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shig-a-shig-ah · 2 years

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WORTH THE WAIT

When you and Spinner start dating, you know he’s inexperienced and you’ll need to take things slow. Still, you can’t help but wonder why he seems to avoid being alone with you.

As it turns out, he’s just shy about his very unique anatomy.

» pairing: Spinner x afab!reader » word count: 4.4k » notes: This fic was co-authored with @sugarakis-p2, so huge shoutout to them for writing the bulk of the smut (and be sure to go give them some love if you liked the filth). I was supposed to write this as part of my 1k follower event last year, and got super waylaid after writing the setup, so this def would not have seen the light of day without them! The prompt was for virgin!double-dick!Spinner with an experienced reader, and for life of me I do not remember who requested it but if you’re out there, I hope you enjoy. » contains: double-dick Spinner, soft virgin Spinner, no prep, double penetration (one hole), belly bulge, creampie. 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

It's sweet, how nervous Spinner is the first time he takes you out. He stammers through small talk, barely managing to look you in the eye as the two of you slurp down noodles in some hole-in-the-wall place where you won't be recognized, and where it won't matter if you are. His cheeks burn red at every one of you reassuring smiles, and that's cute too, though it also makes you a little sad. You know it's not just his natural shyness that has him constantly looking around at the other couples, or rubbing at his neck like he can't believe his luck. He's told you what his life was like before the League, after all—lonely and isolated in some backwater town where things weren't exactly easy for heteromorphs.

You're also not surprised to learn, through what sputtering conversation he manages, that he doesn't haven't much dating experience, and that in his case not much amounts to nothing at all.

You don't mind that. Find it endearing, really, especially when it's the polar opposite of you, with just enough experience under your belt to leave you feeling jaded with the whole idea of romance. Or rather, that's how you'd felt right up until you met him. After that it had been weeks of flirting and not-so-subtly showing your interest—and, you're fairly certain, of Toga and half the League nagging him to get on with it already—before he'd finally invited you to dinner.

An enjoyable dinner, at that; you have a good time despite the awkwardness, even if he's clearly too in his own head to realize it.

You don't mind that, either. Only wait until he walks you home and the time comes to say good night, and then lean in to press your lips against the soft scales of his cheek.

"I had a good time," you tell him, as he stares wide-eyed and red-faced. "Let's do it again.”

One date turns into two, then three. By then Spinner is capable of conversation and minimal closeness; he only fumbles slightly when you work up the nerve to lace your fingers through his clawed ones as you drag him around the rundown arcade he'd suggested. He grins too, rather than issuing those shy, uncertain smiles, even if he still obviously tries to suppress his enthusiasm as he rattles off trivia about various game franchises.

It's cute. He's cute, with the way he keeps brushing strands of lilac hair out of his face, and how he still looks away every time you let your adoring gaze linger. And though that night is the first time you think seriously about how much you'd like to get him alone—really alone—you also know things will keep moving slowly. You don't even consider inviting him in when he walks you home at the end of the night.

You do notice, though, how he hesitates outside your door before saying goodbye. How he reverts back to stuttering, all of it nothing but forced small talk—a flimsy excuse to hang around.

It's clear what he wants to do, and you spare him the struggle of working up the courage.

"Shuichi," you say gently, lifting one hand to cup his face. When he goes silent and still, you lean in and press your mouth to his. It's short. Sweet. Wonderful.

And when it's over you both smile at each other, and you go inside alone.

For your sixth date you finally give in to that urge to get Spinner alone, and invite him over for a movie. It's not meant to pressure him, exactly; you think of it more as providing an opportunity. Your goodnight kisses have started to linger a little longer after all, and there's a whole world between chaste kisses on your doorstep and actually taking him to bed. It's a world you're eager to explore.

At first, you think he's eager too. There's a shyness in the glances he keeps sending your way, but there's also a new anticipation there, one you can't help but notice as you curl up on the couch together. So, you let your head fall to rest on his muscular shoulder, and when there's a lull in the film you turn your head to look at him and shift a little closer, peering up at him from behind your lashes.

Spinner swallows hard. His nerves are obvious in his wide eyes and the rapid beating of his heart, but he doesn't hesitate when you slot your mouth against his. He leans in, moving uncertainly as the kiss deepens, and gasps in surprise when your tongue traces lightly over what passes for his lower lip. His own thin tongue flicks out; he tastes faintly sweet-tart like the energy drinks you see him indulge in on occasion. A faint thrill sparks in your belly and a pleased moan slips past your lips as you instinctively try to deepen that kiss, craving more.

And then Spinner is pulling back abruptly. He refuses to look at you as he retreats to the other side of the couch, shifting uncomfortably.

"I hear this part is really good," he mumbles, nodding to the movie. "We should watch."

You spend the rest of the evening fidgeting with embarrassment, wondering what you did wrong, and Spinner beats a hasty retreat the moment the credits start to roll.

"Did I—did I do something wrong the other night?"

It's taken you an hour to work up to the question, and even then you only ask because you apparently have to. Spinner's clearly not going to bring up the way he practically fled your apartment the last time you saw each other.

You'd thought after he left that maybe he just needed time—thought maybe that was why he'd texted you the next day and invited you to the hideout, but then he never brought it up. And you haven't been able to stop worrying that you'd offended him, or turned him off somehow.

But he only shakes his head quickly at the question. "Of course not." The scales on his cheeks redden as he adds, more quietly, "You know I really like hanging out with you."

"Good," you say, "because I really like hanging out with you, too. I—" You pause. Deliberate, and then lean in to kiss him. It's soft and short, and he doesn't give any indication that he doesn't like it. "I really like you."

"Me too," Spinner says, practically tripping over his words in his rush to get them out. "That's what I should have said, that's what I meant."

You grin. He grins.

But when the two of you are done with the game you're playing and you shift a little closer to him, he still jumps to his feet, mumbling about seeing what the others are up to as he drags you out the door.

"I just wish he'd tell me if he's not interested in me like that," you complain to Toga two dates later. Both times it ended the same—anything more than a lingering goodnight kiss, and Spinner started stuttering excuses for why he couldn't stay. When you asked what was wrong, he only denied acting strange.

Toga's emphatic in her response. "Of course he's interested! I've seen the way he looks at you, all blushy and stuff?" Her yellow eyes take on a far-away glaze, her face flushing the way it does at the mere thought of romance. "And you should have seen him when he was trying to work up the courage to ask you out."

You want to believe her, but you're not sure you do. You stir the melting ice in your drink, suddenly glad that Shigaraki is the only other person here. His face is hidden behind a curtain of hair, attention firmly fixed on the game he's playing on his handheld.

Your gaze focuses back on Toga. "If he likes me so much, why is he scared to be alone with me? I knew he'd want to take things slow, but anything more than holding hands or a goodnight kiss, and he practically flees."

"Maybe he's embarrassed. Maybe that's all it takes to get him"—Toga covers her mouth and giggles—"you know."

You get the gist. Think she might even be right, because it wasn't until after the movie at your place—until after that more heated kiss—that he'd started working so hard not to be alone with you.

But that doesn't make you feel any better.

"We've been on eight dates. And he knows I'm not inexperienced like him. Why would I care if he gets turned on just by making out." You chew at your lip. Let out a sigh. "And he won't even talk to me about it. Just pretends like he has no idea what I'm talking about."

Toga hums sympathetically. Is quiet for a moment, and then perks up again. "Maybe he's asexual?"

You consider it. You could work with that, probably—it's the constant rejections that are getting to you more than the absence of an escalating physical relationship. But before you can ponder the possibility much, there's a snort from across the bar.

"You're both idiots." Shigaraki hadn't given any indication that he was listening, and he doesn't even bother to look up from his game as he says it. Even so, his tone holds no small amount of derision.

"That's not very nice, Tomura-kun," Toga pouts.

"So? It's true." His red eyes finally flick up from the screen, brow knitting into an unimpressed stare. "Spinner's room is right next to mine, I can hear what he does after those dates. He's definitely not asexual." Cracked lips curve into an unsettled frown, and then Shigaraki's face smooths just as quickly, one hand raising to point accusingly. "Besides, if either of you had any brains, you'd realize what has him acting so weird."

You roll your eyes, but you take the bait. "Care to fill us in, then?"

Whatever answer you were expecting, it's not what Shigaraki gives. "He has two dicks."

You blink. He has to be fucking with you, but you also know he's not the type. Sarcastic or downright sour, sure, but not much for pranks or outright lies. You and Toga exchange a brief glance. "Did he tell you that?"

"No, but he has a gecko Quirk, right? Geckos have two dicks." There's an edge of impatience in Shigaraki's voice, like this should all be common knowledge. "He's probably just worried he'll scare you off if he pops a boner." Shigaraki smirks, then outright snickers. "Or boners."

You ignore that last part; you're already pulling out your phone to check what he's telling you. A second later your eyes are widening at the images on-screen.

Maybe Shigaraki is on to something.

"This is stupid," you mutter to yourself as you hover outside Spinner's door two days later. Reluctant though you'd been to take dating advice from Shigaraki—a man whose experience is, you're certain, limited to the eroges not-so-discreetly tucked away on the top shelf in his bedroom—desperate times do call for desperate measures. And when your date last night had ended with a languid kiss and Spinner running off red-faced and stammering, it really had started to feel like desperate times.

You force yourself to lift your hand and knock.

There's a faint shuffling before Spinner opens the door. When he does he's shirtless, a faint sheen of sweat covering the toned span of his chest and that's enough to render you momentarily mute. You knew he trained—had listened to him talk impatiently about wanting to be stronger for the sake of the League—but you hadn't considered you might be interrupting by showing up unannounced. He apparently hadn't considered it might be you knocking, either, because his eyes go wide and his face starts to redden almost at once.

He rubs at the back of his neck. "What are you—"

You cut him off before he can start, pushing past him into his room. "Don't talk. Just listen."

He fidgets nervously but he nods, and you shake your head in an effort to focus. Seeing him half-undressed is distracting, and apparently not just for you, either. He keeps glancing from where you're standing to where his shirt is slung over the back of a chair, but he clearly doesn't know if he should reach for it after you'd so emphatically told him to simply hear you out.

You drop your gaze to avoid looking at the swell of his pecs or the defined lines that bisect his abdomen. If this conversation goes the way you're hoping it will, then maybe you can finally take the time to appreciate just how fit your almost-boyfriend is.

"I've been thinking," you slowly start, "about why you don't want to be alone with me." Spinner opens his mouth like he's about to deny it; before he can, you take a few steps forward, until there's only a few inches of space between you. You lift one hand to cup his cheek. "It's okay. I knew there must be a reason, especially because I feel like I've been pretty clear that I want to be alone with you." You lean in, pressing your lips gently to Spinner's. When you pull away there's a clear internal conflict on his face—his brow furrowed and his breath shaky. You give him a soft smile. "It's your Quirk, right?"

Spinner shifts uncomfortably. His hands lift, and at first you're worried he's going to push you away from where you're still standing so close to him. Instead, he averts his eyes, swallowing hard before he mumbles, "I'm not... I'm not like most guys. Down there."

Your heart twists a little at how self-conscious he looks, but you still can't help laughing a little. "I sort of figured that out already. I might have, uh, googled some things."

"And you're not—I mean, you'd still want to...?"

There's an edge of hope in Spinner's voice now, earnest even if he sounds like he can't quite believe it. The smile you've been wearing widens, and you finally let your gaze drop to look him over. Your hand trails from his cheek down along his shoulder, then down along his arm, your fingers brushing over the swell of his biceps and further still. You lace your fingers through his own, and tug him towards his bed, nodding for him to sit. He hesitates, then does as you ask. Before he can protest, you're sliding into his lap, knees settling alongside his hips.

His eyes widen, his breath catching, and you stroke soothingly at his hair. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to," you murmur, leaning in for a brief kiss, "but I really do mean it, Shu. I want you."

