicious pressure that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He started fucking himself on his finger, feeling the muscles around it slowly make way.

“’Been thinking about you, Tony…” he rasped out, hips pushing back against his hand. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout you...” When he felt loose enough, he pushed another finger inside, the stretch becoming a little more noticeable as he slowly scissored himself open. He got on all fours and turned his back to the camera to give Tony a better view, all spread out for him, and kept fucking himself, picking up the pace once just those two fingers weren’t enough. “Fuck, daddy, need you so bad...”

He eased the fingers out of himself, sighing at the loss, and reached for the vibrator that was sitting on the bed and turned to face the camera again. He knelt on the bed and, with one hand, he propped the vibrator up on the mattress, holding it down from behind him, as with the other hand he guided its tip to his already abused hole.

He flicked the switch and it vibrated to life, nudging against his hole before finally slipping in. Peter’s breath hitched at the intrusion, feeling the delicious burn on his lower back, as he moved his hips up and down slowly, trying to push more of it inside with each painful thrust.

“Fuck me, Tony,” he begged, as his free hand finally reached for his neglected cock, pumping it hard and fast, matching the maddening pace his hips set. He lost all sense of rhythm when he felt the tip of the vibrator finally – finally – reach his prostate and he pushed it even further in, until the pressure against the bundle of nerves became too much and he exploded in one of the best orgasms he had had in a long, long time. “Oh, f-fuck!” His vision went dark for a second as he let himself fall back on the bed, wasted.

He spent almost ten minutes just lying there, trying to catch his breath and regain consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that, he was boneless, floaty, completely satisfied. It was honestly the best he felt in months.

When his legs stopped shaking, he got up and headed straight to the shower, still feeling a little dizzy and weak, but he wasn’t complaining.

Once he was finished, he debated whether he should just go to bed or send Tony what he had, but with the way he was feeling, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep so easily. So decided to send at least the pictures right away, even though it was nearing 3AM. Peter knew Tony was probably up, the man did say that he was an insomniac and that he sometimes went days without any real sleep, so it wasn’t a surprise when he answered just a few minutes after Peter sent them.

“Holy fuck, Peter!!” Peter bit his lower lip, burying his face in the pillow to hide his blush, even though he was alone in his room.“What the fuck, baby, it’s three in the morning, are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

“So you like them?” He asked with feigned innocence.

“I fucking love them, you little tease, these are hands down my favorites yet. I swear I’m gonna have them framed and hung in my workshop and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking days just writing odes to you.” Peter giggled into the pillow, turning on his side to get more comfortable on the bed.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He joked lightly, blushing again, which was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck no! You’re something else, kitten, and you don’t even know it.” Peter suppressed a smile, biting his lower lip.

“Are you touching yourself right now, daddy?”

“To be honest, I’m so fucking hard I think I’m gonna come instantly if I even brush my fingers on my cock. I’m literally just staring at the pictures right now and worrying I’m gonna come untouched just from that.” Peter laid on his stomach and bit the pillow, gently rocking his hips against the bed.

“That’s so hot. Can I see it?”

Seconds later, there was a video in the chat. He played it immediately and, sure enough, Tony wasn’t kidding. His cock was rock hard, throbbing, the head was an angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum. Tony was just holding it at the base, not daring to touch it, and the whole thing almost made Peter hard again, but he was really exhausted.

“Fuck, daddy, I really wish I could help you with that.”

“Oh, you don’t even know what I wish.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Peter figured he had gone to sleep, but then his phone beeped, alerting him to another message from him. It was, of course, a picture of Tony’s spent cock, resting against his belly, which was covered in come, so much of it Peter’s mouth watered.

“Was it good, daddy?”

“The best, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m gonna sleep like a baby today.” Peter chuckled. Tony always said that was high praise coming from someone who hardly ever slept and the younger man took his word for it.

“Goodnight, Tony. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it, Pete.”

He knew he was fucked the second he tried to suppress a small smile, but couldn’t.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

31 notes · View notes

jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Note

I remember someone suggesting about the La Squadra child being Abbacchio or Mista’s nephew/niece and I was wondering if it’s ok to ask how would (I’m gonna go with Abbacchio) react to that?. Maybe before joining the kid was just a above average intelligent child but was still normal and now Abbacchio is confused as to why their stoic, cold and with a group of assassins.

La Squadra Kid backstory and relation to Abbacchio + general HC’s

Thank you so much for asking this, I’ve been meaning to summarise their backstory and how they ended up with La Squadra! This will be kind of emotional since it’s bit tragic imo. There’s also going to be some HC’s about our little bud so you can all get a feel at how I see them 😊

Long post!

CW: heavier subjects such as trauma, not fun situations for a kid to be in and usual gang related violence, mentions of abortion and mental illness

General HC’s

I’ve always imagined them to be around 7 to 8 years old, but unfortunately due to all that’s happened, their mind has been forced to mature a lot faster. Of course they should have never had to go through that but life isn’t that simple, especially for them.

Their name is Pomo, like an apple or a pommel :) thought it was a fitting and cute name! I’ll still refer to them as La Squadra Kid in titles but opt for Pomo while writing.

Pomo is not that tall for their age, just cute lil bean with puffy cheeks! I’ve decided to keep Pomo’s pronouns neutral, it just seemed to click more.

As far as their personality goes it’s been fun discovering them through your asks! Pomo is a quiet and stoic kid, they don’t smile that often but that doesn’t mean they’re not enjoying themselves.

They love drawing things as a way to express their feelings or the things they like. It’s a lot easier than verbally communicating for them. They’ll say what they need with the least amount of words necessary.

They’ve developed a weird sense of humour, very dry I’d say lol, also thinks it’s funny to scare Ghiaccio, who they know secretly likes them.

Pomo is quite independent and goes out by themselves, their stand is very powerful and kinda scary, even to their colleagues so they can handle any trouble coming their way. Pomo is slowly learning that they don’t need to do everything alone (i.e. asking for company after nightmares)

Though going out alone can result in people turning Pomo away in shops, that’s why Melone is their choice to bring along so it’s not weird a kid is just out alone spending money.

They’re also very glad to do tasks or things the others ask of them, they crave harmony and peace at home so Pomo will try to help achieve that in any way possible (unfortunately this is a result of trauma).

Pomo really likes La Squadra and sees them as their family now, knowing what member is better at offering different types of things and who to turn to for specific needs.

Their stand’s is named My Way (マイウェイ) after the Frank Sinatra song. It fits quite nicely imo, a force to be reckoned with doing it on their own terms.

And lastly, they do not like hugs or being touched that much. They’ll allow hand holding but only if they’re in a good mood, quick head pats are also ok. It really is touch and go with them, Pomo will let you know when they don’t like something.

Backstory and relation to Abbacchio

The world moved in a blur, the two lines on every single pregnancy test strewn out before her like nails getting hammered into her coffin. Suffocating while it was lowered into the ground, scratching and screaming for air, nails bloodied and raw as the reality set in that she was unmistakably pregnant. The panic followed, clenching her chest like a vice, threatening to shatter her heart and lungs in the process, gasping for air and wishing any other truth than this one. Abbacchio’s older sister wept for days, dark circles alternating with red swollen puffiness as the life she’d just started on her own already began to crumble.

The father of her child taking his exit as soon as she confessed her situation, knowing before she’d even tell him that he’d swiftly let her suffer in the mess. The thought of looking a doctor in the eyes, the cruel conversations she would have to endure before they’d let her suffer in uncertainty of the fate of her unborn child, making her choose to just endure it instead. Not that the choice would offer a softer outcome, it was her burden to bare, she thought. Whatever horrible things she’s done to receive such heartless judgement never occurred to her. The only thing the young woman was convinced of, is that she whole heartedly deserved it.

Her younger brother, growing up to be an impressionable adolescent, unsure how to care for his beloved sibling. His eyes always so full of innocent wonderment at his older sister, wanting to become as brave and independent as her. Living alone, working strenuous hours as if only this would make him worthy of the meagre salary of a rookie police officer. Slowly but surely he saw the woman he so admired creep away as her belly grew larger each month. Coming by often to check up on her wellbeing after school, spending nights or even weeks so he’d be by her side. All the while finishing up in high school. As his sister’s expression grew darker, the smiles fading and her laughter but a distant memory Leone Abbacchio could do nothing but stand by and let her lean on him.

The meagre support their parents could offer did little too ease her mind, the reality of becoming a mother and having nothing but emptiness to offer her child digging her ever deeper into the darkness that consumed her. She sobbed the day her child was born, little Pomo’s big eyes asking her if she was even worthy to hold the small babe. Every look at the child reminding her she had already failed, not even able to comfort their cries before feedings. Incapable of shushing them and finding the strength to coo at those tiny hands that ached to play and accept the warm touch of a caregiver. The young mother did what she needed, feeding the child and changing diapers. The depth of her troubles never easing as she had to go back to work, two different jobs needed to support herself and Pomo.

Abbacchio offered what he could, often babysitting and spending weekends at his sister’s cramped apartment. A child taking care of an even smaller one. The hope he held that his sister would regain her previous lust for life faltered. It only seemed to worsen as Pomo grew. The child never overtly fussed or cried, sleeping soundly and cooing gently whenever hungry. Those big eyes always seeming to bore straight through whoever leaned over the basinet to admire them. The child’s mother wished for it all to end, every night she’d pray to any god who would hear her desperate calls. But as she did only further hurting herself, her pleading like whips claiming penitence on her heavy shoulders.

She begged her younger brother to go out and make his dreams come true. “Never let your resolve falter Leone. Ever.” The voice that brought him courage, the broken woman’s words reminding him of the image he so admired once. But in pursuing his career as an officer it would mean less and less time to care for his dwindling sister and her child.

The night she told him the sisters of their local convent would relieve her of her child, the young officer held his sister for hours. The tears they cried filling an endless well of sorrow. It hadn’t brought the relief she thought she would feel, not a feather lighter as her child would be in more capable hands. Caregivers who weren’t afraid to look the toddler in the eyes as they searched your very soul for meaning. At merely four years old dear Pomo lay gently asleep in a different cot, in a stony building smelling of earth, heated by creaky copper pipes while sisters prayed in unison with beaded necklaces intertwining their palms. Praying for deliverance.