Spinner's tense beneath you, every muscle in his body seemingly rigid with nerves, but his hands settle tentatively at your hips. That's all the encouragement you need to lean in and kiss him again. And, though you've tried to be gentle on all the occasions before this, you don't hold back now; the moment his mouth starts to press back against yours, you're parting your lips to deepen the kiss, licking at his tongue and savoring the small noise that rises up from the back of his throat.

He pulls away when that sound escapes him, but it's not in the same way as before; he's making no move to rise, is only casting his eyes down in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbles, as though he has to apologize for finally giving you a real reaction. You only shake your head and dive back in, letting your tongue tangle with his more vigorously this time. His fingers grip tighter at your hips, pulling you closer until his bare chest is pressing solidly against you and he's whimpering without any more apologies, his hips bucking just the slightest. He lets out another whiny, surprised sound when you grind yourself back against him a little, and it's then you realize you can feel him—twin bulges pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips rock against him, your lips moving from his mouth to his jaw. You hadn't wanted to rush or pressure him, but the feel of him beneath you now is making it hard to remember that: all you want to do is explore him.

You drag your palms over his chest. Wrap your arms around him to grip at the taut muscles of his defined back. "Shu," you whine, your stomach fluttering and your heat pressing harder against him in the hopes he gets the hint. When he goes still beneath you, you prepare for disappointment, but a second later you're pleasantly surprised.

"I—" Spinner starts, and then pauses. He takes a deep breath and tries again, tripping over his own tongue. "You're so—you're so beautiful, and I wanted..." He hides his face in your neck, seemingly unable to finish. He can only murmur against your skin, "But I never thought..."

You can see his scales turning red, and you lift one hand to stroke at his hair, coaxing him gently back so you can look at him. "I know. But I want you, Shu." Want him so badly it hurts. To try and show him just how much you mean it, you let your fingers trail over the soft skin of stomach, down towards his straining arousals. You brush lightly over those pronounced bulges. "All of you."

Spinner's mouth drops open, a shuddering exhale escaping him even as his whole being softens into the touch.

"R-really?" he asks, and you nod, staring into his eyes. For a moment the two of you are silent, simply gazing at each other. Then, just as you're beginning to wonder if you need to be more assertive, he seems to steel himself; a second later he's reversing your positions, pinning you beneath him and pressing his mouth hungrily to yours, grinding himself against you even as shaky hands work to tug off your shirt.

"Is—is this okay?" he pauses to ask as the fabric bunches under your chest, but you only nod eagerly and reach up to help him slip the shirt over your head, feeling a familiar rush of excitement as you realize this is really, finally happening. You feel another thrill when you realize just how new this familiar act will feel, too. Because it's Spinner, and no matter what else you've done, you haven't been with anyone like him—not with anyone you liked as much, and certainly not with anyone sharing his unique anatomy.

The heat pooling in your gut only intensifies when you consider the possibilities, when you think about how thoroughly he could wreck you. You want that. Need it.

"'S more than okay," you breathe. Your hands drop to fumble with his pants, shoving them down over his hips, and though Spinner's own fingers are shaky he manages to start working off your own.

He helps you pull off your shirt next, and once you're both in your underwear he doesn't hesitate as much as before. He only pauses to kiss you passionately, the velvety smoothness of his scales intoxicating against your skin.

He grinds his cocks against you with a whimper. "How should—how should we—"

The words cut off with a cute moan when you cant your hips to grind harder against him, all the more eager and impatient now that this is really happening. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to mind—his own hips are working back against yours with fervor, his breathing ragged.

"I... I wanted to try..." It's hard to speak now, hard to focus on anything except the ache in your center that's been waiting too long to be quelled. How lucky, then, that Spinner's uniquely equipped to satisfy you. "Both," you manage to pant. "Both at once."

You can't help but giggle at the way Spinner's eyes widen, his scales during a deep crimson as he averts his eyes. "Okay," he says, hooking clawed fingers around the band of his boxers, shifting just enough to slip them off, the bashful expression never leaving his face.

When his cocks finally spring free, you gasp—not at the fact there are two, but at the size, both of them bigger than you'd expected. All your research had pointed to a variety of possible shapes and sizes, but to your delight they're thick, flushed red and almost human but with smoother heads, cascading pearly beads for you.

Spinner tries to pull away to reposition himself, and you stop him. "Where are you going? I want to touch."

Spinner pants as you caress his throbbing lengths, slicking them up with the copious pre leaking from his tips. His clawed fingertips dig into your sides as he braces himself, obviously struggling to temper his responses, not that he needs to on your account. It's cute how worked up he is, has you desperate to see how he reacts to finally being inside you.

That thought is enough to put an end to your patience. You shimmy out of your panties as fast as you can, and then stretch your grip wide to take both his cocks in one hand, pressing them together and leaning back to guide him towards your puffy lips, teasing at your drooling entrance with what's effectively now one massive cock.

"N-now?" he stutters, looking almost panicked.

You grin mischievously. "You want to touch me, too, don't you?"

Spinner nods. "B-but shouldn't we"—he whines as you guide his tips over your soaked slit—"shouldn't we prep you more?" He's clearly nervous, his hands shaking as he grips at your side.

You only giggle. "You're slick enough."

With that, you arch up into him. He groans immediately, pressing down on your hot body and holding you close as the substantial girth of his combined cocks breaches your wet hole. You whine at the stretch, and the sting of that invasion, and Spinner starts to pull away almost at once. You wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close, clinging to his back in wordless encouragement to continue, too breathless to actually speak.

You don't know what you were expecting, exactly, but what you get is mindblowing. The sweet fullness of him slowly slipping inside you, and the coolness of his smooth scales against your flushed body has you practically quaking beneath him already as he kisses along your neck.

"You're so—a-ah—so warm, 'n tight," he slurs against your lips, repeating those words over and over as he inches his way deeper. He only stops to look anxiously at your face when you let out one especially throaty whimper. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

Your only response is to kiss him deeply and press your hips harder against him, coaxing him deeper. Your cunt feels stretched impossibly wide already, the splitting of your walls bordering on uncomfortable, but somehow it still isn't enough. Spinner whimpers at the tight grip and then, holding you by the shoulders, finally drives himself fully inside you, bottoming out.

For a moment he pauses, no noise but a choked sound escaping him. Then, as if he can't contain himself any longer, he starts bucking his hips, melting into a moaning mess as he humps into you, shallow, erratic thrusts massaging your inner walls.

Even with no proper rhythm, you're overwhelmed by the sensation. You've never felt so full, so good—like his cocks are fighting for space inside you , stroking every possible part of your insides as you do so. His hands match that thoroughness as his thrusts grow more demanding, his clawed fingers caressing your flushed skin, exploring everywhere they can reach.

All you can do is hold on. Grip him tight and feel his defined muscles flexing under your fingers with every one of your movements. He's so deep, is making you feel so complete, and you can't even think—can only lay back as Spinner edges your body towards the boundaries of euphoria.

It's not long before you're tipped over the rim. The heads of his cocks reach somewhere deep inside you're not sure you'd realized existed, the thick swell of him pressing snuggly against that perfect, sensitive spot on your front walls, and then you're coming undone, constricting around him.

That crushing squeeze has Spinner crying out his happiness, his lavender hair tickling your cheek as his eyes drink your ecstasy, making it clear it's not just his own pleasure that has him so full of bliss—he looks half-drunk on your response to him, on how good he's making you feel.

Spinner's hips snap harder, one arm sliding around to grip tight at your waist as he leaves the last of his restraint behind, his movements so feral that, as he works his way deeper than you thought possible, you can see a slight bulge in your abdomen moving back and forth with each thrust.

You're screaming as he keeps going. Drooling and babbling how much you love it, eager to make it clear just how good he's making you feel—better than anyone ever has. Eventually, as the pulsing thrums of your orgasm stretch out into what feels like impossibly long bliss, you go entirely dumb, incapable of anything except laying slumped against the sheets, grateful but nonsensical sounds clawing up from your throat.

His hips start to stutter before long, and you pant as warmth spreads through your cunt and the sense of fullness increases, Spinner seeming to grow even thicker, harder in the moments before he cums. Then he's convulsing and trembling, his cocks twitching deep inside you as he floods your insides with copious rushes of warmth.

When it's over he flops next to you, gasping. His cheeks are red, his eyes glazed over with bliss, and you roll slightly, kissing him hard and then running your fingers through his hair. He looks spent, but now that you've finally, finally gotten what you wanted, you fear you're going to be addicted.

You lean in close. Kiss at his ear and then whisper, "Round two, but this time on my hands and knees."

Spinner's eyes widen, but he's already shifting, nodding vigorously yes with the biggest grin you've ever seen.

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#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x you #shuichi iguchi x you #spinner smut #spinner #bnha spinner #bnha reader insert #tw: belly bulge #nsft #ghuleh.writes

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moon-ness · 2 years

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more bravey notes

One of the things that really got to me regarding her thoughts on her Dad were her feelings surrounding being ungrateful. “The way I behave in certain moments doesn’t reflect how grateful I am for the things he gave me and gave up for me.” I relate wholeheartedly. Sometimes the way I behave doesn’t directly reflect how overwhelmingly touched I am. It just doesn’t always show through in the way I wish it would. It’s easier for her to remember the shitty moments when she didn’t live up to showing her own gratitude than the moments of gratitude. They would push each other’s buttons but he never, never lost his cool and sometimes she would push them just to see if he would react and he never ever did. I can’t imagine having a relationship with a figure like that. But I understand sometimes you want to push someone a little just to see if they push back at you. Maybe you want to see if you deserve them taking something out on you, I don’t know. Reflections on parental relationship are always difficult for me to read. It shines a spotlight on my own gaps when I realize for myself, just how truly isolating and alone my own childhood was. Who was I to call? The thoughts are anything but pleasant and I carry very few of my own memories with me and they cannot be undone no matter what. They are sewn into your skin. She says, “We revert back to our childhood behavior when we’re around our parents.” Maybe it’s that way for parents too. No matter time has passed we fall into old routines and histories because our knowledge can never be undone. I still think of how despite my best efforts, a hug from my mother makes me whole body seize up and cringe. The warmth does not feel safe and I don’t think my body will ever forget or undo that. She said the sadness hits us the moment we are born and realize that no matter what, we are grateful for our parents bringing us into the world and all they went through. The sad is not sad at all, it’s just love.

You make your own cape. Two years of depression and injury after injury was an arduous trek for her. Her first race back was a marathon with a goal pace but she had little time to prepare for it due to the injuries. She was starting at almost zero, having ran for only a few weeks so her climb was conservative and not pushing hard enough to actually test herself. “First steps on dry land after months of cross-training.” She felt her injury ten miles into the race and made the decision to ditch her goal pace and simply finish instead of dropping out because she couldn’t hit pace. Her engine was strong but her wheels weren’t turning right. She decided to re-frame the entire thing for herself in order to avoid disappointment when she was questioned on her epic fail in a post-race interview. “Reframing your goals and rewriting your stories are powerful tools.” Adjustments. I know how powerful that is. I am currently injured and afraid to run again and in the meantime my goals and expectations need to change. My values need to be placed elsewhere or else I’ll drown in the pit of “oh my god, I can’t do this and I failed.” She knows just how much the negatives outshine the positives and for people like us we have to work that much harder at them. Well, for anyone I guess. Alexi did not grow up in a comfortable female environment. Most of it made her uncomfortable. She held onto one pair of shoes from her mother, Gucci slip ons and savored them. “As with so many feminine things I’ve experienced while growing up, I was on the other side of the glass— always outside peering in, imitating, adopting, projecting, but never inherently a part of it. I sensed power but had none.” And when she was in Italy she saw Gucci shoes and treated herself to them for the first time in her life, in honor of her mother and finding her own femininity. Growing up she had nightmares of her mother but never told her father because if she did he’d think she was traumatized and feel bad and there was nothing he could do about that. And then she met a woman, someone who she connected with as a mother figure, Maya Rudolph. It was pure chance. She was running on a treadmill in a hotel gym and here walks by Maya, her husband and their kids and a conversation began. She watched carefully as Maya interacted with her girls. “Often, a little girl’s understanding of the world revolves around her mother.” And there was a tinge of shame surrounding the things she does not know. Shame stems from a feeling that something is our own fault. That we are somehow responsible for the gaps or understandings we should already know. They talked about it and Maya had the same experiences as Alexi. Growing up like that effects how you relate to other women. “You are self-conscious but unrestricted. You are scrappy. You feel extra responsibility all of the time. You overcompensate. You grow up resembling someone you don’t really know. You are aware of your own mortality.” This must be true. I relate a lot to Alexi but sometimes I wonder how ours differ. She looked up to Maya. “I think of her as the sun and I’m just a small asteroid fighting to find my place in the solar system. I’ll bask in her warmth whenever I’m lucky enough to pass close to her orbit, but for the rest of the time, it’s enough to know she’s out there.” WOW I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I FEEL THIS IN MY SOUL. So much of this book spoke to me and I still have so many thoughts on the beginning of her book.

#personal

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feelingunfulfilled · 1 year

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I still miss my comfort character. It’s terrifying to come to terms with knowing he never existed in the first place…there’s no way to reach him again. He’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. And since I’m the only one who ever talked to him, I have no one else to share or relive these false memories with. It’s as though I woke up from a lifelong dream and can’t go back to sleep. But I want to go back to sleep. Reality is so dull without him in it

The worst part is he was the character that helped me through my grieving process. But now I have to face grieving on my own, without a distraction from the pain. And honestly I’m beginning to resent him for it. His character brought me so much joy during a dark period of my life. It doesn’t make sense that he would abandon me like this once things got bad again. Is it because he things I’ve matured enough to handle it on my own? Is it because my brain simply doesn’t need immersive daydreaming as a coping mechanism anymore? Even though I’m CLEARLY not good at handling this on my own. I feel stuck and directionless. I feel numb to all my emotions. I could really use some happiness in my life…and he used to provide me with it

Whenever I think I’ve moved on, I get struck with a sudden feeling of…longing? And sadness over the many losses in my life, including loosing him. I want to regress so badly. I want to rewind time so things can be whole again. Before I felt so empty. Before my mind felt like a white void of nothing. It used to be so colorful and lively, I used to be able to spectate as my characters had full fledged conversations and adventures together. It was a whole world inside there. Why did it have to end so abruptly? Why is it so silent now. Where did the all go off to?

I hate being forced to exist in reality like this, with my depression constantly depriving me of motivation and senses. If I still had him around, if I still had the ability to immersive daydream, maybe things would feel better. Or maybe I would still feel miserable even with that escapism. I don’t know. I’m able to recognize that immersive daydreaming also had negative effects on my life. It was so time consuming and worsened my loneliness with irl friends. It ostracized me from my friends since I thought they “wouldn’t understand” if I shared such personal things with them. It took a long time before I was able to open up to them and not feel as detached

But I feel like I’m slowly reverting back into that loneliness anyways. Every day I struggle between two options. Either I reach out to others and socialize, trying to give them encouragement and strengthen our relationship. Forcing myself to play along and act as though everything is fine, so that I can tend to their own issues and be a constant source of positivity in their lives...or I take the easy option and cave in on myself. Because honestly? I don’t have the motivation to care. I don’t want to feel like I’m being disingenuous, saying things like “I’m so happy to see you again” when I actually don’t feel a damn thing. How can I keep doing a convincing job faking emotions when I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be happy? It’s easier to avoid it all. To remain introverted and isolated. Being a hermit who watches everything from the sidelines isn’t all that bad. Until you start to panic about how your not doing anything memorable with your time or your life….

Oops this conversation went totally off the rails lmao. Yeah sorry about that. I have a habit of trailing off into different thoughts when I write <<

#loosing immersive daydreaming #loosing comfort character #dealing with fictional loss #venting #rambling to myself #rambling #cw vent #cw depression #falling into the void #regressing into myself

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ottiliere · 2 years

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do u ever think about aloha dave being a shitty parent bc i do. I think about him outright hating dirk when he actually gets to meet him and belittling him for whatever accomplishments he manages. I think itd just be very fun for Dirk to finally feel at peace with his brother via dave only for that to be ripped away from him and for dirk to feel worthless again. And it just leads to Dirk taking like 12 steps back with getting comfortable in his own skin and isolating himself because alpha dave has just made his little brother feel so absolutely unworthy of love or affection. Anyways hows your week.

my hands slapped over my mouth reading this ask and I genuinely thought you were one of my friends anonyme because alpha dave's propensities as a guardian are basically all I talk about, but in a different vein... here we go

finding a place to jump right into this is very hard because I have spent, like, dozens of hours discussing this with a few different people... i guess one thing I'll mention is that in general i tend to be a fan of most depictions of alpha dave ("good" or "bad"), but something that has fascinated me ever since reading part 6 has been the concept of universal karma. specifically, the concept of "if beta dirk fucked up raising a child so egregiously, how is it fair that alpha dave would be a good guardian to dirk, given an AU where they meet/live together/etc?" so I've been playing with that in my head for weeks now.

it is very important to me that the way characters behave in non-canon situations (like this) is reasonably within the realm of possibility of their natural dispositions and temperaments. in this way i spend a lot of time thinking about "splinter selves" and nature vs. nurture and the like, how deviations early on can lead to slight differences between the canon character and au versions of that character given the constraints OF canonical parameters. and this is what is very magical to me about alpha dave: he doesn't have any of this. his everything was entirely mythologized and he essentially only has beta dave as the blueprint for his "self". he is a playground.

so, looking at beta dave: he has a capacity for a lot of neediness. he wants to be liked so bad. Similar to this

I won't get into the extremely convoluted au I spend all of my free time thinking about but the tl;dr of it is that dave and dirk did not grow up together, dave is ~20 years older than dirk, and both were raised by Bro displaying very different mannerisms leading to very different attachment styles (dave's ambivalent to dirk's avoidant). dirk enters dave's custody when bro dies.

basically the way I see Dave manifesting as a guardian is that dave likes Dirk because Dirk loves him — it's for the attention, because of his own issues stemming from not getting any from bro. He's emotionally childish in this way, and he selfishly absolves himself of responsibility because of this. He's NEEDY, and does not properly fit in the caretaker role (think: emotional incest).

example:

if dave ever did something that dirk (early in childhood) interpreted as him abandoning him dirk would probably shut down, regress back to older, isolationist tendencies. That's how I imagine he behaved with bro (never interacting, not stepping on his toes, never acting out never expressing himself since being needy with bro never worked). If dave ever, idk, forgot about something that was important to dirk (maybe promised to watch TV with him one night but had to work late, for example) he'd revert back to this behavior. begins to avoid dave, is less open with him (not that he was that open in the first place, but). dave would have to seek him out to get him comfortable in his presence again. which he obviously does. I think he's just as anxious about dirk hating him and he has a drive to "make it better" like dirk NEEDS to like him. the stoicism and avoidance is unbearable it makes him feel awful, makes him feel equally abandoned. abandoned by his charge lol.

obviously this would mess dirk up to a serious extent. I won't get into that becauz this answer has already gone on much longer than I anticipated... I won't extend this answer further by commenting on the actual scenario IN the ask because anon came off anon and now we're buds heh. really good angst scenario regardless

#ask #I hope I'm not just an artist to you guys but also the weird dirk whump girl #mentions of child abuse #opining

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lilxberry · 3 years

Text

I Watched You Die} 1 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Little bit of language. Angst. Sad Natasha. Mentions of violence. Mentions of abandonment. Did I mention sad Natasha???

Words: 3,503

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: Everything in bold italics are in Russian and everything in bold, italics and encased in brackets is the translations.)

Chapter 2 >

_______________

Every year, this day only ever brought the red headed spy sorrow and regret, guilt and hurtful memories. This day, every year, Natasha always distances herself from the team. This day, 12 years ago, is when she thought she would never be able to smile again. This day, 12 years ago, she lost the one thing that had truly kept her going. This day, 12 years ago, she had lost you.

Granted, ever since she was able to manoeuvre and worm her way out of the grasp of the Red Room and those who had run such a thing, she learnt to smile, feel happiness, to care and be cared for like she truly deserved, that’s what S.H.E.I.L.D and the Avengers did for her and she is thankful every day.

Every single day expect for one, expect for this day.

Her teammates had known her for long enough to notice the pattern that repeated every year for one day. She became more closed off than usual, being deathly silent and avoiding anyone, anything and everything if she could.

They felt concerned every single time this day rolled around. They always wondered what happened for Natasha to revert to her emotionless, stoic self for a singular day. It truly baffled them, but they never wanted to pry. That was practically a death wish when it concerned Romanoff.

“Natasha not up yet?” Clint spoke up as he headed towards where everyone was seated around the kitchen island in the new compound.

The team, excluding the newer additions such as Wanda and Vision, furrowed their eyebrows, curious as to why the usual early riser had yet to leave her room. “What’s wrong with her having a lie in every once in a while?” Wanda spoke up, confusion clearly evident within her tone.

Steve’s face scrunches up before realisation crosses his features. He swallows the lump that had quickly formed in his throat before looking towards his fellow Avengers. “Hey Bruce, what’s the date?”

“It’s uh…oh shit.” Everyone’s face paled, again with the exception of the newer members.

Wanda and Vision glanced at each other then between the team. Wandas’ face screwed up with confusion and worry. Vision, if he were able to comprehend what was going on, would have shared that same expression. But alas, he was even more so lost than the Sokovian twin.

“Why? What’s today?” The witch spoke, trying to find even the slightest hint of an answer for the confusion her and Vision shared.

“Nat gets uh…a little…off…this time around.” Stark spoke with caution, unsure of the best way to answer.

“Why does Miss. Romanoff become, as you say, ‘off’?” Vision questions his creator, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

“we-we don’t know.” Clint felt so unsure of his answer. It terrified him knowing his best friend may possibly dealing with something on her own which caused her so much anguish that she had to isolate herself.

Just as Wanda opened her mouth to ask, no doubt, yet another question, the doors swung open, revealing director Fury hastily making his way towards them, Agent Hill right on his tail. “Avengers, you have an assignment.” Fury glanced across the team, taking note of who was present. Frown lines formed upon his forehead as he noticed a missing assassin. “Where’s Romanoff?”

“She’s in her room. Why? Does this mission require her presence?” Steve replied as he inquired about whether she was to be needed.

“You’re all required for this shit.” He glanced towards hill before facing the team once more. “Call her down, now.”

They waited a mere 6 minutes for Natasha to make her appearance in the kitchen. She looked slightly dishevelled, like she had just clambered out of her bed and hastily made her way down to join the others. She didn’t speak but the team didn’t expect much else from the Black Widow.

Oh, if only they knew how befitting her title truly were.

“Glad you could join us, Romanoff.”

And with that, a quick briefing about the mission had taken place. As soon as the briefing Fury and Maria delivered came to a climax, the team dispersed and adorned their mission outfits.

This was the last thing Natasha had wanted to deal with today. The one day she allows herself to truly mourn and it had been inconsiderately interrupted by, yet another scheme HYDRA had decided to place into action. How dare they interrupt her mourning when it was their fault, she had mourned in the first place.

_______________

The jet was filled with an eery silence after the plan had its final run through. Just as suspected, Natasha had been silent the whole flight apart from the single grunt of acknowledgement she gave Steve.

The plan was relatively simple, although, the plan is always quite a simple one when things tend to go wrong. HYDRA had been rerunning old, previous programmes such as the Super Soldier programme. The tried on multiple occasions to replicate the original serum. It was trial and error. Human trial and error. They knew they had hit an error when their subject ended with no pulse and cold to the touch skin.

Of course, the Avengers needed to shut this down, HYDRA once again experimenting and testing on human subjects. The team wouldn’t know the true extent of this issue until they arrived obviously, but Natasha had a gut feeling that today would entail something unforeseen and unexpected. She just didn’t know what. Yet.

“We’re here.”