Abbacchio came by whenever he could, becoming more and more weary of his actions and the people he swore to protect as his career started to lack the fervour it had when he started out. Seeing Pomo grow into a silent and demure child, laconically learning to read and write, quietly pleading the sisters not to let their touch on their skin linger. Every stroke burning with an unknown memory that someone once held them, just once and decided to never do it again. Their very skin warding off any unwanted contact without even knowing why. A locked memory with a firm grasp on their being.

“Never let your resolve falter, Pomo. Ever.” The last words spoken to the small child before leaving. The lonely child left in the suffocating confines of the convent. Their uncle wouldn’t return for a long time, days spent hoping to see a sliver of his stark hair and bright eyes that had seemed to dull over time. But the child would never forget those words. Not even as the head sister punished them for not answering when spoken to, not when she would order them to remain on the prayer bench for hours as punishment, knees aching to settle as they were forced to remain. Their eyes boring through the other sisters as they came and joined them at their usual hours of worship.

Restraining the stand they were born with from acting out, self control being trained as they kept going, determined to let their uncle’s last words not be wasted on them. In the free time Pomo was allowed, they’d test out whatever the ghostly figure could, standing taller than them with thick black fog-like tentacles resting behind their back. Whatever those touched seemed to shrivel up like roses in wintertime. Pomo was intelligent, interested in more subjects than just his schooling that only seemed to bore them. The ease of the material offering no challenge as they completed tests with full marks, only making the head sister grow suspicious of them and unleashing more punishment.

Men in extravagant suits would visit the convent every so often, hushed whispers as they walked by the child who’d stoically stare as they passed. They’d always ignore them, scared of the glare and aura the child had started emitting. Many of the sisters had rejected the offer to tutor them when the previous one excused herself, feeling too uneasy by Pomo’s being. It didn’t hurt them, they just kept on doing what the sisters asked of them. Stay tidy, study and don’t get in their way. They had accepted their silence and aversion to touch, growing scared to try anything after the entire courtyard greenery was found shrivelled and dead mid spring. Every freshly planted flower grey and sad, the grass as crunchy as if it had just been burned to ashes. Pomo was sat comfortably on the stone bench that was placed there to admire the garden’s beauty. It wasn’t that they wanted it to happen. Someone just came too close and made them panic, not that it was clear to the sister that accidentally grabbed their shoulders while moving past them, the child remained calm, instead letting their stand take care of the burning sensation that crept over their body.

It was one of those days where a well dressed man would come by and whisper secretively with the sisters as they strode towards a private room and remained there until it was time to leave in an equal hurry. But this time a relaxed gentleman stepped out of the room with a large huff, stretching his neck and groaning loudly as he did. The taps of his heeled shiny shoes echoed through the stony arches of the hallway that led to the courtyard where Pomo had been toying a blade of grass between their fingers. Intensely staring at the green colour that stained his pads while their stand loomed over them freely. As the steps drew nearer, the child paid them no mind, instead grabbing a new blade and continuing the process all over. Soft padded steps made their way over casually until a large shadow covered Pomo. Hands rested in his pocked while his arms pushed back the sides of the loose suit jacket. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbing after he took another intoxicating drag, puffing out the air harshly while peering at the kid.

“And who might you two be?” The man sunk down to a crouch, inspecting a small daisy that stuck out between the sea of green blades. “Pomo.” The child stopped rolling the tuft of grass as they processed his words. Two. Never had they met another who could see the figure that was their only friend. Unsure if the man posed a threat, he exuded a certain cocky confidence they weren’t sure they liked. “Nice to meet you Pomo. That other one looks a bit scary, don’t you think? But then again, you must be too. D’you mind showing me what they can do?” Offering a gentle chuckle as he gently pried, curious to see what this lonesome child could do, never having witnessed someone so young possessing a stand. It sure peaked the man’s interest as he twirled the daisy between his digits.

The amount of precision they possessed shocked him as the daisy was shot with a quick tap of a foggy black tentacle. It crumbled under his pads as he pressed it, letting it fall back onto the earth. Impressed by the ability and thoroughly interested in what it could do for him, the man proceeded. “Have you even killed someone with that?” There was no need to beat around the bush, that much was obvious when the child never seemed to have moved from their position, merely staring at the ground before them. A slow methodical dark tendril crept towards the man, stopping an inch before his polished shoe. Pomo turned their gaze upwards now, offering a look so unreadably neutral it made the man’s heart beat faster in fear, his many years in Passione not having prepared him to face another that lacked fear as much as the child in front of him. “Do you like it here, Pomo?”

A proposal started taking form in the man’s head, one he’d have to discus with his boss before acting on it. “No.” Clear as a bell their voice made a sinister hope grow, a hope that it would only take as little as just asking them to join up with Passione to get his desired answer. As an Advisor he’d have little hurdles in his way before bringing up the idea to his boss, being one of the only few allowed to even directly communicate with the mysterious man. “You seem fearless, to an unsettling degree, kid. If I asked you to kill a guy, would you?” Somehow the direct communication had been the most pleasant conversation Pomo has had in a few years, be it of a morally ambiguous subject, but refreshing to have another respect their space and not be afraid to ask what they desired of them.

“Are they bad?” The amount of troubling honesty behind the child’s harsh gaze making the man believe he’d met his fate, it had been like Pomo was asking if he deserved to live another moment, their stand still remaining at the tip of his shoe. “Not in their own opinion.” Clearing his throat to regain any sort of confidence, the kid’s eyes skipping through the pages of his soul, weighing his sins and good deeds. In reality they were doing no such thing, only weighing their options, grown tired of the convent and its inhabitants, aching to find any sort of family or support without even knowing it. “Ok.” As they gave their answer they chose to retract their stand, ending the conversation without another word. The Advisor’s sigh of relief deeper than any he had before, glad to be able to continue living.

The Boss was feeling generous, letting his Advisor know that placing the child amongst the men of La Squadra Esecuzioni could serve them well, perhaps make them regain any semblance of respect in the organisation. Opting out of putting their deadly stand in his personal Unità Speciale, fearing the effects of Cioccolata or Secco would build a threat larger than himself. Pomo agreed immediately, knowing it would be best to leave the sisters behind to pray for the child’s deliverance. Making their own money, be it a scanty salary, living with a group of other misfits and taking care of jobs here and there did not sound like the worst future for them. The sisters, terrified at the transfer, having no clue what the mafia would even want with the child, did not let the only person on the outside that cared for them know about the move. Too afraid of the consequences.

But after joining with Bucciarati, Abbacchio held great shame, afraid to face his sister’s child with those eyes that understood too much at such a young age. Fearing any visit would involve them with the tricky business he got entangled in, the little one becoming a distant and painful memory. If only he knew.

Further events take place after part 5 where everyone survives and La Squadra works under Don Giovanna. At Risotto’s request Pomo was left out of the fights regarding Trish and the Bucci gang.

While out with Melone to buy some more markers, Abbacchio felt like he’d seen a ghost. The familiar figure of his sister’s child standing next to a Passione assassin Bruno had fought not that long ago while he excitedly pointed out stuffed animals through the toyshop’s window. “Pomo?” Abbacchio had crept closer, carefully assessing if it were smart to approach. Melone had turned before Pomo could, eyeing the familiar gangster before him. “What do you need with Pomo?” Melone’s features hardened into a scowl while searching for their hand. All Pomo could do was stare up at their uncle they hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“What’s going on, is everything alright Pomo?” That deep voice reminding them of when he last visited, the voice that told them to never let their resolve falter, ever. “First of all, answer my question. What do you want with them?” Melone stepped forward, never one to initiate conflicts but needing an explanation as to why Leone Abbacchio knew their teammate that had explicitly never been in contact with his side of Passione. “That’s my sister’s kid. Step down you idiot. I’m not here to start shit. Now answer me; what are they doing with you?” Abbacchio growled back at the lithe man, searching Pomo’s eyes for an answer. “Pomo is part of our team. Been so for almost a year now.” He calmed down as he remembered all the fond memories they’d made together, even after the horrible fights with the other gangster’s team.

The amount of shock and confusion Abbacchio felt was immeasurable. After many “what”’s and “how”’s Melone calmly explained that Pomo had quite the powerful stand and still wanted to be part of their squad. “We ask every once in a while if they still want this. Never said no so far.” Melone practically beamed, the other man still trying to process the explanation. Pomo quickly understood their uncle’s position as well, clearly another member of Passione as they connected the dots. That small kid has never hurt anyone -that he knew of- and now they’re an assassin already in possession of a stand? What the actual fuck. His knees began to feel weak, looking for support as he slid down the toyshop’s windowsill. “I’m sorry.” Hands scrambling at his scalp while he stared at the ground, despair filling every inch of his being. Another person he cared about thrown into the complicated landscape of Passione.

The little one reached out their hand at the man that had meant so much to them, one of the only ones to ever offer the child any semblance of a connection. Until Pomo met their new family. A soft pat on the uncle’s platinum strands, grazing the man’s overworked hands. Melone felt his intrusion, staring off into the crowd as he kept some distance, sure to be within ample reach; should anything happen.

Abbacchio had grown so much, learned that his life was worth living. Following his sisters’s advice to strengthen his resolve and to never let it falter like he did before joining Passione. But this one memory, this one being of the past had made its way back. The child he so lovingly took care of and the pain he felt to have left them behind crashing through him as he sat there. Remembering his capo’s words, his kindness and that look of care and understanding making him reach up to the little hand. Memories of them fussing over touches reminding him a hug wasn’t possible. As his eyes met Pomo’s, the ones that always understood the ones they looked in but never let you know what was being kept behind their own. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” He uttered, the small hand getting enveloped in his bigger ones, begging them for forgiveness. “I’ve missed you.” the child spoke, their expression ever unchanging as Abbacchio felt tears flood his eyes and spill onto his cheeks. The purple haired man that had been following along from a distance couldn’t help but blink away his feelings, pitying the small one.