“Right, everyone know the plan?” Steve questioned the group, eyes slightly lingering on the still stoic expression of the red head, worried that her focus may be away from the task which could jeopardise the mission and cause harm to the team. Each and ever member gave the Captain some form of acknowledgement before rushing through the open back of the jet and down the ramp.

________________

“Guys, there’s too many files on this thing. How do I know I have the right thing?”

Tony sighed heavily through his nose as he shot another beam from his hand repulsor at another HYDRA agent. “You’ll know you’ve got it as soon as you see it, Barton.”

Everyone could hear Clint mutter under his breath through the comms, cursing the billionaire. The team held off each and every HYDRA agent that came their way whilst Clint sieved his way through the multitude of files that littered the HYDRA’s database. Most meaningless in the hopes to hide the information they so desperately desired to keep to themselves.

Natasha was a ways from the rest of her fellow Avengers, making her way up the spiralling concrete staircase, taking down agents left and right, albeit with less precision and more struggling on her behalf with her mind clouded.

Just as she had thought she was clear of the operatives swarming the stairs as she continued to ascend, she heard heavy boots hit each and every step as they closed in on her. Soon, she came face to face with someone adorned in all black heavy combat gear and a black mask to shroud their identity. Knives were strapped to their body, holstered guns upon their hip, 2 9mm Competition 34 Glocks’ with 19 grips on either side. It wouldn’t surprise anybody if there was a final piece tucked away in the band of their thick cargo trousers ‘round the back.

The masked stranger, no doubt another agent of HYDRA, tilted their head ever so slightly as they observed the red headed Avenger. Although, they weren’t allowed much time to do so as Natasha had quickly sprung into action and sent her foot flying full force into her opponents’ chest. The force of the kick had barely made them falter in their stance and Natashas’ eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m assuming HYDRA finally replicated the serum,” she mumbled to herself, although she knew full well the rest of the Avengers had heard her through the comms, which wasn’t her intention.

“Romanoff, fall back and join us. Don’t engage. We don’t know if the serum is the same as last time and what it actually changes now.” Steve’s voice held such an authoritative tone as he spoke his command. He knew Natasha wouldn’t listen though, not when her judgement is clouded which he knows is what exactly it’s like as of this moment.

Natasha huffed and began to throw punches left and right towards the figure that stood tall before her, but it appears that luck was not on her side as no hit she delivered would connect. The masked stranger simply leaned side to side as they dodged her advances.

That is, until they caught her fist in a tight grip.

They threw her against the wall, their body pressed against hers. All Natasha could hear was the ringing in her ears and the heavy breathing behind the mask. The masked stranger simply tilted their head from side to side, looking closely at her face. Natasha could only stare back with wide eyes filled with a fearful anticipation of what’s to come. She knew she couldn’t fight this stranger; it was obvious they could easily beat her within combat, she had no doubt it would take much out of them to kill her.

Just as the strangers masked face was mere centimetre’s away from her own, they grunted and removed themselves from atop of Natasha and quickly turned to continue down the concrete stairwell.

Natasha released a breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding in. She sighed shakily as her body ever so slightly trembled, sliding down against the stone, paint peeled wall. She stared where the stranger had disappeared down the stairs with wide eyes, continuously sharply intaking oxygen. She remained in her fragile state for over 10 minutes she would later be informed.

“Romanoff! ROMANOFF! Do you copy?!” Steve’s voice finally rang clear through her earpiece and into her ear, snapping her out of her dazed state. She shook her head before speaking.

“Ye-yeah, I-I-I’m good.” The stuttering did nothing to reassure the others of her well-being, but Steve decided they would press further when back at the compound.

“Okay, just get down here quickly. We managed to apprehend one of test subjects for the serum, we think. Me, Bucky and Stark are struggling to hold him them down. You gotta hurry.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” She stood, her legs shaking ever so slightly before she recomposed herself and regained her balance. She made haste towards the others last location and low and behold, there she saw Steve, Bucky and Tony all pining somebody down against the concrete floor.

She took strides over towards them to get a better look at who they had managed to subdue. The shock that crossed her features was duly noted by the others. Below the three men laid the masked stranger she had encountered in the staircase.

“We need to sedate them,” Tony started, the mask of his iron suit opening to show the others his face. “They didn’t fight back but they sure as shit-” ”Language.” “-are a tough son of a bitch.”

“Barton, take their mask off.” Steve was direct in his order, all the while Bucky pulled out a needle, no doubt filled to the maximum capacity with the strongest sedative they could get. Clint removed their mask, with a struggle.

The now no longer masked stranger was quick to face the ground, refusing to meet anybody’s eye. The only thing really clear to the others were their (H/C) locks atop their head. Steve was quick to raise the strangers head and from Natashas’ position, she was first to lock eyes with them.

Natashas’ breath had hitched as she looked into the all familiar (E/C) orbs she once knew and drank in the features upon their face. She froze, body racked with multiple emotions, the most notable being shock.

The stranger, you, gazed at the red head that was the love of your life once upon another time. Your face was stoic, and your eyes gave nothing away as they were just as blank as your features.

As you looked upon the Avenger, you felt a pinch within the side of your neck and a cool liquid enter your system. With the strength of the sedative, you already felt your vision blur and mind feel fuzzy. Your lips parted as short breath passed through them. An near inaudible whisper escaped your mouth before you fell into darkness, but despite the distance between you and Natasha, she heard you as clear as day.

“Natalia…”

_______________

“Okay, I’m done dancing around the topic. What gets you so out of it on this day Romanoff?” Tony threw his arms up in the air with exasperation. The others shared glances at each other as they all entered the communal living space. The didn’t want to upset Natasha but they knew they needed answers and they needed them now.

Natasha sighed; tears brimmed her eyes as she faced her teammates. The others felt shocked at how this topic profoundly affected her enough to bring her to the point of tears. “12 years ago, I lost…someone…really important to me. With how everything was, I didn’t get the chance to mourn, not properly anyways. Every year, I’d shut myself out and just mourn to make up for when I couldn’t. It was a habit I couldn’t break away from when I joined S.H.E.I.L.D and the Avengers…”

The team looked at her sympathetically. “Who was it you lost?” Wanda asked in such a sweet, kind and gentle tone. She felt the hurt and pain radiate off of her friend. She wanted to know so she could help her, but she refused to use her powers on her, digging around through her mind was off the table.

“Someone who protected me, someone who I loved dearly, my best friend in the Red Room, the love of my life…the person who we’ve just thrown into a holding cell…” She trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper as she uttered out the final piece of her sentence.

The silence in the room had become deafening all too quickly until it was broken by the loud sobs that tore through Natasha. She quickly fell to her knees as she wailed in anguish. Wanda was by her side in an instant, wrapping her arms instinctively around the shaking form of Natasha. She whispers soothing words into her ear as she continued to sob.

This had been the first time anyone had truly seen her breakdown like this. Everyone felt shock, sympathy, confusion. They all wanted nothing more than to comfort and console their teammate, even billionaire Stark.

Minutes had passed until Natasha had calmed enough that her body only slightly trembled with silent tears falling from her eyes. As Wanda helped her to stand once more, still keeping her within her hold, an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D entered the rather large space and cleared their throat, gaining the attention of those in the room. “she’s awake.”

_______________

Natasha was quick to clean herself up and recompose herself. She wanted to be the first to speak with you. She had many questions that she could only retrieve the answer for from you. For probably the first time in her life, she felt uneasy, her nerves getting the better of her.

She took deep breaths as she headed down the long corridor towards the interrogation room you were held in, her fingers fiddling and fidgeting. All too quickly, she stood in front of the door to the room where you were currently sat in. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in. She exhaled as she opened her eyes, a stoic expression painted across her face. She pushed the handle down and stepped into the room, eyes instantly locking in on your form sat in the metal chair.

She took cautious steps towards you before seating herself opposite you, a table in-between. A beat or two of silence passed before you broke the quietness that filled the room. “You’ve been crying. Why?”

The statement almost made her laugh, the delivery being as blunt and as straight forward as how she had remembered you. The serum truly didn’t change much about you, not really. If she believed that you haven’t changed as much as she feels, she knows it’s futile to try and lie to you.

“I’ve had quite the day.” The corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly upwards, all before falling into a frown, her face now contorted in confusion mixed with sadness, remembering that this could possibly all be an act since HYDRA has had you in their possession. “How are you still alive? I watched you die…”

You smirked upon hearing the sadness that laced her voice, tilting your head just the tiniest bit to the left as you looked at her. “I think you need glasses, маленький лисенок.” The name clearly referencing the colour of her hair. (Little fox.)

Natashas’ eyebrows furrowed further, and her frown deepened. Your smirk only got more menacing as you continued further. “You chose to believe I was dead. The guilt of knowing that you abandoned me and left me for dead during that assignment for given to us by the academy would have been too much.”

“Natalia Alianova Romanova saved herself over the person she claimed she loved.” You chuckled dryly, amused by the fact that you know you’re crawling under her skin, forcing her to feel a sense of discomfort and guilt. “Natalia, почему ты оставил меня? I protected you, I taught you how to avoid punishment by those in the Red Room, I loved you. All I got for a thank you was abandonment and a close run in with death.” (Why did you leave me?)

Natasha squirmed ever so slightly within her chair as she grew more and more uncomfortable by your words. “I-I didn’t…I didn’t want to leave you.”

“фигня!” You’re voice was so loud that the former assassin jumped from her seat, flinching at your harsh tone. “вы бросили меня умирать, я любил тебя и ты ушел.” (Bullshit.) (You left me to die, I loved you and you left.)

You stood abruptly causing Natasha to flinch once more, your full height now on complete and utter display. The serum had added height to you, Natasha knew that for certain. Whereas you met her height when she last saw you, you now stood at least a whole head taller than her.

The vibranium chains that were tightly clasped around your wrists tugged as you stood but you ignored the feeling as you continued to sneer at your past lover, a deathly fire ablaze behind your gaze.

Fury, Steve and agent Hill burst through the doors, their gaze flickering between you and the red head Avenger. “Leave Romanoff.”

“Yes, Natalia, listen to your little handler. Leave. Just like you did 12 years ago.”

With that, Natasha exited the room hastily. As soon as she passed the threshold, tears began to streak down her face and drench her cheeks. She continued walking, hoping to be alone but luck would not be on her side today at all it seems. Wanda spotted her quickly and ran to meet her halfway down the hall before engulfing her friend in a tight hug that she knew she needed. No one needed powers or abilities to deduct that.

Natasha collapsed on to the floor in the Sokovians’ embrace once more, unbelieving that the love of her life had disappeared and were replaced by a ruthless monster which be the product of HYDRA.

You heard Natashas’ wailing from down the hall where you still stood within the room now occupied by two members of S.H.E.I.L.D and a fellow super soldier like yourself. Deep down, a part of you felt guilty for the pain you were now causing your past lover but that part of you had been buried deep within yourself by HYDRA and the false memories that they had embedded into your mind.

You stared down director Fury with a gaze filled with a burning hatred as you smirked. “Да здравствуют HYDRA.” (Long live HYDRA.)

The smirked that had etched itself upon your face unsettled those who preoccupied the room, including Fury. He glowered at you before speaking a command to agents nearby. “Sedate her and lock her up.”

Agents filed in, multiple struggling to hold you down as you thrashed against their grip. An agent took the opportunity when it had showed itself to quickly jam the needle into your neck, once again filling you with the strongest sedative they possessed. You soon fell into darkness once more, your body becoming heavy and limp.

The agents dragged you away towards one of the larger, more durable holding cells they had once they had been certain that you were completely knocked out. Fury watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling stressed and aggravated. “I think it’s time Romanoff gave us some answers.”

_______________

Wanted to write some angst but it’s breaking my heart to hurt Natasha like this

I’m most likely going to write a part 2 to this, just cause i want a happy ending for my little red head

I really hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and are greatly appreciated :D

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modern-vellichor · 3 years

Text

Bitter

summary; You and Bucky break up, but neither of you are over it.

warnings; Implied smut 18+, explicit language, angst, r is a bit of a bitch soz,

a/n; lyrics from Bitter by Fletcher || I have another 18+ fic based on this song that you can read ☆here☆

"How are you feeling?" Wanda asks.

Bucky has a new girlfriend. One of your closest friends, no less. And apparently everyone but Natasha can see that you and Bucky still love each other. Bucky said that he was over it. But they could all tell, he flinched every time Natasha touched him. He shied away from her, because she wasn't you.

You leave Wanda's room, feeling no better than before. You run into Bucky in the hall. He tries to stop you, opens his mouth to say something. You push past him.

"It's like, when you just broke up and they play your song

I know I said it's kinda stupid

But it's just the way I'm feeling right now

And I hate that I can tell that someone's probably in my shoes," you respond with a sigh.

Days bleed into weeks and things don't get better. Bucky tries to make amends, but you refuse to face him. You ignore every call, text and approach. You revert into yourself, isolating yourself from everyone just to avoid him.

You still had a key to your shared apartment. You still needed your stuff back. You waited until you knew both he and Nat were away before sneaking into your old bedroom.

You rifled through his drawers, gathering your clothes in a cardboard box. You're too distracted to hear the front door open and shut.

"Hey," Bucky's voice echoes in your head.

You don't turn to face him. You just keep packing.

"I'm just here to get my things, and then I'll be out of your hair," you mumble.

"Please, just stop. Talk to me."

"No. I don't wanna hear it, don't wanna hear about you. I don't give a fuck about you."

"You do."

You snap at that. You drop the box. The thud is drowned in the sea of tension that you and Bucky are drowning in. You're about to begin berating him when a familiar redhead walks in. She smiles awkwardly at you, a new plan formulating in your head.

"I know she thinkin' now she found herself a winner," you spit.

"Y/N, stop. It's not her fault."

Natasha's mouth falls open. She takes a step towards Bucky, who is inching slowly towards you. There's a burning fire behind his eyes that's reserved only for you.

"I know you fucked her on the counter

Right before you cooked the dinner, yeah

I know you think about me when you kiss her."

Tears well in Natasha's eyes. She reaches out for Bucky and he shrugs her off.

"I bet you sugarcoated truth, I bet you're real sweet with her, yeah

I know you think about me when you kiss her

I left a taste in your mouth, can she taste me now?

I'm bitter."

"Bucky?" She whimpers. "Bucky, what's she talking about?"

You're grinning evilly. Bucky shoots a warning glare in your direction. You look smug and proud and by God, it does something to him.

"Natasha, maybe you should leave," he orders. "Just let me deal with Y/N, alone, okay?"

Natasha manages to steal a kiss on his cheek before fleeing your apartment.

"Seriously?" He chastises. "Making her cry?"

"It was either her or you, and we all know you're an ugly crier."

"Whatever," he chuckles.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He presses a gentle, loving kiss to your lips.

"You're sweeter than I remember," he murmurs.

"Then maybe you're the bitter one."

taglist:

@lizzarooni

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #buckynat #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fic

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 3 years

Text

We Met Within This Screen [chapt. 7]

[Donnie x reader]

chapter 6 here

"Nothing gets past me, especially not you and your nervous habits, Donatello," Splinter's voice bounced around Donnie's head.

The brothers all looked at each other incredulously, Donnie's anxiousness replaced by complete bafflement. Everyone was wondering the same thing: How did he know?

"You wonder how I knew," Splinter said pointedly, "as if you four are any good at keeping a secret."

They waited for him to go on, but instead there was another uncomfortable pause, Splinter assumedly expecting them to say something. It was Mikey who finally broke the silence. "Are you gonna, like...tell us what we did wrong? How you knew? So next you can't—"

Splinter scoffed and brought his staff down on the youngest's foot. Mikey yelped, bouncing away on one leg. "Teach you how to lie? I have taught you many skills, but one that will always elude you is how to keep something from me. Parents have a sixth sense, you know." He turned to Donnie, regarding the rest of them with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You three, to your rooms. Come to the dojo with me, Donatello."

The three were quick to scatter, Mikey whining into Raph's ear about being sent to their rooms so early, and Raph huffing that he'd been dragged in too.

Swallowing, Donnie followed behind him a few paces, not sure what to expect but nervous all the same. He was lead in and instructed to sit down on the floor, Splinter settling down in front of him. Donnie's fingers brushed along the ridges of the knuckles of his other hand again and again as he tried to find something to occupy them with.

Resting his palms in his hands, Splinter began to talk, voice less harsh than Donnie had anticipated. "I know that we lead a very isolated life, my son. But you must keep your priorities in perspective. You four need each other, and betraying one another's trust does not help that case."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter," Donnie apologized and hung his head.

"Perhaps you should apologize to your brothers, just as they should to you."

I did put them on the spot, especially Leo, thought Donnie, considering now that he had put him and Raph in a weird position. They had to choose between ratting on him to Splinter and keeping it under wraps for the sake of not stirring up the pot needlessly. As much as Leo was a stickler for the rules, he didn't want to create dissension between him and Donnie. So, they chose the latter option, and now all four were in trouble with their father.

"Okay. I guess...but, Master Splinter, how did you know?"

"About your secret antics?"

Donnie let out a humorless chortle, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that he had actually thought at some point, he was getting away with anything. "Yeah, it...it wasn't very much of a secret."

Stroking his chin, Splinter plainly said, "It was only a suspicion, until you confirmed it."

That night a few weeks ago when Splinter came to him in his lab. The way he squeaked when he was confronted just prior to them going to talk alone. Why didn't I think of that? It was a classic trick, one their father had deployed quite a few times on them. He'd been baited into giving himself away. None of them could tell when he was bluffing or if he actually knew. Save for Leo, who managed only twice in their time to make heads or tails of it.

"I really walked right into that one," Donnie whimpered under his breath, palms pressing down on his knees.

"You did. But," his tone turned more serious, looking him dead in the eye, "you must fix your mistakes, son."

"How?" asked Donnie softly, searching for his father's guidance, but it would find no purchase. He was hard pressed to find a solution immediately.

Splinter shut his eyes and thought. It was a tricky situation, indeed. He gathered that if anything, this was an excellent lesson for Donnie, as well as the others. Under his own supervision, of course; there wasn't room for any more blundering.

Standing up, he placed his staff under his hand. "I trust that you will find a way. You have a brilliant mind, Donatello. Use it well," he told him, and went to leave the training room.

Donnie was still sat on the floor contemplating Splinter's words, honored yet uneasy at the same time that he was being entrusted to fix things. How, he didn't know. Truly. He was at war with himself trying to balance his logic with his emotions, trying to make the two meet gracefully, but it felt impossible. Whichever road he chose, it was a betrayal to the other. One left behind while the other took the wheel. And thoughtlessly, he blurted out, "What if your heart is telling you something completely different, Sensei? What if everything feels contradictory, and—and like there's no right answer, even though you do have this mind, you just can't seem to…"

Donnie's voice tapered. Slightly surprised, Splinter stopped in his tracks, brows high as he looked back at him, who was so clearly riddled with a deeper kind of conflict. Critically discouraged, but still the sliver of will in those eyes of his. His heart went out to him.

Splinter had known that Donnie was interacting with a human. What he hadn't known was that he was in love with the human.

There was a moment of understanding, and Splinter realized that Donnie could not do this on his own. It reminded him of the times the turtles had all been children, the way Donnie looked to him for wisdom as he grappled with himself. Sighing, Splinter sat back down, this time close to him. Donnie was despondent, reverting to staring at the edge of the mat he sat on. "I know your struggles, my son. It seems like there's a sacrifice no matter what you choose, does it not?"

"I don't want to let you guys down. But, I...you know, I'm sorry, Master Splinter, but you don't understand."

He didn't want to say bluntly that he wanted to think of himself and his needs, unlike usual. He knew Splinter would probably not approve of that. None of them had much of a chance to make a selfish decision, aside from everyday things such tucking into the pizza before it even made it back to the Lair. So far, the number of times he could recall making a consequential choice for the sole purpose of indulging himself, was an astounding zero.

"What makes you think I would not understand?" questioned Splinter, and Donnie regretted that he'd said it. He didn't miss how Donnie looked to be becoming mildly sour (among other things), though not at him specifically.

It was then Donnie clammed up, shut down the conversation, he was not going to say it. "It" being what he assumed Splinter wasn't privy to, that he had undoubtedly fallen hard for his friend. But knowing his father, he could totally have had a clue. Splinter didn't always need the details to make an assessment when it came to his sons, whom he knew all too well.

Letting out a crestfallen huff, Donnie rested his chin on his knee, arm obstructing the better half of his face. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Splinter stayed quiet. He didn't want to drive Donnie off—not when he was in such a turmoil. The atmosphere changed to a cold one. Donnie didn't acknowledge him until he put his hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze and saying, "I will tell you again: I trust that you will figure it out."

What if I make the wrong decision?

"For all of our sakes, I hope you're right, Sensei," Donnie responded. Splinter smiled and got up, prepared to leave the matter at that until any further updates. Until the phone in Donnie's back pocket began to vibrate out of the blue. He wanted to answer, but what, at that point? What should he say?

A minute went by of more persistent vibrating, and Splinter's ear twitched, certain he knew who it was. He was disappointed with the carelessness that had brought them to that moment, but what was done was done. None knew if the girl had any suspicions. "Are you going to answer it?" he asked, sort of prompting him to pick the phone up.

"May I?" Donnie thought he might have sounded a little eager.

Splinter let out a calm hum and motioned for him to do it. Donnie lifted his finger to press accept, but Splinter interrupted firmly, "Speaker, Donatello."

Eyes flitting to Splinter, he accepted the call and reluctantly turned on the speaker.

"Bo, what was all of that earlier, dude? You had me worried sick!" spoke [y/n], more concerned than angry (which Donnie was somewhat relieved about), but he sunk down sheepishly upon seeing the look on his father's face. He gave Donnie a questionable glance at the word "Bo", as he wasn't aware of the details. Donnie wasn't about to correct her right now.

"I–...hey, [y/n]," he said, forcing himself to turn to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Splinter. The eyes on him made him feel put off to the point he couldn't focus on her voice, but the fact that Splinter was right there, listening in, and both were fixing to find out just what kind of mess they had on their hands. "Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to get caught up in this," he told her, "I can't—"

"Listen," she started, exasperated, "I've heard it before. 'I can't tell you this', and 'I can't tell you that'," she went on, "Be honest with me, Bo; is it that you can't or you just won't?"

Splinter's thoughts were undetermined. Donnie couldn't read anything from his stoic expression.

"It's not that I won't," he rebutted, pitch going up involuntarily, "Why won't you listen to me when I say I can't?"

"Because there's something going on, with you, and I know my eyes weren't just playing tricks on me. I saw something crazy—I heard it, too, when I called you the other day!"

I am so dead. Donnie's stomach did a flip. He couldn't face his father, but behind him, Splinter placed his hand on his face, covering his eyes. He shot Donnie an intimidating glance, and Donnie waved his hands nervously, listening to her go on as he backed up. Pivoting around from the jabs sent to his side by Splinter's staff, he jumped away with his comically long stride, trying to avoid the onslaught while juggling the phone. He muffled a grunf of pain when the cane managed to whack his head.

"Hold on!" he said, and Splinter stopped and narrowed his eyes, the voice on the other end of the phone also going silent. Donnie couldn't regain his composure while being chased around the dojo, so he finally was able to sputter out, "W-what did you see?"

"I was on the balcony, 'Don'. I heard your voice on the phone and saying the same thing from the roof, and saw two giant...turtles! With weapons, fighting what looked like ninjas?! What even is this?" she yelled.

She'd put two and two together. There was no fixing.

Only acceptance.

Blinking, Donnie nearly dropped the phone. Splinter shut his eyes, slowly shook his head, and turned around. The sound of his cane tapping the floor as he walked was the only thing he could hear after he tuned out the speaker.

He was now alone in the dojo, under the light that streamed through the grate above him, standing in the hush.

He turned the speaker off. She, on the other end, was quiet, too, in disbelief. And probably rightfully feeling betrayed, in a way, Donnie thought. The friend she'd come to care for so much turned out to be someone she couldn't have even imagined.