“Never let your resolve falter.” Pomo repeated. The words they’d clung to, any semblance of purpose all pinned on the only advice they’ve ever received. “Ever.” Abbacchio replied, squeezing the small hand between his before wiping away the tears, his actions were forgiven but not forgotten. “Are you ready, kid?” Melone stepped back into reach, offering a hand to the man he’d called an enemy not too long ago, helping him up. A quick nod from the child, a sliver of relief finally being felt, their uncle was still safe and alive. “You know where to find us. Don’t hesitate to come.” Waving goodbye as they entered the store, Melone offering as much assurance he could muster for his now-colleague. But mostly in awe of the child’s strength, they really were something else, huh.

#cozy ask #worked quite hard on this one #really like the result too #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #abbacchio x reader #melone x reader #jjba fic #jjba x y/n #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba imagines #leone abbachio x reader #pomo

110 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (3) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Terry has given very generic instructions to Frog about how to retrieve her birthday gift. A more then welcome surprise follows.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None. (Wow. I’m shocked.)

Once more let me thank potter supreme @joheunsaram (I’d be wandering in darkness and despair without you. Lob U)

Here is my complete masterlist and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

“Hello?”

You felt deeply embarrassed venturing into the backyard of a stranger.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

The heavy sound of something slamming against the floor of a garage had you slightly worried. You were ready to run away when the door opened. The neighbourhood wasn’t familiar to you and Terry’s refusal to tell you anything about the specific address she had given you scared you even more.

You feared you’d end up at one of Terry’s friends with benefit’s house.

You changed your mind, however, when you recognised the man standing out of the door.

“Frog? Is that you?”

“Taehyung?” You said, recalling the name of the man. You had met him only a couple days before, spending a good time with his friends while your own had ditched you.

“Hello Frog!” He exclaimed, incredibly happy to see you. “Are you here for a four pm meeting?”

“All I know is that Terry told me to be here by four. She gave me the address but,” you laughed, shaking your head and touching your hair nervously. “She didn’t mention it was you. She didn’t say anything. She only said it was a surprise.”

Taehyung’s laugh exploded suddenly, deep and loud. “That explains many, many things.” He nodded to himself, waiting for you to get closer. “Welcome to my studio,” he said, letting the door open a bit wider.

The space inside was bright and airy, with a wall that resembled a glasshouse, while the others were made of brick and lined with shelves. In a corner you noticed a strange contraption, like an iron cauldron, and an unfamiliar machine close to a basin. There was also a large table all along the glass wall, like it was waiting for plants to be hosted, but none were found.

“With me you’ll learn the humble, raw art of modelling clay.”

You turned to him with a furrowed brow, completely confused. “Clay?”

“Yes. Clay.”

“You model clay?” You asked, giving him an amused look.

“I am an artist,” he stated clearly. “I also model clay but that’s not all I do.”

“So that’s my gift? A clay lesson?”

“Ten clay lessons. I’ll make you an intermediate.” Taehyung reached a wooden cabinet, opening it and taking out a large block of clay, grabbing something from his apron and detaching a smaller part before putting the clay back in the cabinet. “But first, let me get you an apron.”

You felt your eyes blink in confusion. “You teach?”

“Art should answer anyone’s calls, in my opinion. I help people learn how to call.”

You were positively impressed. The quiet, if a bit Darcy-esque man, seemed relaxed and talkative in his natural habitat.

Taehyung reached a coat hook on the wall, giving a good look at you before choosing a garment suitable for your height. “This should do,” he said, offering it to you and letting you put it on.

You appreciated the independence he allowed you, allowing you to wear it yourself. You hung your tote on the now free hook and slipped your arms and head into the different loops before closing the tie around your waist in a cute ribbon.

“You'll want to fix your hair before your hands get messy,” Taehyung suggested, watching you carefully get it out of harm's way, since the last thing you wished for was dirt in your hair.

“You didn’t mention you teach art the other night.”

He smiled shyly. “The night you introduced yourself, I remembered I had gift lessons booked under your name. I wanted your birthday surprise to stay a surprise.”

You were entirely endeared at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you!” You exclaimed, watching him collect the piece of clay he had previously cut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he murmured, looking away as his cheeks blushed.

He was eager to watch you learn. He already felt like your hands could have so much potential. He had studied them all night after he met you, watching the sinewy fingers arch and straighten and hold and curve. “Okay, let’s start from a little bit of theory.”

He moved to the table by the window, “Would you mind grabbing a bowl with some water, there?” He pointed to a large utility sink in one of the corners, where you found a bowl and filled it halfway with water.

You made a careful work of walking to the table, placing down the bowl and sighing in relief once you realised you had caused no issues so far.

“Two questions. Have you ever used clay before?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Nope.”

“So you supposedly know nothing about it?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and bobbed his head. “That’s okay. All you need to know so far, is that clay is a mineral, and it can have different compositions which make it more or less difficult to model and to cook. I’ll have you use very generic clay, which is suitable for beginners, isn’t too picky about cooking and will look a bit plain, but is also pretty easy to shape. You’ll thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s easy to work with, it cooks at low temperature and is also cheap, which will make it better if you ever choose to continue this hobby,” he explained. “It will take a fairly long time for you to master several techniques with this one, so no use spending money on fancy stuff. We’ll keep that for when you’re an upper intermediate. All cool?” He asked, checking in on you with his beautiful, dark eyes.

He had very pretty eyes, you noticed.

“Yes, got that.” You confirmed, startling when he slammed the clay against the table.

“Cool.” He replied with half a grin. “Let’s start from zero.”

Once more he extracted a tool from the pocket of his apron, showing it to you. “This is a wire. You’ll find one in your apron too.”

You rummaged in the pocket and found it. “This will help you with step one — Wait. Lemme start from very very zero.”

He walked back to the cabinet and dragged a block of clay out — the one he’d cut a piece from a few minutes ago. “This is called craft clay or potters’ clay. It’s ready-made and you can buy it in any diy shop. Some artists make their own mix, but let’s start with this since it’s specifically made for learners.”

“It looks very tough,” you commented, testing the small amount he’d cut before, prodding it with your finger.

“It just needs some love,” he explained, pouting sadly. “Clay is so misunderstood. It needs to be firm. But it’s pliable, as long as you treat it appropriately.”

You arched your eyebrows. “I just thought it was softer. Messier, somehow.”

“It is once you wedge it and moisturise it.” Taehyung acknowledged. “Clay contains platelets. Platelets make it solid, but also plastic as long as it’s not dry. Right now you have two enemies. Shape memory and air.”

Taehyung’s hands got on the piece instinctively. “Today I’ll only manage to explain wedging and centering. So be careful and pay attention. If you mess up wedging, your life will get ten times more impossible on the wheel. Let’s start.” He brought the main block back in the cabinet. “That one needs to stay fresh.”

Once at the table he settled beside you. “What’s wedging?” You asked, staring at your piece of clay.

“Wedging is your starting point. As you saw earlier, ready- made clay comes in blocks. Which means square. On the wheel, you’ll always start from a cute soft ball. Which means round.”

Taehyung’s hands massaged the clay for comfort. He felt somehow uneasy at the way he was going to interact with you. “Basically clay holds memory of the shape it was in. You want to erase it to make it more pliable. Like… When an introvert is in their comfort zone for too long and you need to get them back in society and you just… force them in several different social circumstances to warm them up, make them more versatile. More sociable.”

God, he felt ridiculous. He was using his inner turmoil to explain pottery.

He was going to defenestrate himself.

“Okay,” you laughed. “I got the introvert thing. I like the parallel.” You smiled and for a second you thought about all the years you’d been there, shaped like a block to fit inside someone’s life — or to fit them in yours.

You could use some wedging too.

“We usually wedge on plaster, or concrete or wood, because they get the extra water out of the clay. You want it to be a tiny bit humid. But not wet.” Taehyung spread his large hands over the small disk in front of him. “You want to make it more homogeneous. Uniform. For today let’s use the ram’s head method. It’s basically like kneading dough.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he bent down, leaning towards the table. “We have a small amount of clay, since you’re starting. You basically want it to become a thick block first.”

He bent the disk in two, turning it in a thicker, longer rectangle before placing his hands to the opposite sides and pressing, making the clay become more compact.

“Okay, try,” he invited you to do the same.

You mimicked his actions, focusing on the cold, solid feeling of the material under your fingertips.

“Use your palms. Don’t be afraid to get your whole hands on it. You’ll need all your strength.”

You nodded and followed his lead, the cold expanding to your palms, the feeling amplifying beautifully. It was somehow reinvigorating after the initial strangeness.

“Good. Now. Ram’s head.” He inhaled and regained his position. “These,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “and these,” he explained circling his hand around his shoulder. “That’s where you want to focus. All your strength resides there. You won’t feel it right now, but you will once you work with larger pieces.” He steadied himself and placed his palms on the sides of the piece. “Palms on the sides. Your wrists will do all the work. Your thumbs wrap around the top of the piece. The other fingers on the back of the piece. Focus on the wrists. You want to push the clay downwards first, then outwards, to the back of the piece. Okay. Position your hands.”

Taehyung stood straight up, allowing you to see his clay, on top of which he was previously bent over.

“I’m not…” You frowned and tried to feel the clay under your hands, trying to recognise the different sides.

“It’s okay. May I?” He asked, bringing his right hand close to yours.

You nodded, waiting for the contact.

It was chalky, somehow, almost dusty with the way the clay was already drying up, but it still held some cold dampness.

He corrected your fingers, staring at them and giving them a slight twist. “This way your wrists should reach just fine.”

He stood at your side, respecting your personal space even though his hand touched you. The smile on his face was the gentlest, most exciting thing you had felt in a while.

“Okay, mirror it with your left,” he told you as he stepped back, regaining his own space.

“This feels nice,” you admitted, giving the first twist of your wrist.

“Let’s see if you still think so after wedging for twenty minutes,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Twenty minutes!?” You said, already worried.