Licking his lips, he put on the most level tone he could and said in a struggle, "You can't tell anyone. I-if you say something, I'll... we'll…"

I could never threaten you, [y/n].

"You'll what?" she asked, voice low.

Then, all the could hear was her breathing. The dojo was completely quiet, the room was large, and there he was, in the middle. Donnie liked smaller spaces. Darker spaces, like his lab. He felt exposed in that moment, even when no one could see him.

"Be in danger," he said in earnest.

There was some rustling, then the sound of wind on her end. He barely heard a sliding door shut.

"Come here," she told him firmly.

His eyes went wide. "What?" he questioned, stupefied.

She sighed, "No more lying, Bo—Don—I don't know. If what we have really matters to you…"

A mix of emotions swirled in him as he waited for her words. She hesitated.

"I'll come," he whispered, finishing her sentence.

"You'll come."

Blowing a breath out from between his lips, and nodded. Sorry, Master Splinter.

He snuck through the Lair to the exit of the sewers.

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your-turn-to-role · 3 years

Note

While Trent doesn't seem to want Caleb dead, that could mean horrible things are in store for Jester and Veth. Caleb is very protective of Veth, and thinks the world of Jester. So the bargain might be Caleb now works for Trent, or his friends suffer the consequences. They may be forced to explain the issue of the tombtakers, at which point Trent can profess confusion over why Caleb didn't just ask for help from his once mentor. Surely this unpleasantness could have been avoided? Tsk, tsk child.

okay, i was thinking of the bargain as a whole group decision but if it’s just caleb? yeah, for sure, he has a bunch of ways he could mess with him

and that’s definitely one of them! trent wants caleb back but he doesn’t give a fuck about the rest of the nein, they’re disposable

i will say, threatening the nein isn’t a sustainable plan? if he wants caleb back for good, he’s going to need to get caleb to a point where he believes in the cause again, otherwise he’s always going to be dealing with the possibility of caleb running away, and he’d definitely never be able to trust caleb to go out on missions. it’s also just making caleb distracted in thinking of ways to free his friends

it would be a good plan to find out exactly what dunamancy caleb knows, because that’s a major piece of information he has that trent doesn’t, and trent doesn’t like that. trent also trains torturers, interrogators, assassins, he knows how to leverage something like that to get exactly what he wants out of caleb, so in the short term, the direct threat may be very valuable

(also, you know, if they waste too long here lucien wins so who knows how that’s going to go, but for the sake of the rest of this post im assuming it gets dealt with relatively safely by someone)

but in the long term, trent’s more subtle than that. and he’s also got the title of exandria’s most prolific child abuser under his belt, like, he knows how this shit works, and thanks to 110 we know caleb’s not immune to his bullshit. caleb hates him, for sure, he’s never going to look up to trent again, but trent doesn’t need that, he just needs caleb to do what he wants him to. so you isolate him from his friends, not by killing them, that’s too direct, but rather, get caleb away from them, keep his friends from getting to him, and convince him they hate him now, it’s not like there’s no evidence, veth called him a murderer twice, look at the bloodbath he caused in here, he put everyone in danger, and for what? and what did you really do here, anyway, your dispel magics didn’t work, you killed all those people, did that really need to happen? or, better yet, use caleb’s hatred of trent, look how powerful you are, the guards here didn’t stand a chance, i knew you had the potential to be my best student, you’ve always been my favourite. your friends could learn a thing or two from you.

i can’t think of any way to get caleb feeling horrified over what he did quicker than that. and if worst comes to worst trent still has a modify memory to drive the point home. convince him that the nein can’t stand to see his face again, and you’ve gotten rid of one of his major supports. and without the nein, who does he have left? there’s essek, who’d understand, but do you really think you can get to essek without leading trent to him? trent who has plenty of reasons to want essek dead, and the means to kill him? going to essek will end with essek dead, and surely even you aren’t that despicable, right? yussa doesn’t want to get involved with the cerberus. allura would be horrified by what you’ve done, after she trusted you. all your other allies are friends and family of the rest of the nein, you lost those connections when you lost them. what family do you have, bren? you burned those bridges rather literally, i think.

so now you’ve got a caleb who won’t leave, because he has nowhere else to go, and he’s scared of what you’ll do to those he cares about if he escapes. but your only leverage right now is still just the nein as hostages, and that only works for so long. so your next chess pieces? astrid and wulf. they don’t even need to be willingly going along with it, trent’s proven he’s just as willing to manipulate them as caleb. but caleb still has hope for them, he’s not optimistic they can be saved, but he wants it, he cares for them a lot and knows they deserve better than this.

what happens if you punish astrid for helping them? if you’ve captured caleb, you certainly know by now she did. yet another thing that’s caleb’s fault, but this is an old familiar dynamic. you tell trent only what you have to, you keep each other safe, and look, she didn’t rat you out to him, she helped you, you know she’s done evil things but so have you and you got her hurt. she still cares about you, and god you still care about her, and wulf. trent may be keeping you prisoner here but they’re not complicit in it, they’re just as trapped. and they don’t trust you and you don’t trust them but it’s a light in the dark. people who are still on your side, after everything. you know they’ll never judge you because none of you have a leg to stand on in that argument so you put it aside and do your duty to the empire.

that duty’s changed, since caleb was a teenager, he knows it isn’t serving trent anymore. he wants to cut out everything corrupt from his nation and keep it safe. but how do you do that, on your own? how do you do that without the access to the cobalt soul you were hoping to rely on. you didn’t particularly want to change the system from the inside, because you’re terrified of that, but now you’re stuck in this situation so what else do you do? and astrid’s too ambitious, you’re scared she’ll turn into trent, but right now she’s at least a better option, she’s on your side, she’s a means to an end. you can go along with this some of the way, at least while you figure out your next step. and while i’m sure caleb in this situation would try and revert back to the time travel plan, his resources are limited and his activities are monitored. any progress caleb makes from out of the box thinking, trent can use. every step caleb takes to help his former friends breaks down another of his moral boundaries, and that trent can use. if he can keep putting those scenarios in front of the trio, where if they take the job he wins and if they don’t take the job he wins, then what do they do about that? every day that goes by caleb gets a bit less sure of his footing, gets more willing to take morally grey paths to an end, gets easier to push in a direction. you can’t break someone and rebuild them overnight, but you sure can slowly mold them into a shape of your choosing. transactional thinking, the darker it gets the more caleb can justify more of those deals, go with what trent says on this one because it’ll get him something he wants, keep working on an abstract goal of his own while he makes concrete steps towards trent’s

it’s a flawless plan, if not for the fact that the nein keep throwing spanners in the works. and all this relies on keeping them away. if they can fight their way back to caleb, there goes most of trent’s power, and he may lose more than expected, because i don’t see a scenario where the m9 forcibly break caleb away from that and astrid and wulf don’t go with him

#i don't actually think the latter is likely to be actually played out on the show #(though the deal for dunamancy secrets might)#but looking at this just from a character perspective #yeah that's a thing trent could do #abuse tw #probably a necessary tag there #cr2 #cr spoilers #caleb widogast #trent ikithon #astrid beck #eodwulf grieve #cr thoughts #text #meta #ask #Anonymous

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

Text

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Killing Cure (Part 21)

So this is another mobile post. Will put it under the cut when I get to my desktop.

He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed promptly; Lady Dimitrescu, though she is still much taller than he, is actually quite small. He wonders if the woman is aware silent in his embarrassment he strikes his forehead with the heel of his hand, stupid stupid Salvatore, of course the lady I knows! She is a smart woman and a change so big…? Small…? Profound, wouldn't go unnoticed. It is somewhat comforting if he were to be honest. Before she was such an intimidating presence to be around. So much so that he sought to avoid her if he could help it.

But the woman who sits before him, shifting in the chair with a look of mild disgust is infinitely more approachable.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Dimitrescu shakes her head and is hear sinks. He is loathsome, repulsive, repugnant! Of course she doesn't want anything that has been delivered by his grimy hands.

"You got any beer? I haven't had a good beer in a while." Ethan requests. "I could use one."

Salvatore nods eagerly. He hasn't had company in so long, much less company that is willing to let him be hospitable. Only Mother Miranda let's him be hospitable.

He plops a can into the man's hand. He visibly cringes when the slime runs down the side of his his palm. And for a second Salvatore thinks that he will put the drink inside. Instead he wipes the can clean and pops the cap.

"Are you sure that you don't want anything, Lady Dimitrescu?"

"To eat or drink, absolutely."

He thinks that he hears Ethan grumble, "you should eat, those vitamines are only supplements."

"But there is something else that I would like." She carries on as though she hadn't heard the man sitting next to her.

"How can I help?" He has asked the wrong question. He knows that he cannot help. He wonders why she is asking him rather than Donna or even Karl. Surely even Karl is a more desirable option.

"Winters and I are looking for his daughter. I imagine that Mother Miranda has given you a role to play? I am asking you to... reconsider your alliances."

"Betray Mother Miranda?" He squeaks. He could never! He doesn't understand how she could ask such a thing! To betray the only person who has seen his value.

"I-I couldn't possibly, Lady Dimitrescu! Mother Miranda has been good to me."

"By turning you into a gross and gushy fish...man...thing?" He chuckles to himself, "manthing." And then he clears his throat, reverting back to tealitibe seriousness, "I wouldn't call that good."

"I...well it's...nobody, mostly nobody, messes with me anymore."

"That's because you isolated yourself in a swamp." Lady Dimitrescu drums her claws...former claws upon the armrest.

Salvatore slinks back. "Mother Miranda sees my value." Even where he doesn't, she always has.

.oOo.

"She doesn't see your value, Moreau. She sees you vulnerabilities and she uses them." Just as she had used her. And how lovely it had been to believe those lies. "I see your value, Moreau." At least she hopes that she will in time. She thinks that even he can tell that she is telling pretty lies.

"I know how you look at me and my dwelling." He gestures about the place. "You want to use me."

"So then what does it matter? You're being used either way, what difference does it make who's using you?" She scoffs.

Ethan nudges her. "What she means to say is that we would really appreciate your help."

"I meant what I said, Winters!" She snaps.

Ethan inhales deeply, "I would value your help. And I wouldn't use you. You gave me a beer, we're friends now."

"Friends?" Moreau tests the word.

"You ever have a friend before?"

Moreau meekly shakes his head, "none at all, Winters."

"Well now you do and you can start by calling me Ethan."

Now Moreau looks far beyond anxious. The pathetic creature is all jittery and stuttering.

"B-but you won't like me. You'll find me repulsive eventually."

"I already do but friends look past that. I was able to look past Alcina's occasional blood baths. She smells like a corpse when she comes out of those and it's pretty awful."

Alcina clenches her teeth, cheeks coloring ever so slightly. "How dare you--"

"I look past a whole lot of that too." He jabs his thumb at the snarl on her face. "She's pretty cranky all the time but she isn't so bad once you get used to traveling with her."

"Blood and mucus are not the same. At least she's nice to look at."

Ethan smiles a lopsided awkward smile. "Yeah she's a beautiful lady. Her eyes are alluring, her face is charming, she has nice hair and a fantastic…"

"Winters, stay focused!" She demands sharply.

"Ass." He whispers to Moreau.

She shoves him off of the couch, "have some tact or sit yourself down next to Moreau, you loose lipped oaf."

Ethan rubs his own rear. "Well anyways, to show you that I am not repulsed by you I will gladly sit next to you until Alcina wants to be nice to me. She rolls her eyes as one cretin seats himself next to the other.

He does his best to keep the appalled expression off of his face even as the stench of death and fish assaults his nostrils. His eyes are watering and Alcina smirks. She must admit that the man is very good at feigning acceptance.

For a heartbeat she wonders if he is only pretending to accept her, wonders if he will stab her in the back as soon as he has his Rose back. She bites the inside of her cheek.

"So what do you say Moreau? Trade a heartless cultist for a real companion?"

"I'll consider." He twiddles his thumbs.

But she knows him, she knows that he won't want to venture beyond his comfort zone. And his comfort zone wears a bird mask.

"If you can stay the night, I will have the answer by morning."

.oOo.

It was exactly what he was hoping to avoid; staying here with the putridly smelling miasma of sea and decay. And on a makeshift hammock that is damp and slicked with what could either be mold or algae.

He doesn't want to rest which it is. He is rather content in his blissful ignorance. He can't deny that he is quite pissed that Alcina has taken the dry cot. He can't even get to sleep in a perfectly hammock and has no idea how Moreau can possibly sleep in what looks to be a large and repurposed fishing net.

He groans and makes his first attempt to scramble onto the hammock. By the fourth, he is ready to sleep on the floor.

He pretends not to hear her when Alcina slips into the room. A feat made harder by the very obvious cracking of the floorboards.

“Winters…” She looks off for a moment. “I’d like you to spend the night with me again.”

With only a sentence, his anger dissipates, "shit,I thought you'd never ask."

"After your," she coughs, "crass commentary, I wasn't going to. But I changed my mind."

"What made you do that?"

"This place is damp and chilly. You are warm."

It sounds like an excuse to him but he isn't one to question a mercy no matter how small.

This cot is even smaller than the one at House Bennivento. Ethan is certain that Alcina is plenty aware of this. She climbs onto it anyhow and gestures for him to join her.

"Shouldn't I get in first?"

She shakes her head, "lay down before I change my mind."

He crawls atop her and tries to make himself comfortable. It isn't particularly hard, Alcina is very pleasant and charmingly soft and kindly warm. He hesitates for a moment before resting his head upon her chest.

He feels her fingers weaving through his hair. "Comfortable?"

"Very." He confirms. He thinks that he is more comfy here than he would be in a bed of his own.

She sighs. The exhale is followed by a brief duration of silence. At last she fills it, “it has been a very long time since I’ve been in pleasant company. And longer still since that company has been a man.”

"We're there any women?" The question comes forward before he can curb it.

"Several of them have warmed my bed. Good girls, they were." She muses.

"What happened to them?"

"Well I used them for my wine, of course."

Ethan cringes and she chuckles as though she has only told a simple little joke. "I was thinking of doing the same to you but your blood was so stale." She continues to stroke his hair.

"Well that's reassuring." He grumbles.

"I suppose that it doesn't matter anymore."

This time it is he who is responsible for the silence. He as he tries to make sense of a woman who doesn't seem to, by her very nature, make any sense at all.

"Why?" He finally musters.

"Why what?"

"Why am I sharing a bed with you again?"

She furrows her brows as though he is the confusing one. As though it is he who has been sending all sorts of conflicting signals.

"It's just that, one minute I'm a stupid manthing and the next I'm a charming gentlemen." He continues. "Do you like or not?"

"You are indeed a stupid manthing and a gentleman. I wish that you would just pick one, preferably the latter of the two."

And she is dodging the more important question. "And if I decided to pick 'stupid manthing' what would you do them."

She makes a sound, perhaps something to indicate both amusement and annoyance at his audacity. "I would…" she trails off. "I suppose that it depends on the extent that your idiocy reaches."

He has to laugh at this, how can he not--it is her quaint prose and relief that she is even considering humoring dumbassery to any extent at all.

"Your antics can be endearing and entertaining sometimes." She confesses. "But they are also terribly annoying."

"So do you like me or not."

With no way to dance around it she falls back into her silence for a very long time before she mumbles, "I'm trying my hardest not to…"

"But you do?"

"I...yes. I think." This mumbling is even softer.

"Care to figure it out for sure?" He asks. Though there any enough room to contact his preferred test, he thinks that something simpler will suffice.

Her hair stroking comes to an abrupt but brief halt. "I suppose that I wouldn't mind."

"Good." He props himself up just enough to kiss the woman's forehead and then her lips, a gentle testing of the waters before he kisses her neck. And when she doesn't bat him away or shove him off of the bed he lays one on her collarbone and then her chest.

He is met with something between a hum and a purr, her fingers tap upon his back. "How was that?"

"It was well enough, Ethan." She replies. "Perhaps we can double check when we find more comfortable lodgings."

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina/ethan #ethan winters #fanfiction #ethan x alcina

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firefly464 · 3 years

Note

Hello wonderful! I love your writing a ton!! For the Drabble fic on ao3, I was wondering if you could write about SBI, specifically Techno and Phil learning what happened? Ty have a lovely day!!

Oooooo i like this one 👀

lots of hurt/comfort potential :D

ok so in this one we’re gonna pretend that smp!tommy actually grew up with the sbi, and they are actually his family instead of him just showing up in the middle of the woods without any memory. He still probably just appeared in the woods, but he can remember. Also sam and tommy made communicators after tommy complained about the lack of phones because sam is just cool like that

Original Story - Other Drabbles

~~~

“Get the fuck away from me!” Tommy cried out, his voice filled with a mixture of fear and anger. He couldn’t help but press himself further into the corner behind him, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the man in front of him.

Techno held his hands out, trying to appear as harmless as possible. “Tommy, its ok. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know why you’re in my house.”

"Oh, you’re not going to hurt me?” he scoffed slightly “Please. I don’t believe that for a second. What happened to ‘Blood for the blood god?’”

The man froze, his eyes widening. He had never told anyone other than phil about the voices that haunted his every movement, the voices that were constantly screaming at him, calling for violence. “How... How do you know about that?”

His younger brother didn’t respond, instead only pushed himself even further back.

“Tommy, I need you to be honest with me. How do you know about that.” His mind was racing with different explanations, but it all came back to a single thought.

His fear only grew as the silence stretched out. “Tommy, have you... have you been hearing the voices?”

“The fuck are you on about?” he muttered quietly. It had none of the fire that used to fill his every word, and his eyes were no longer a vibrant blue. They were dull, void of life.

Techno stepped closer, placing his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, making him flinch in fear. “Look at me.” He demanded.

His brother slowly met his gaze. Techno frowned. There was no light of bloodlust in Tommy’s eyes, only a dull emptiness. He took a step back and pulled out his communicator, already typing out a message. The response was almost immediate.

“What did you do...? Who are you texting?!” Tommy demanded, unable to keep the fear from creeping into his voice. “What the fuck did you say?!”

“Tommy, take a deep breath. I just messaged phil, that’s it. He’s on his way.”

“What the fuck?! Why?!” Techno couldn’t help but notice the way that Tommy’s words were now filled with fear and desperation, rather than energy and flame.

“Because he knows more about this than I do, and I need to figure out what’s going on. We’ll figure this out, ok?”

~~~

Tommy was still huddled in the corner of his small cave when he heard the door open above him. As voices began to float through the opening that led to the rest of the cottage, he pushed himself further back, trying to disappear.

He knew that he could easily just leave through the small tunnel he had made, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Maybe it was out of fear, maybe it was because he knew that he had no where else to go. If he tried to run away, he would be alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by a chipper voice “Tommy! Tommy you- oh dear, you look very sad”

He glanced up slightly, slightly surprised to find himself face to face with the ghost of his dead brother. “Hi Ghostbur...” he said solemnly.

There were so many things that he wanted to say in that moment. ‘Why did you leave me. Why did you leave me alone again.’ The words got caught in his throat, leaving him unable to speak. He could only give an empty smile as the ghost handed him a small bottle, filled with powdered blue pigment.

“Have some blue!”

Tommy stared at the bottle for a moment, before glancing back up. “Thanks, Ghostbur...”

“Alright, that’s all well and good, but we need to have a serious talk about this” Techno’s voice came from behind Ghostbur, though Tommy had already reverted his gaze back to the floor. “Tommy, how do you know about the Blood God?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he cursed himself for ever opening his mouth. How long had it been since he slipped up? Since he had caused someone to worry like this?

God, he was so sick and tired of dealing with all of this shit. He just wanted to go home. To his real home. He wanted to see his family again, his parents. It had been years since he had last seen them, and it still felt like an open wound whenever he thought about it. For fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be in university right now, not trying to recover from weeks of exile and isolation.

“Tommy, its ok. We can help you, I promise.” Phil’s voice could be heard from somewhere else in the small cave, but Tommy kept his gaze trained on the small bottle in his hands. “Just tell us what’s going on, we can help you through this”

The boy couldn’t help but flinch as someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He hastily pulled back even further, trying to avoid the contact. He shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep tears from spilling over.

“Tommy...” Phil’s voice dripped with pain and grief for his youngest son, “It’s ok, we’re your family. We can help.”

“No you’re not...” the words escaped him before he could do anything, before he could think twice about what he was saying.

A small gasp could be heard, though he couldn’t tell who it was from. “What? What are you talking about? Of course we are...” Phil asked softly, though Tommy could hear the hurt in his voice.

Something snapped inside of him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but suddenly, he could feel as nearly 4 years of pent up pain and frustration came pouring out of him. “No you’re not! You’re not my fucking family, stop fucking acting like it!” The tears that he had tried so hard to keep hidden began to pour out. “My family is gone and I’m never going to fucking see them again”

“What? Tommy, don’t be silly, we’re right here!” Ghostbur said, in his annoyingly chipper voice. “Here, you seem stressed. Have some more blue,” he said as he held out another small bottle.

Blue pigment covered the floor as Tommy slapped the bottle away, his eyes alight with raw anger. “I don’t want some bullshit blue powder, I just want to go home!” Ghostbur’s expression filled with confusion, which only served to fuel his anger. “Don’t you fucking dare look at me like that, you already fucking know this shit”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t fucking remember, because you refused to admit that your little brother was gone, and he wasn’t fucking coming back!” The room fell silent as Tommy took a deep breath, desperately trying to regain his composure. “Because you refused to admit that he chose to leave you, and you blamed me for it instead”

“What are you talking about.” Techno’s voice was low and quiet, the threat in his tone clear as day. “What do you mean he’s gone. What did you do to my brother.”

Hearing the threat in Techno’s voice seemed to break the dam that Tommy had so carefully built up inside him. What had been pure anger and rage was quickly replaced with pain and sorrow. He could feel as the tears began to pour down his face in a rush, leaving him coughing and sputtering as he tried to breathe.

Phil took one look at the sobbing boy and quickly rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. In that moment, it didn’t matter to him what was going on. All he cared about was his son needed him.

Desperately, Tommy hugged Phil back, his hands clutching the back of phil’s shirt, as if Phil would vanish the moment he let go.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, with him desperately trying to calm down, and Phil silently comforting him. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He didn’t know.

When he finally calmed down enough, he pulled back and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of this.”

“Shh, it’s ok. Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Phil kept his voice calm and steady, silently offering his support.

With a small nod, Tommy told everyone the story. He explained the swap, explained his old life. He talked about his parents, and his friends. He told them about how he had found himself in this world with no explanation, and how he had destroyed his only hope of ever returning home. He told them about how Wilbur had kicked him out of L’manberg when he had originally found out.

By the time he was done, he was crying again. And based on the sniffles that he could hear, he was pretty sure Phil was crying as well.

“So yeah. I’m not your son, or your brother. That Tommy is gone, he has been for years. I- I’m sorry...”

Before he could even process what was happening, he was engulfed in another hug. However, this time he could feel the arms of not one person, but three. Three separate pairs of arms wrapped around him, offering their support.

“Tommy, I don’t care what dimension you’re from, or if you don’t really consider us you’re family. You’re still my son, and I still love you unconditionally. Understood?” Phil said quietly. Tommy could only nod slightly in response.

“You might not remember all the shit you did when we were little, but you’re still the same nerd that tried to steal my sword when you were ten,” Techno’s voice, which was normally deadpan, was now filled with affection for his younger brother.

Ghostbur was the last one to speak. But when he did, he sounded sad, and filled with regret. “Tommy... I don’t know what Alivebur did to you, or how he treated you, but just know that I’m not him. I’m not going to hurt you, ok? You’re still my baby brother...”

The four of them were quiet for a while, the only sounds coming from Tommy’s quiet sobs.