He giggled and shook his head, his curls brushing against his forehead, which you didn’t notice, because you were too busy focusing on the clay under your hands.

“Ten, usually. Twenty if you need very pliable clay. Like if you’re doing hand-building. But we can use something a bit rougher.” Taehyung helped you get out of the position your clay body was stuck in. “Help it with your fingers. Bring it back, yes,” he encouraged you once the position was right. “And now your wrists. Exactly. Look at you. You’re learning!”

He looked excited when you turned to look at him. He was literally shining with the meek sunlight coming from the window.

“I’m learning!” Your excitement mirrored his own.

“Okay, now, watch. This is why it’s called ram’s head.” Taehyung showed you the spiral on the sides, and the elongated triangle on the front.

“That looks fancy!” You said, feeling curious about the shape.

“Keep going and yours will be just like this!” He spurred you on, making you work harder and faster, which eventually led you to the ruthless burning that possessed your arms afterwards.

With his elbow, Taehyung pointed at your shoulder blade. “Just push your body weight into the clay. The whole motion should mimic a wave,” he showed you how. “If your hands are positioned right, you only need to lean in to wedge— Just. Like. That! Good job, Frog!”

You smiled and went on, paying attention to his corrections, and his gentle advice, enjoying the gentleness with which his pinkie finger pointed to a specific direction, or a finger that was in the wrong position, realigning it.

“Nice! Now, tuck the corners in in a cute fluffy ball. See how soft and warm and round it feels now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. There was something in menial tasks that always made you happy with yourself. Seeing the results of your efforts and hard work always made you feel accomplished, productive.

And it’s been a while since you felt that rush, except for seeing an organised shelf in your shop, with books neatly aligned and rated.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to work the wheel. We got little time left, so maybe I can show you the groundwork and then you can toy around with the body I centred, so you can get familiar with the feeling.”

You agreed.

Taehyung gave a few more twists to your clay body and brought it to the wheel. “Okay. Here we go. Forget Ghost, this thing is a lot more difficult than that. And forget all that water. Too messy. Bowl?” He asked.

Your forehead creased as he pointed to a small stand with a basin. It looked like a short version of a vintage stand for those porcelain bowls used in bedrooms.

You moved it closer to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled and caught the clay body, throwing it on the middle of the turning plate, currently still as he hadn’t yet activated the wheel.

“You can aim for the centre. There’s an indentation to show it. See,” he pointed to the plate. “There are all these circles to show you if you’re actually following the shape.”

He dipped a finger in the bowl, letting the extra water drip down, until it was just slightly damp. “You run around the base to seal it. That way you don’t need to slam it down and you don’t risk watching it unstick and mess around with you.”

“Okay. Great!”

“Now. Position is very important. With your legs you hold the holster and the wheel. Don’t worry about getting too close. Check three things. Knees around the wheel. Elbows braced on your thighs — that will stabilise you. And your torso leans forward. Not angled but perpendicular to the wheel. You need to be right on top of it, so your weight sinks down. Not across.” He showed you the correct position, his lean frame protecting the ball of clay like a hen defends her chicks.

Watching him become so tactile and connected with the material under his hands was endearing, but also fascinating, especially with the way his hands wrapped around the body.

“Okay, let me centre it for you, then you can try. It’s a procedure that can go back and forth, so I’ll have you doing this over and over for a few times. It will help you familiarise with it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, watching his fingers sink in the water. “Now, trick. You wet your hands. Let them drip down just a little, so you don’t drench your piece. If the piece is drenched, the platelets will loosen and the walls of your cup, bowl, vase, whatever will collapse. And we don’t want that, right?”

The way his head snapped towards you with an inquisitive look made you shake your head and reply readily, “nope.”

“Exactly. So, we sink our hands in, rest, and— one, two three, drip and—” he moved his hands over the clay body, letting a few tens of droplets fall onto the material. “Nice and wet. Not sodden, of course. We don’t want that, remember?”

You blinked and nodded as his hands started moving.

Taehyung grinned as he noticed your captivated gaze. You were learning. You were curious, interested, completely amazed. It was the most satisfying look he had ever seen. “This is your treasure now. You curl yourself around it and protect it. Like a dragon hoards its gold.”

He leaned down into the piece, his foot looking for the pedal and pressing it down very, very delicately.

“Your pinkies and ring fingers are doing all the work right now. They seal around the base, reinforcing the sealing we did before. Once you gave enough spins around the base — oh, feel the plate with the side of your pinkie and palm!” He reminded himself, showing you the part of his hand and securing it around the wheel once more. He corrected his position. “You will feel the clay push you up. That’s when your palms close in. You want to make sure it goes up.”

The wheel suddenly stopped and Taehyung showed you the result. “See. Cute mushroom shape. A two inch stem, and then the round hat.”

You bent down to check and studied the way the table started spinning slowly again, showing you the consistent shape.

“More water. Same technique.” He repeated the dip-drip process. “Now. Pinkies stay in. Lots of pressure. And your palms are going to push the hat of the mushroom up. You want it to turn into a cone. So once the hat disappears, you’re gonna keep your hands steady, with a lot of pressure, and drag them up, slowly. And bend them inwards slightly, into a tip.” He followed the process with his hands, his fingers steady and his veins thicker at the effort and the pressure. The way his elbows braced against his hands brought even more blood to the back of his palms.

Still, you didn’t let that cloud your focus. You stared at the process, especially once he stopped the wheel and took his hands off.

“Now we’re bringing it downwards with the thumbs. We’re helping it regain the center. This,” he prodded the ball of his thumb, the soft part where the finger could sink, “is the part that gains the centre. You push it down, while your fingers lean over. Like you’re projecting energy from your palms.” He finished showing the procedure, showing how the ball of clay was a perfectly round dome, placed in the exact middle of the wheel.

“Now you take the lead!” He turned to you with a grin.

With a shy blush you watched him stand up and gesture to the seat elegantly.

You settled down and fixed your position around the wheel, following the instructions he had given you previously.

“That’s nice. Closer.” He corrected you helping your seat closer to the holster of the wheel.

“Now we’re ready to go. Wet your hands—” he directed you, helping you count the dip and drip. “Steady.”

You placed your pinkies tightly around the base, feeling the dome a bit too large for your hands. That’s because it was shaped for his large hands.

“Yes. Steady,” he encouraged you. “Go.”

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #Taehyung strangers to lovers

41 notes · View notes

19thcenturyedgelord · 3 years

Text

TW: Transphobia, Homophobia, abuse, neglect, p3dophilia, s3xual assault, su!cide, alcohol

~Vent~

My mother is constantly saying that they is only two gender and is always dead naming me, the one time I get her to say my preferred name she rolls her eyes and scoffs as she says it.

My mother has told me my whole life that she owns me and that I don't get to make any decisions for myself, she was dressing me until I was disowned at 14.

My mother would threaten to k!ll herself is I ever did something she didn't like, this includes: having a panic attack, dealing with over stimulation, trying to dress myself, telling her to stop walking in on me while I was showering/changing, going to bed early, going to bed late, saying I was hungry, asking to be allowed to go outside, wearing my headphones, not being strictly christian/not eating kosher, ect.

My mother got rid of my pet hermit crabs without telling me and was constantly trying to release my turtles even though they would die in the wild and they were being taken care of very well with a large, clean tank and plenty of food and hiding places, a special light that was good for their shell, and a great water to land ratio.

My mother slut shamed me because I was wearing shorts that went above my knees (they were perfectly appropriate btw).

My mother would scream at me for hours if I got anything less than a 100% on a test and even if I did get a 100% she would ask me why I didn't get any extra credit even if there was none available and even if I'd did get extra credit she would ask why I didn't get MORE extra credit.

While I lived with my mother I had a diet of nothing but microwave meals and chips and chips because she spent all of her money on vape, cigarettes, and alcohol. I would constantly be near unconsciousness due to my low blood sugar because I had nothing to eat.

She has slapped me across the face multiple times, one time with sharp plastic that cut my chin, she did this as a punishment. One time she slapped me because my blood sugar was low and I was grumpy, this is how it went down:

Me: Hey I know you wanna talk right now but can I make some food first my blood sugar is low this should take me 20 minutes max"

Her: No, I'm you mother and your going to talk to me right now

Me: Can I please just get something to eat

Her: *yells at me wich causes me to get distracted*

Me: *spills uncooked mac&cheese because distracted*

Her: *yells at me then slaps me across the face*

My mother nearly beat me to unconsciousness because she was very drunk, I had bruises all over me the next morning but I was to afraid to say anything because I new she would scream at me and hurt me more.

She molested me daily, forced me to change in front of her, forcefully spooned me in bed for hours even after I said no, and would "playfully" spank me.

She was constantly talking about how sexy a 17 year old at her work was and even bought him vape. She would also talk about some of my friends like that and even tried to internet stalk two of them, we are all minors.

She would lock the door to the apartment and wouldn't give me a key and would force me to wait outside in knee deep snow for hours without any warm clothing because she stole it all. She also refused to drive me to school in -8 degree (f) weather because she didn't want to loose her parking spot. I was also forced to bike to and from band practice (with she forced me to to do because she wanted to live through me) in 30 degree (f) with heavy rain because she didn't want to loose her parking spot.

She would consistently make fun of me for reading or doing anything that I enjoyed because I was a "nerd" and a "looser"

She disowned me after she stole my phone, went through it and found out I was a lesbian.

I couldn't even go into my yard without telling her where I was going, if I didn't tell her I would be screamed at and not allowed out my room, for a day and then not allowed out of the house for two more weeks.

She routinely went through my phone and my belongings without my permission, knowledge, or consent, in case I had anything "suspicious".

I tried moving in with my dad and she sued him.

She stole my most prized pokemon cards, a bag, most of my clothes, all of my old toys, and over $200 from my in the span of two weeks.

My room didn't have a door and she positioned herself so that she had to go through my room to get anywhere else in the house.

She would frequently lock the bathroom door so that it was only accessable from her room.

I told her I like pop music and she called me a failure then continued to play her extremely s3xual, vulgar, music about dr*gs, alcohol, and r@pe.

From the time I was 8 she tried to force me to drink alcohol because its "cool"

She forcefully pushed me against a wall because I refused to give her a hug after she made an offensive joke and I called her out for it.

She screamed at me because I corrected her after she misgendered me.

I had to learn morse code just so I could speak to my friends without her knowing what I was saying.

When I started counseling because I wanted to k!ll myself and because I was having upwards and 15-25 panic attacks per day, she forced me to tell her everything that happened in counseling even if I didn't want to.

She always gangs up on me in fights but if I try to get back up she just yells at me more.

She refused to take me to the hospital when I had a concussion and forced me to go to school all week even though I could barely stand or speak and now I have verbal and motor tics which she makes fun of.

She would scream at me because I sit down in the shower even though I have arthritis. (Yes I have arthritis at 15, it runs in the family and before to long I might develop psoriasis, I have shitty genes)

I wasn't allowed to wear anything that revealed my shoulders, that was low cut, shower any part of my stomach or back, short that went above my knees, ect.

I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut below my chin because it " wasn't feminine enough"

I wasn't allowed to have anything that was "for boys" this included clothes, toys, books, stickers, blankets, posters, movies, ect.

She forced me to watch R rated movies with her even if I didn't feel comfortable watching them.

I wasn't allowed to have any friends over and I wasn't allowed to go to any friends house, the one time I did have friends over she judged all of them and tried me to stop hanging out with them after they left. My friends are all very good people and are the only reason I'm still alive rn, she was just mad that I was talking to people who weren't her.

She screamed at she because I got one (1) drop of dark green ink on her black coffee table that she got for free.

I wasn't allowed to draw any male characters because she was afraid I would get off to them or something idk (this was before I was forcefully outed)

She bought me a triple chocolate cake for my birthday once. I'm allergic to chocolate. She forgot my birthday the next year.

Anytime I would tell her about the terrible bullying that was going on she would tell me to get over it, even after I had been thrown to the ground and strangled by one of my classmates.

If I got into a new game or hobby she would either take it away or shame me for playing it.

She spent all day on the computer playing Sims 3 to the point where I had to feed myself, take care of myself, and play by myself as young as 5.

She screamed at me because while talking about Pokemon lore I mentioned how Arceus is the god of the Pokemon world and she said I shouldn't say that because it would "make god mad" ( I have nothing against christians or christianity btw, just the people who shove it down your throat like she does)

I wasn't allowed to eat or drink the last of anything (finishing a bag of chips, taking the last soda, ect.) If I did she would scream at me and slap me as punishment.

She threatened to forbid me form seeing my cousin (who for the first 11 years of my life was my only friend) if I ever "talked back" to her.

She wod frequently strangle me as a form of "tough love".

When I was 2 she tried to teach me how to swim by holding me under water over and over again, drowning is now one of my greatest fears. Luckily I did learn to swim with the help of cousin and granny and even enjoy swimming but it is hard for me to do things like wash my face in the shower or stay under water for more than a few seconds without panicking.

She never taught me how to cook but then would scream at me because I didn't know how to cook.

Her smoking inside and while driving has caused me to have some lung issues, she denies that she ever smoked near me.

She tried to take me away frome everyone in my life including my family and friends so that I could only spend time with her.

When I was in fifth grade she homeschooled me and forced me to do college lever reading, learn how to code, learn at least two other languages that weren't english, learn how to play guitar, do gymnastics, do jujitsu (japanese), do soccer, learn to sing (keep I mind I had no interest in music, but she did), do a digital homeschooling program set at a highschool level, and learn a bunch of useless skills like knot tying and making friendship bracelets because it was "feminine". This was in FIFTH FUCKING GRADE.

We didn't have a washer or dryer and she would never go to to town to get laundry done so I never had clean clothes.

If I had more that $10 I had to give the rest to her.

She tried to kidnap me once.

One time on accident I stood in a bull ant hill and got stung all over (if you don't know ants all sting at once), I was swollen all over and screaming in pain and she did nothing, not even give me ice or ointment, she just told me to be more careful.

44 notes · View notes

psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 11)

tw: mentions of vomiting, pregnancy, miscarriage

wc: 4.2k

masterlist!

series masterlist!

“I apologize in advance for the way this letter is going to be. It’s going to be a mess of my word vomit that is poorly strung together and probably won’t make any sense. The pages are going to be tear-soaked and ripped, kind of like me right now. I feel tattered and torn and achy and bruised. I’m physically fine, but mentally? I’m at my absolute low. The lowest of lows, even though I should be better. I was better for a while, because I still had you. Even after we broke up I was better, because I still had coffee with you at work and we sort of started speaking to each other again. Leaving is hard, but I know with time I’ll be better again. I won’t be at this rock-bottom this forever.

Speaking of, I should really tell you where I’m at. Physically, it is 1:36 am EST on February 15th. I am still at the kitchen table in that red blanket. The way it smells like you has gone from revolting to comforting in the last few hours of writing. My hand is aching. I have the locket on my neck and I’m incessantly playing with it and opening it to see your face. I haven’t eaten. If I did I’m afraid I’d just puke it all up, so instead I’m half way through a bottle of red and well on my way to a second. I need it. You know what the next part is, Spence, so can you really blame me?

I’ve decided to combine these next two mementos; I feel like they just go together naturally. They tell the same story and they’re both important to that said story. Grab the tissues, Love, you’re gonna need ‘em.”

Spencer did as you asked, reaching to his nightstand and grabbing the box of tissues that was already half empty from how much he had used them in the last fourteen hours. His nose was red and sore from the constant blowing and sniffling. The box felt hollow when he lifted it, and he couldn’t help but relate to it.

“It all started a month or so after that conversation on the balcony; the one between me, you, and the moon. I felt sick. We weren’t surprised and if I’m being honest, being “careful” had taken a backseat. Don’t think I’m complaining, because I’m not. I loved every moment I ever got to spend with you, especially in those compromising positions we found ourselves in often. I love the way you loved me, so gently, so kindly, with passion and heart. I loved feeling you love me, and you loved me often. So, naturally, we weren’t shocked when I woke up each morning throwing up. I purposely ignored the way my boobs hurt and my hip bones ached. I wasn’t surprised, but I was still terrified. Loaning out your body to another human being is scary. But you?

It’s like you had this sixth sense. You knew immediately, before I even had a clue. Every day for a week you rubbed my back, held my hair, and soothed me. You got me saltines and ginger ale every day, gently told me to stop with the coffee and deli meats. The way you cared for me during it all made it okay, more than okay. It made me excited. I felt lucky to share that experience with a man like you. I was lucky to share that experience with you. I can say with 100% certainty I will never share it with anyone except you, because no one except you would stop at Walgreens and pick up a box of ClearBlue for their cranky, definitely pregnant girlfriend. You’re the only one who would run to the store when I couldn’t physically eat anything but potato chips and raspberry Arizona Iced Tea. You’re the only one I’d want holding me on the bathroom floor as we waited for the longest three minutes of our lives. You’re the only one I wanted to scoop me up in a hug when it said ‘pregnant’. You’re the only one I’d ever want to be the dad of my kids. That’s just it Spence, you were the one. The only one. I realize that now.”

Spencer shook as he picked up the test in his hands. It felt delicate, and sacred, like it was a relic. Actually, everything in that box felt like a relic, like holy objects that he had to cherish and safeguard. His chest tightened, but he couldn’t cry. He was all out of tears. He spun it, staring at those eight letters, remembering when he bought the test.

It was Father’s day, ironically enough, and he had gone into the BAU to do some paperwork. You were too sick to come too; you had woken up at four to start your new-found morning routine of shoving your head into the toilet. He woke up with you, saltines and ginger ale in hand as he rubbed circles into your back and whispered ‘you’re okay, I’ve got you’ in between your gagging noises. It was good practice for being a dad, he thought. Waking up at any beck and call of yours would be similar to a newborn, and he needed all the practice he could get.

Every morning, you’d vomit for an hour or so, chug a ginger ale, and throw that up too before falling asleep on the toilet seat, after which he’d gingerly pick you up and carry you back to bed. That morning was no different, so he felt awful leaving you at home. He left you with a note saying ‘Be back later, Salt and Vinegar or BBQ? Let me know, love you,’ and a bottle of water with a Motrin.

You had been sick for almost two weeks straight, and he knew you knew why. You just didn’t want to admit it. Neither did he at first; he had a plan. This went against the plan you had agreed to a few weeks ago, but plans change. And for once that didn’t bother him. He was happy the plans had shifted, elated even. He didn’t know how to contain it, spending most days looking up which cribs were safest and which prenatal vitamins he should grab for you. He fully immersed himself in being a dad, before he even knew if he had someone to be a dad for.

When he stopped at the store to get you salt and vinegar and barbecue chips (you requested family sized bags of both), he wandered over to the family planning section. He decided it was finally time. Today was going to be the day. He’d officially be a dad-to-be, and on Father’s day of all days. It felt right. The universe was finally on his side. It was sunny, birds were chirping. Everything felt perfect.

He grabbed a box of clearblue and checked out, the cashier smiling and commenting, “I hope good luck is what I should say.”

He smiled ear to ear, “Yes, I appreciate that, thank you.”

The tests felt like they were burning a hole through the paper bag the whole walk home. A few times he considered not even giving them to you. He was scared for how you’d react. He was happy, but would you be? Would you cry? Would your tears be happy or sad? Part of him didn’t want to find out, but a bigger part of him needed to find out.

When he got home, you practically ran to greet him.

“Chips! Chips!”

You kissed his cheeks and face, and he squeezed you tightly, but not too tightly. Just in case.

“Yes, I got the biggest bags that they sell.”

“You know I love you? So much?”

“I know. I love you too, so much,” He blushed and watched you dig in the shopping bag, where you found the box of tests.

“Spencer—“

“We need to talk.”

He cut you off, trying to profile the look on your face. It was half shock, but he swore he saw you bite back a smile.

“I know,” you said, opening the box, “And I think we both know what this is going to say.”

“I have an idea of what it’ll say. Is that okay?”

“Is it okay?” You said, standing in front of him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “Yes. It’s scary, but it’s wanted.”

He placed his hands on your belly. There was nothing there yet, but he still couldn’t contain the smile, “Really?”

You rolled your eyes, using humor to deflect as usual, “Don’t pretend you haven’t been trying to knock me up for months, Dr. Reid,” now he rolled his, “I’m going to go pee on this.”

He followed you into the bathroom, and then proceeded to wait for three minutes. The longest three minutes in the history of time.

“First time?” You asked him, nestled between his legs on the bathroom floor.

“Yeah, believe it or not this is the first pregnancy test I’ve ever taken.”

You laughed, shifting even closer to him in an attempt to have him swallow you whole, “Nah, I’ve peed on a ton of sticks.”

“Is that so?” He joked back. You stiffened, and he gripped you tighter. If he could hold you together, maybe you wouldn’t fall apart.

“No,” your voice was low and weak, “and I’m scared. I don’t know why. I’m happy, but terrified, does that even make sense?”

He kissed the back of your head, “I’ve got you.”

The rest of the time was silent, just appreciating the warmth the other offered. You made him go look at it, not trusting yourself to be able to stand in that moment.

“It’s positive,” He said, trying to conceal his excitement.

“Really?” Your face lit up and he lit up too, sweeping you off your feet into a hug he wished would have lasted for a hundred years.

“Yeah, Love, really. You’re going to be a mom!”

Happy tears breached both of your eyes, “And you’re going to be a dad!”

He groaned at the memory, wishing that slice of pure bliss would have lasted. He felt so much happiness in that moment, maybe too much. Maybe we’re all given an allotted amount of happiness at birth. Maybe he only had so much happiness in his body, and he used all his happiness up with you. That would make sense, because he hadn’t found a speck of genuine happiness in his life without you.

“When you told me it was positive, that was simultaneously the happiest and most terrifying moment of my entire life. I was elated. Over the moon. Ecstatic. Because I always wanted a baby and I always wanted a baby with you. But I was scared. I was scared because pregnancy is scary and birth is supposed to feel like breaking all your bones at once or something. I was scared because I didn’t know if I had the money to get the best crib and best everything for our baby. I was scared because our baby would have two parents with dangerous jobs that we might not come home from. It’s the sad truth of our lives Spencer. We’ve stared down the barrels of many guns, been taken and tortured, looked evil in its eyes. I was scared because instead of living in that moment of pure happiness and love, I was looking ahead, as if anything in this life is guaranteed.

I ignored my fears, like I ignore everything I really should be looking in the eyes, and let us be happy. All I ever wanted was for us to be happy. And that was the start of when we were the happiest.

Everyday was full of baby name lists and Mozart and nutritionally balanced meals you made for me. You fed me a lot of sweet potatoes, because “Sweet potatoes are high in vitamin A, Y/N, and you need to increase your vitamin A intake by about 20% during pregnancy.” The only problem was I hate sweet potatoes, and all I really wanted to eat was loaded nachos and cheese fries.

Being pregnant with the smartest man in the world had its pluses and minuses. On the plus side, you knew everything about everything. If I ever felt a funny movement or a weird symptom, you knew what was going on. Because of JJ (another thing I chose to ignore). But that was also a minus, because I’d tell you my tummy hurt and suddenly you’d overreact and make me call my doctor. I’d laugh and tell you it was all okay, I didn’t have any rare conditions that have only ever affected 3 people in the history of the world. I was okay. Me and her, we were okay.”

Spencer stopped. Her? You actually used ‘her?’ You never did that. After everything happened you referred to her as ‘the baby’ because it made it less personal. If you called her ‘her’ or by the name you’d chosen, that made it real. Neither of you wanted it to be real.

You had cried over this page heavily, the words marked by inky tear stains. He was following suit, staring at that word.

Her. A girl. His daughter. His girl.

“You’d give me weekly updates on how big the baby was and what was growing and changing. And trust me, I felt growing and changing. And to me, it felt like sore boobs and vomiting. Pregnancy did not make me glow, it made me dull and gray and cranky and somehow still so happy. I was happy because of you.

You listened to me compare the pros and cons of virtually identical bassinets while you rubbed my feet. You laid your head on my belly, even before there was a bump and listened or talked to her about your day. You always got me potato chips. You removed every vanilla candle in our house when the smell made me want to hurl. You were understanding when I’d snap at the littlest things or cry at a sad commercial. You made every stomach ache and hip ache feel better, even if you did fact dump about it every four seconds. I got so caught up in being a mom-to-be that I often forgot you were a dad-to-be, too. I’m sorry for that. I should've supported you the way you supported me, through everything. For that, I'm truly sorry.

Remember when everyone found out? We decided to wait to tell them, at least into week twelve, just in case something happened.

“If a miscarriage were to happen, it would most likely occur in the first trimester;” you explained one day, while I had my grubby little hands in a plate of loaded sweet potato fries (a compromise).

“My mom always said it's bad luck,” I said, “But I’m happy to keep this between us. I wish we could live in this bubble of happiness forever, Spencer.”

I still wish we could’ve lived in that bubble forever, but it popped.

We still went to work like usual. They all knew something was up. I was opting out of takedowns and always eating. Like, always. Derek knew not to go to the vending machine without getting something for me. I sized up in Kevlar and Rossi did mention that I was looking ‘glowy’ a few times. No one asked us though, which is a surprise given the people we work with. They knew we loved each other before we even did, so I’m sure they knew I had one in the oven.

We told them by getting a onesie that said “FUTURE FBI AGENT” on it. Super cheesy, but perfect for us. We showed up to a carbonara ala Rossi dinner with it stashed in my purse.

“No wine?” Rossi asked me and I shook my head no, “Okay Bella, okay.”

He sent me a knowing look with a grin. Classic Rossi, always the dad.

After dessert, we stood up, clinking a class and you held me close.

“Attention, everyone!”

The whole crew stared at us, and you gave them the line you had rehearsed in the car on the way over, “The BAU is my family, and I love you all so dearly. which is why Y/N and I would like to tell you that we have a new recruit coming in February!”

We each took one sleeve of this adorably tiny onesie and held it up, everyone cheering and clapping and congratulating us.

The boys patted you on the back, Penelope tackled me in a hug, Blake kissed your cheeks. Even JJ had a genuine smile for us. It was perfect. Literally perfect. That may be the best moment of my life. It was me and you, sharing the most important part of our lives with the people most important to us. My heart aches just thinking about them. God, they were so excited. Garcia and Derek bought me gifts. JJ gave me advice. We sent Emily a picture of me and you with that baby onesie, and she texted me everyday to ask how I was feeling. My dad was over the moon, he didn’t even care that we weren’t married. Diana was the happiest of them all. She was so excited for you to have this journey, and she told me she was glad it’d be with me. She once wrote to me that a dream of hers was to be a grandma, and when you were a kid she thought that may never happen, since you were so smart and special and different. She thought no one would ever understand you enough to love you like that. She said that all changed when she met me. She could tell I understood you and loved you. So tell Diana that I’m sorry I couldn’t give her that dream and that I hope she gets her wish of being a grandma one day. I hope you get your wish to be a dad, too. It may kill me to know that you’d be out there parenting without me, but it may kill me more if you never get to have that dream Spencer Reid. So do it. Break my heart a million times over. It’s worth it as long as you’d be happy at the end of it all.”

He sighed shakily, he’d only be happy at the end of it all if it was with you, an option that seemed less and less likely with each passing letter.

The box contained that little onesie. He held it up, astonished at how small it was. How could a person ever be so tiny? He let himself cry into it, the onesie still smelling like you. He remembered ordering it online, sneaking it in your purse and the look on everyone’s faces when he gave his little speech. He remembered JJ squeezing him tight and telling him he’d be amazing and how happy she was that Henry and Jack would have a new friend. He remembered Derek slapping him on the back and commenting how pretty the baby would be, “You and Y/N? We may have a new pretty boy in the house soon!”

He remembered Rossi immediately finding a copy of ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ on a shelf in his massive mansion, and giving it to him with a kiss on both cheeks. He remembered sneaking to Vegas to tell his mother, how she leapt up and swallowed him in a hug. But perhaps the most memorable and meaningful interaction he had that night was with Hotch.

He came up to Spencer separately, at the end, and gave him his own fatherly wisdom, “Congratulations, Reid. This is going to be the greatest adventure of your life, and you’re going to be an amazing father.”

Spencer smiled, looking over at you, hands all over your barely there belly, giggling with Garcia and Derek, “Because of her.”

“What?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m going to be a great father, because she makes me a great man.”

Hotch smiled and brought Spencer into a hug, two rare occurrences, “I felt the same way about Haley.”

Spencer felt Hotch stiffen, and he waited for him to finish, “My only advice to you is to not be me. If she makes your world spin a little faster, if she makes life a little better, if she makes the job easier, then don’t wait. I waited too much with Haley. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Spencer smiled, knowing then what he needed to do. You did make his world spin faster. You made the world a better place.

“I won’t, Hotch,” He cleared his throat, “I promised her that much.”

But there he was now, making all the same mistakes Hotch had. He had waited. He said he wouldn’t but he still did. He poured himself into work instead of love, just like Hotch, and it led him to his rock-bottom. He was staring at a baby onesie that should’ve held his baby, except he had no baby, and he had no you.

He toyed with the snaps on the bottom, undoing them and redoing them in an attempt to relieve stress. He could imagine what she would’ve looked like. He thought she’d be chubby, like a little michelin man with rolls on her knees and elbows. He thought her hair would be brown and curly, like his, and her eyes would hold the universe in them like yours did. He thought that he’d love her tenfold the amount he loved you, which was a lot. He wondered if when he saw her face his heart would be too full and give out then and there.

“My favorite memory of being pregnant is that day we went to Meridian Hill Park, remember? You fixed up a picnic basket full of nutritious foods, sneaking a bag of saltines just in case I felt sick. That was one of the last days, if I remember right. It was week eighteen. I looked like I had a basketball shoved under my dress. The doctor’s said I was measuring large; the baby would probably be nine pounds. We knew she was a girl. We didn’t have some big gender reveal, we just had the doctor tell us at the ultrasound.

You set the blanket down, helping me sit and get situated. It was mid-October, so the leaves were bright yellow and orange. You had on a cozy sweater and brought a blanket to drape over my legs. I remember eating a few apple slices and leaning on you, just admiring the world. I looked over at you and smiled. Your hair was shorter and you were sitting cross-legged, slouching and eating a sandwich.

“You know what would be a cute name for her?” You said, shifting to allow me to lay my head on your lap.

“Hm?”

“Annabelle.”

“Like from the Poe story?”

“Technically, it’s a poem, but yes.”

“Doesn’t she die in it?”

You shrugged, “Yes, but it has such beautiful lines. ‘We loved with a love that’s more than love, I and my Annabell Lee.”

Your hand met my rather large bump, and upon hearing you whisper “Annabell Lee” the baby kicked, right into your hand.

You looked down at me, smiling, “See she likes it! Don’t you Annabelle?”

I rolled my eyes, “Must everything be macabre with you Reid?”

You gave me pleading eyes, “Even without the poem, it’s still a beautiful name. It’s of English origin and means gracious or beautiful.”

“Annabelle Diana Reid,” I said, trying it on for size.

You scrunched up your eyebrows and nose, “Diana?”

I shrugged, “I thought it’d be nice, and that makes for a really pretty name.”

You grinned, “I love it, and I love you, and I love Annabelle. I promise I will love you both for the rest of my life.”

I like to think you’ve kept that promise.

You kissed me gently, the sun washing over us and a few stray leaves falling, just you, me, and Anna.

I don’t believe in jinxes or superstitions. I believe in science and facts. But some part of me can’t shake the feeling that if we picked a different name things would’ve been different. Maybe if she was an Ava or an Olivia we wouldn’t be here. But she was Annabelle. Our Annabelle.

I got rid of every other speck of baby stuff from this place. When you were off on cases and I was at home, I filled a bag with the few things we had gotten and dropped them off at the Salvation Army. I couldn’t bear parting with this onesie though, in fact I’m having a hard time even giving it to you. But she was yours too. My favorite part of the poem is this:

‘And neither the angels in Heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul, of the beautiful Annabel Lee’”

Spencer crumpled the letter up. He was done reading this. He had to stop, his breath and heart rate were skyrocketing. He felt he’d been chewed up and spit out. He wanted to scream or punch a wall. His sadness forming into an angry monster that he couldn’t contain. He threw the crumpled letter across the room with a yell.

When he realized what he had done, he quickly tried to flatten the paper out, “No, no, no no! Please”

Hot tears were streaming down his face uncontrollably making his vision bleary and the letter even harder to read. He needed you. You always knew how to calm him down and he needed that now. His mom was right, you did understand him. You were probably the only person alive who ever really, truly, did.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling to find your contact name. He didn’t press ‘call’. He just stared at the ten numbers, frozen, and allowed himself to sob.

Part 12!

Taglist!

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings (tag isnt working) @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21 @goldentournesol @rainsong01 @thelifeofadumbbitch @swimmingtrashwobblersludge (not working)

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #spencer #reid #reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #cm #cm fic #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid smut #spencer reid self insert #matthew gray gubler

129 notes · View notes

rum-and-shattered-dreams · 3 years

Text

IDK what to do with this so it’s just going here for now.

I was thinking of telling the psychologist I’ve been seeing that I’d have to either cut down or stop our appointments because money’s getting tight (and TBH, I don’t feel like we were doing enough to merit spending that much on each session.)

In the last session, though, she told me she’s leaving the group she’s with to go into research and development.

Cool, I’m off the hook for having to tell her I can’t afford sessions anymore unless they’re super necessary.

You’d think right?

And yeah, part of me is relieved at that. And, of course, there’s the part that’s happy for her.

But this was one session after I mentioned feeling like I had a lack of mentors while growing up (some people have helped in whatever ways they can in the past few years and I do appreciate that a lot but like... there’s still A LOT I never learned that it would have been nice to have had someone in-person help me with.) So she said I could think of her as one.

In truth? I... couldn’t. Because it was about the money. I know that. Sure helping people is nice but it’s also about getting paid, not actually being friends or anything and what I need is a person who can teach me how to human on a personal level. Like how to hug someone when they’re upset, how to show emotions, how to kid around with people and not be constantly afraid you’re going to accidentally say the wrong thing and send them into two or more days of refusing to eat or speak to you... (okay that was getting a little too far into another issue...)

But it still ended up feeling like being kind of abandoned. And in a similar way as many past relationships ended (definitely not all but enough that there’s a pattern). They found something better than me and invested more and more time in it and... I’d end up finding something else to do as a result. I don’t blame them. If it’s better, they should go for it. It just hurts to know that much is apparently so much better than me that they stop talking to me XD. (Hence why I wish I’d had a mentor; someone to teach me how to be the kind of person people want around them).

And at the moment, there are a few people who I know are here for me in the ways they can be and I’m just trying to focus on appreciating that. Things have gotten better with trying to learn and grow where ever possible. And I want to keep going with it and have hope.This just dug at some old wounds that aren’t really healed yet.

But is it messed up that I didn’t tell the psychologist how I felt because I didn’t want her to feel bad in any way? Is it messed up that I can’t just be like “oh cool. that works out fine, then”?

I don’t even know if I want to search for any other therapists or anything...

Plus it doesn’t help that one of my blood tests came back with red flags that something’s wrong so my PCP referred me to a rheumatologist who ran a bunch more lab work that all came back like “nope! you’re fine!” While it’s good to have some of that ruled out, I definitely don’t feel fine and the rheumatologist looked at me last time like “why are you even here?” and basically asked me “so what are you going to do now?” IDK??? I’m not a doctor. Fuck! I just want to not be tired and slightly dizzy all the time to the point where struggling to get things done depresses me and to not feel like I’m just making shit up!

#personal things #just needed to write this somewhere #I guess #There's so much more but... sigh...#It's a lot of contradicting stuff

7 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN, A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #the formatting's better on AO3 #isolation tw #gaslighting tw #loneliness tw #kidnapping tw

15 notes · View notes

azulirawrites · 3 years

Text

Favors of A. Blight ch. 2

Rating: T Word Count: 2689 Contains: Mentions of Child Neglect

The leather of Alador’s boots sizzled as they sunk into the muddied ground, rivers of boiling rain pooling alongside them with every step. The rain had persisted for the last several hours, pittering uselessly against the thin purple bubble that protected him as he journeyed away from Bonesborough, and it would likely last another several. His boot prints would be gone by the time anybody knew to look for him. He could afford a moment, as he came to a clearing along the cliffside.

He let himself slump against the tree, exhausted from the trek he had made so far. His shoulders sank as a heavy breath escaped him, and he couldn’t help but notice his hands were still shaking. Despite the situation, he let out a little laugh. Here was Alador Blight, a true master of abominations, and his hands were shaking. He sank down the tree further, resting on the large exposed root. The richest man on the Isles, next to the Emperor himself, and he was using some old, gnarled tree’s root as a chair.

He looked up, and was almost surprised to see the blue barrier that protected the Owl House.Almost. He supposed a part of him must have known where he was going. A part of him feared that it was Odalia’s magic, guiding him to their children, trying to get him to reclaim them. Alador shook his head, clearing the thought. Odalia wouldn’t have had the power for such a spell, even if she were alive, and it would have flirted with the line of legality… not that that really mattered, to a Blight. If he’d wanted to, he could probably have shifted off any legal ramifications from Odalia’s death. Accidents with abominations weren’t uncommon, and you can’t expect even the most powerful of oracles to be watching their own future constantly. But that’s not why he’s running, is it?

He looked to the barrier again. No, he had a number of different reasons to run. He wasn’t a parent. He only barely qualified as a father. They’d never know why, and they’d never trust him again. Not that they had in the first place. And that was ok, he told himself, it’s alright.

Alador’s heart ached, staring at the barrier. It wouldn’t prevent his entry, and neither would that “infernal house demon” that Lily had told him about, in some of their shared moments. He could march in there, and say he’d changed his mind, that his children would stay with him in their home, and Lily could as well. He could be a better father; he could be one in the first place. His children could have parents that actually cared about them as people, not as pawns.

For a treacherous moment, Alador’s mind showed him such a future. Waking up next to Lily just before the sunrise. Waking the children up with breakfast as the dawn filtered through the window, and sending them to school, everyone happy. Spending the whole day with Lily, and welcoming the children home with tight hugs, listening as they told him about their days. They’d laugh together, they’d cry together. They’d be a family. And then, at the end of the day, he’d go to bed beside the woman he loved… In the same bed he’d shared with Odalia. In the same house he’d shared with Odalia; the same house he’d known since he was a boy. The same house that was undoubtedly breaking down in the boiling rain. Of course that’s something he could never have.

“Hello!” a voice called from below him, and Alador turned to see a… bird-tube thing burrowing out of one of the dry spots near the base of the trees, “My name’s Hooty! It’s awfully late to have a visitor, but I’m super glad to have a new friend come by to hang out!” Oh Titan no…

“No,” Alador responded quickly, perhaps harshly, “I mean, I was just leaving.”

“Boy that sounds awfully suspicious,” Hooty commented, “If I didn’t know you were actually here to be my friend, I’d think you were here because of Luz’s mean friend and her siblings arriving here under an abomination! But you don’t look like them, so I doubt you’re related, which means you’re here as my friend!”

“They didn’t know the forcefield spell?” Alador commented out loud, shocked. He’d sent his children out in this with no reliable protection.

“Nope,” the house demon popped the p, “unless that’s what they’re calling really big and goopy abominations these days, but I wouldn’t know that. I don’t get out much!” After a moment of staring each other down, Hooty added, “Oh I know, I can ask Lulu! She’s smart so she’ll know!”

“Lulu?” Alador hadn’t been aware of anyone by that name at the Owl House, unless that was the human’s name? Amity had mentioned it, it was something close to that, wasn’t it?

“Yep, she’s Eda’s sister,” oh no…, “And MY best friend!”

“You’re friends with Lily?”

The owl gasped, “You call her that? She HATES when Eda calls her Lily. I’m gonna go tell her!”

“No! There’s no need for that!” Alador shouted after the bird tube as it disappeared into its hole. He cursed to himself before standing up and rushing towards the staircase along the path that headed further into the woods.

(Line Break)

Lilith’s letter sat on the coffee table in front of the sisters, Lilith blushing furiously, while Eda looked mostly amused. “So…” Eda said, after a long moment of awkward silence.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Lilith said curtly.

“Oh yes we do,” Eda responded, “You were shacking up with Alador!”

“We weren’t ‘shacking up,’” Lilith defended, “And do we have to talk about this now?”

“Well when would you like to talk about? When we’re telling the kids you’ve got custody of them?”

“No!” Lilith exclaimed, “Ideally, they’ll never have to know. It’s not like it matters anymore.” She crossed her arms and looked away from Eda.

“Right, this is probably… a lot,” Eda placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder, “Are you ok?”

"I'm fine, Edalyn," Lilith shut down the question, "Let's get back to the actual topic at hand."

"Fine," Eda grumbled, "but next time you get drunk I'm gonna find out everything."

"Then I'm never drinking again," Lilith asserted.

"You go ahead and believe that."

"I will," she agreed. It was silent for a few moments before Lilith asked, "Do we have any thornberries?"

"No," Eda answered,"Why?"

"It's the only breakfast food I know the children agree on," with a questioning look from Eda, she answered, "Amity mentioned it while I was training her."

"Ah look at you,"Eda teased, "Remembering details about your children. It took me two weeks to remember Luz's name, and you're already worrying about them having food they like. You're a regular mother hen."

"Eda!" Lilith groaned, mostly in embarrassment, "I just thought it might help the situation."

"Right," Eda shot the idea down, "A nice, tense breakfast, until someone finally breaks it and says something about what's going on. My money's on King."

"My money's on the weird guy that's been sitting outside the house!" Hooty interrupted, "He was crying! Or it might have been the rain."

"Who'd come out here in weather like this?" Eda questioned.

"A scruffy nerd who knows Lulu! But he called her Lily!"

"Alador..." Lilith jumped up off the couch, running to the door. She slammed it open, and caught the shine of the purple bubble. The rain began to pick up, a loud rumble of thunder rolling across the sky as she called out for him, "Alador!"

He froze, and Lilith took a few steps towards him, to the edge of the barrier, before stepping outside of it, a small bubble forming over her. The rivulets of rain sizzled and threatened to burn her feet as she approached him. She had too many questions to ask, as she stopped a few feet from him. But she knew the most pressing one, "Why?"

He turned around, looking towards Lilith, and she could see the tears streaming down his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but if he did, the roll of thunder drowned it out. She could see the weight of his regrets on his shoulders as he took a step backwards. As Lilith brought her foot up to take a step forward, lightning came down between the two, and she stumbled back. When she managed to regain her sight, she saw Alador running away, his purple bubble fading away behind the tree line.

(Line break)

"You want to get it nice and tight," Luz instructed as Emira and Edric handled the blanket wrapped around Amity. They pulled it as tight as possible, with Amity giving a small groan of disapproval, before Emira tucked the corner of the blanket into the inside of the roll by Amity's feet. "Yeah, that will do!"

"It's like swaddling a warg pup!” Edric said. Emira glanced at him curiously, so he responded, “Remember? I wanted to go to the Beast Keeping track stables because I heard from Viney about the new pups!”

“I wasn’t paying attention to the lesson,” Emira replied.

“Right, you were too busy paying attention to-” Edric began.

“Wait, you guys know Viney?” Luz asked, cutting Edric off.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Emira said, looking away.

“Oh?” Edric looked at Emira, grinning, “Maybe you don’t because you’re scared to talk to her, but I’ll have you know I’m like, in her top ten friends.” Emira’s face flushed, and stared intently at Edric

“She doesn’t talk about you,” Luz said.

Edric, dramatically, grasped his side, letting out a gasp of, “My pride!” before falling over. Emira rolled her eyes, before grabbing a nearby pillow and smacking Edric with it. “Hey!: he cried, “What ever happened to respecting the dead?”

Luz laughed at the twins’ antics before managing to ask, “Why would Emira be afraid of Viney anyway? She’s super cool and really easy to get along with!”

“Oh, Emira’s aware, she just refuses to finally go up and say Hi Viney, I-” Edric began, once more being cut off.

“Anyway!” Emira forcefully redirected the conversation, “You still haven't explained what a burrito is.” She gestured to the blanket-encased Amity.

“Oh, right!” Luz said, quickly moving on, “A burrito! So, in the Human Realm, there’s this place called Mexico.”

“Mexico,” Edric said slowly, like he was testing the word out.

“Right, Mexico,” Luz said, “and they have a type of bread called tortillas.”

“Tortilla,” Edric repeated, nodding.

“Yeah! So you take the tortilla, and put a whole bunch of food on top of it, and then you roll it up like we did with Amity, and that’s a burrito!”

“You’re going to eat Mittens?”Emira gasped, “I thought humans eating witches was a myth!” Amity grumbled something in response to Emira’s raised voice, before starting to roll back and forth slightly.

Luz, to Emira’s evident surprise, laughed at the charges, “No, I’m not gonna eat Amity!” She placed her hand on Amity through the blankets, causing her to stop rolling, “Amity’s awesome. She’s great! I love that I get to hang out with her and,” Luz suddenly blushed, removing her hand from Amity, “be her friend. I’ve never had a friend quite like her before.”

“Luz, do you have a crush on Mittens?” Edric asked gleefully, both twins now staring at her with an almost predatory look.

“What, no! Of course not! We’re just really good friends! Totally platonic! Nothing romantic whatsoever. Definitely didn’t spend all night awake thinking after your mom nearly killed me haha. And I mean, if I did it would totally just be about how great friends we are and how it totally didn’t give me butterflies when Amity called me ‘her Luz.’ Because that’s totally a normal reaction to your friend acknowledging your close friendship-”

“Hey,” Emira gently interrupted, “It’s alright. We’re not gonna make fun of you for having a crush on Mittens.” Edric looked at Emira and raised an eyebrow. “Alright, we’ll probably make fun of you for having a crush on Mittens. At least a little. But we won’t judge you for it.”

“I absolutely judge you for having poor taste,” Edric teased, grinning, “Besides, if we go too far, you can always tease Em for her crush on Viney.”

“EDRIC!” Emira grabbed the pillow, bringing it into a hard swing against Edric’s head, with Edric blocking in time with his arms.

“I mean, I kind of already put it together,” Luz tried to defend Edric, “That’s the only reason I can think of for you to be nervous to talk to her if you know she’s cool.”

Emira’s face flushed, and after a moment she spoke, “Well, since mine and yours are out in the open…” She smirked at Edric

“No,” he responded, watching her

“I guess it’s only fair that I tell you about…”

“Em, please don’t” Edric bowed to her, begging

“That Ed here has his own little crush.”

“Em!” Edric whined, mortified.

“It’s kind of weird to believe that you guys all have crushes that you’re scared to talk to. Like, you guys are super great. I don’t think it’s possible for you guys to be turned down.”

Edric sighed, “You’d think that…”

“But we both got stood up at Grom,” Emira finished, sulking.

“Viney turned you down? She didn’t even mention that she got asked to Grom!” Luz exclaimed.

“I didn’t ask Viney,” Emira said, “I asked a Construction track girl out. I think her little sister was one of Amity’s friends? Someone I thought Mom would approve of if she did any digging. We were at a Hex Girls concert, and she was so happy when I asked. I nearly thought she was going to crush me with that hug.” Emira smiled at the memory, before her face fell to a frown, “But she stopped answering my messages about two days befor Grom, and she showed up with some stupid guy.”

“I’m sorry,” Luz said, giving Emira a side hug, “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t think Viney would ever do that. She hates people being fake like that.”

“I’m not gonna ask out Viney,” Emira said, “If I did, Mom would find out. It would probably end with Viney in the Conformatorium.” Emira sulked further.

“I’m sorry,” Luz murmured as she squeezed the hug just a bit tighter. “What about you?” She asked Edric.

“Roughly the same story. I asked out some girl from a good family so Mom wouldn’t get on my case, but she messaged me saying she wouldn’t be going with me,” he sighed, “But I didn’t even like her so it’s alright.”

“It still sounds like you’re hurt by it,” Luz noted, before opening her arm to invite Edric into the hug.

“Maybe a little,” he said, joining the hug, “Rejection always hurts, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Luz agreed, “That’s what Grometheus showed Amity. Her crush rejecting her.” Luz was silent for a moment, before asking, “If you didn’t like her, then why did you ask her?”

“I didn’t want Mom and Dad to hurt the guy I like,” he answered, “He’s got great prospects with Abominations, so if it ended up Mom and Dad didn’t like him, well…. Dad pulls a lot of weight in the Abominations coven. Add in the fact he does Plants too and…”

“Jerbo?” Luz asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” Edric admitted quietly, and Luz began to giggle. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luz answered, “It’s just kind of funny that both of you are into your own gender and crushing on dual-track witches. It’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Emira agreed, “Or it’s genetic.” She chuckled, and was joined by Edric, and then Luz. After a moment, she said, “Thanks, Luz. It feels good to be able to talk about this stuff with someone other than Ed.”\

“Hey,” Ed muttered, mildly indignant, “but yeah. It helps.”

“No problem,” Luz said, before standing up, “You guys stay here while I go get some more blankets and pillows.”

#the owl house #toh #Favors of A. Blight #alador blight #lilith clawthorne #eda clawthorne #hooty #alador x lilith #edalyn the owl lady #edric blight #emira blight #blight siblings #luz noceda #cw: child neglect #tw: child neglect

9 notes · View notes