Finally, a quiet voice cut through the silence. “Thank you...”

~~~

Im gonna put the taglist in this one because im proud of it. Let me know if I should continue putting the taglist in drabbles, or if i should just keep it to the actual chapters themselves :D

@hismilw @violet--majesty @chiera99 @koi-boye @waffle-time-god @miss-oleum @porkgavor @crafted-dreams @harley-the-pancake @lemonaid-ruru @luminousart @g3rmpy @bee-tubbo @firepowder @boombahey @rayjayo @carry-on-my-wayward-why @echo-delta @star-fruit23

#Philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #technoblade #Wilbur soot #wilbursoot #sleepyblr #sleepy bois inc #dream smp #mcyt #the real world #my writing

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fannishcodex · 4 years

Text

So I really thought Jamack and Boom Boom and co. were gonna be like: “JFC getting caged up and prodded and the needles and Emilia were awful”

And Hugo/Scarlemagne would overhear and was gonna be like, flat and bitter: “Oh wow, never heard that before.”

And Jamack and Boom Boom and the captured co. would just suddenly go “oh” and fully realize key parts of Hugo/Scarlemagne’s backstory and have a way better understanding of where the hell he was coming from, and feel more sympathy for him and bond with him and get him to talk more about what he went through and help him process it better, and be willing to help him. And Jamack and co. are like super horrified that Hugo/Scarlemagne endured what they went through way longer and endured it since he was born, as a child, that was his childhood; and they would be like, “ohwow no wonder you got so messed up.” It was bad enough for them, and they’re all adults (maybe K-Pop narwhal is a teen?); they can’t fathom enduring it as a child, and from since you were born. They’re super horrified Hugo went through what they just experienced but no one ever came for him, no one ever saved him like they got saved. It would particularly eat at Jamack because he kept the others’ spirits up by telling them that Kipo would come for them, and she did--but no one came for Hugo. And they would be even more horrified that Hugo went through what they suffered through all alone, he had zero other fellow mute lab subjects to even lean on for some support. Jamack and Boom Boom and co. would know it would’ve been worse if they didn’t have each other and had been experimented on in isolation.

And while Hugo/Scarl would be initially kinda overwhelmed by Boom Boom’s new fear of needles because it’s Hitting Very Close to Home, he becomes very sympathetic to them because it Hits Very Close to Home and he’s terrified of needles too, he gets it, so he tries to help Boom Boom, and Boom Boom tries to help him, and they both help each other.

Imagine one side of mutes being like uncomfortable with Hugo/Scarlemagne and wanting his apology and wanting him to make up for what he did, and another side of mutes with Jamack and Boom Boom and co. being like “he had every reason to freak out” and being more positively supportive of Hugo/Scarlemagne and trying to directly help him with his trauma over being Emilia/DNA Burrow’s lab experiment, and they’re like the first ones to ever do that for him.

Imagine a callback to Hugo/Scarlemagne’s public apology with Jamack like cornering Zane. (Thanks to @lemonadesoda for some inspiration on this.)

Jamack: Hey, if you’re sticking around, go the f*ck to the great hall place thing and apologize to Hugo for helping Emilia experiment on him.

Zane: ...Um, I was only following orders--

Jamack: GO APOLOGIZE.

More under the cut:

And later just like:

Jamack: Wait, Zane, shut up, before you say anything else-- *passes Hugo/Scarlemagne a plate of pancakes and fruit*

Hugo/Scarlemagne: Jamack, I’m actively having a stupid panic attack over being in the same room as Zane, I have zero appetite, you do realize I only ever saw him when Emilia was around or for some other horrible thing like sticking needles into me or when they were harvesting my pheromones, he’s not even as worse as Emilia and I’m still stupidly freaking out--

Jamack: It’s not for eating, it’s for throwing. The others threw junk at you before, you should get to do the same with Zane too.

Hugo/Scarlemagne: *is overcome with emotion and just drops the plate and hugs Jamack*

Jamack: *is keenly reminded of Kipo and it really hits him that Hugo and Kipo are siblings, and he awkwardly hugs back because he’s doing better but still unused to stuff like this and didn’t expect Hugo/Scarl to break down like this* O-okay how about Boom Boom and the others throw food at Zane for you, would that be okay--?

Hugo/Scarlemagne: That’sfinethankyousomuch.

Jamack: You bet. You guys ready?

Zane: What the f-- *gets covered in pancakes and such after Boom Boom and co. start enthusiastically and angrily throwing food at him*

Jamack: Okay Zane, go ahead. Apologize to Hugo now.

Omfg imagine Jamack and co. trying that with Lio and Song.

Jamack: Hey Song, happy for you and Kipo--well, mostly Kipo--but have you talked to your son since you got all un-megafied? You know, after he tried helping you communicate with the others andthat’sbecauseyouturnedyourselfintoamegabutthat’sawholeotherdiscussion.

Song: ...Not yet, it’s been a lot right now, things have been happening so fast--

Jamack: Haha okay so I’ve learned by now that’s not a phrase you should ever use with Hugo again, so don’t. C’mon, you need to apologize to him.

Kipo: Um, Jamack--

Jamack: It’s fine, burrow girl. You had Hugo apologize to the others, but he needs some apologies too.

Kipo: But Mom--

Jamack: And your dad.

Kipo: Well, Dad apologized already...kinda....

Jamack: Well Hugo’s apologized, and he’s kept apologizing, and he keeps actively doing something to make up for what he did, it’s been a process for him. Your dad could stand to do a little more too as an ongoing process.

Kipo: But why Mom--

Jamack: Look, Kipo, your parents meant well...I guess...but they still experimented on Hugo before. Like even after Hugo’s apologies and him trying to be better, the others still get to be somewhat bothered by what he did before. It’s kinda the same thing--Hugo can still be upset with your parents experimenting on him even if they’ve changed orsothey’vesaid.

Kipo: When you put it that way....

Jamack: And if I’m understanding this right--sorry burrow girl, but your family history’s just screwed up on multiple levels--your parents could’ve tried immediately escaping with Hugo right after the formula mutated him, right? Like Emilia didn’t suspect a thing. They had just realized they couldn’t continue with the “regress mutes” project. But they stayed to try to find another way for humans to live on the surface--as opposed to just going up there and actually trying and talking to us like you did--and that led to them just mutating you too, right? And they kept Hugo confined and told him to be quiet and that must’ve screwed with his mind, even if they meant well. But again, maybe that could’ve been avoided if they had left with him as soon as they decided they were done with trying to revert mutes.... Anyway after everything, they never got him out of the shitty situation that they were complicit in, for all their promises and “epiphanies.” They never made up for what they did to Hugo.

Kipo: ...I’ll get Dad.

Jamack: Thanks Kipo, that’d be great, I’ve been meaning to get ahold of him too--hey, Lio, you still haven’t visited Hugo at all, have you?

Lio: ...No....

Jamack: And we had a few slow months of just searching for Emilia and IdunnowhywehadtwomegamutesdoityouthinkthatwouldmakeiteasyforEmiliatoseethemcomingandgivehertimetorunbutthat’sagainanotherdiscussion so you could’ve--you know--ha ha, I wouldn’t say things were happening too fast that time, and you were the one to save him after all. Like, that must’ve been so confusing for him; you finally saved him, but then you just don’t see him for months afterward and kinda just leave him in a cage again--

Ahhh Later Later

Jamack: Hey so Hugo’s recovering but he’s well enough to take some visitors now, so Greta, come here, we’re gonna throw some pancakes and junk at you in front of Hugo--might cheer him up a little--and then you’re gonna apologize to him for helping Emilia with--

Greta: I like pancakes!

Jamack: Boom Boom, give the pancakes to Troy and Benson, we’re just gonna use apples this time.

And later later later

Jamack: Kipo, please tell me you didn’t get Emilia too.

Kipo: Fun-Gus took her...pretty sure she’s not gonna last long...either Fun-Gus is gonna suffocate her by accident or something or she’s gonna...off herself somehow, I don’t think she’d want to handle Fun-Gus for long...

Jamack: Ohthankgods Boom Boom and the gang were just gonna throw nectar bombs at her and be done with it if it came to that.

Just Jamack and Boom Boom and Hugo/Scarlemagne and the others should’ve bonded and become the “Humans Experimented on Us and It Sucked” support group, and most of them should’ve come together to help the guy most harmed by Emilia and also become the “Hugo/Scarlemagne Defense Squad.”

And of course Hugo/Scarl should’ve been saved in every way.

#kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kataow #hugo oak #scarlemagne #jamack

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

Text

Of Ice and Blood

Part 5

Look who's back with a 5k+ word count chapter?! Me!

I was planning on posting 1k+ at a time but stuff happened and I'm posting it all at once!

Enjoy and I'd appreciate it dearly if you reblog! Thank you!

Edit: Reached the 250 block limit so... The inevitable decision had to be made! Part 5 has a total of 3.42k words! The rest will be in a separate post <3

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, brief mentions of blood and injury.

Overall SFW (but 16+ for language)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 Part 6

The walk back to the school building was quiet.

Or so I thought.

Because it wasn't. At all.

Whispers, mutterings, echoed from the rooms as we passed by.

Are they doing it on purpose, or is my hearing sharper than usual?

"Hey look it's that girl."

"You mean the freak who sat beside the orc—"

"First day of school and someone already got killed. Should've expected him to be a savage."

"You think she wears a mask to hide her identity? Maybe she's a criminal-"

Probably the latter.

I shrugged. There stood a decent amount of distance between us anyway. So it's likely my hearing.

Students were watching us with weird suspecting eyes from a distance behind the windows. Sensing apprehension and outward hate when they saw Tai'chi next to me, his face in a neutral expression. But with my nose at this proximity, he smells pretty annoyed.

Just— why are there so many people,— humans–garnering these feelings towards someone they don't even know! And to even mock him like that! How dare —

"Pearl," Tai'chi called. His rich voice resonating, making the gossips of the students stop for a brief moment before they continued. Most likely slandering my name now. I didn't know I was standing still. Looking up, Tai'chi was a decent 9 meters away, with the staff members further ahead of him. He gave me a wondering look, worry along with his natural fragrance, drifted through me, carried by air.

I straightened up and took long strides, Tai'chi beside me, to catch up with them.

"Yeah, just thinking. I'm okay." Replying, not looking up to him. He didn't ask, but I felt like he would.

************short pov shift************

He was a bit bothered by the change in your scent and looked back when he noticed you weren't beside him anymore. There you were, standing in the middle of the wide hallway, brows scrunched up in aggravation.

He called out to you, probably a little louder than he meant to, but you looked up and hastily made your way beside him, both of you catching up to the rest towards the dean's office. He didn't ask, but you answered, only making him worry even more.

**********first person pov**************

As soon as we entered the main office of the center building, we were greeted with the sight of the dean and David, together with Miss Holson. He was a white fat man, though a bit taller than me, wearing a light grey suit with a few buttons open revealing a white undershirt, and a silly yellow, violet polka dot tie. I barely held back from snorting at the sight.

Mr. Silverstone was fussing over his son, his voice raised in slight panic was heard by everyone.

They went ahead of us then.

"My son! My dear, dear David! Who did this to you?!" he cried out. Once David, that son of a bitch, spotted me, he flashed me that blasted grin of his. He was acting, pretending to be hurt.

I hardly even left a scratch on him for fuck's sake. How I regret not punching him straight in the face.

Reverting to his fake, frightened, and miserable state, he pointed at me. "I-I-It's her father! She is the one who attacked me! Along with that thing with her."

Thing?! That sick bastard!

The dean whipped his head in my direction, eyes scanning me up and down before he diverted them to Tai'chi.

Well, it seems I'll ve packing up sooner than I thought.

My shoulders sagged.

Some professors were alarmed by this, frantically pushing forward to grab his attention.

"Mr. Silverstone, we still do not know what's for certain. We must interrogate them properly and listen to each of their sides before we make a decision." Mr. Dulrik asserted, his voice strained and close to animosity. He was not pleased with what the student had said.

The elder professor from earlier followed up.

"Listen to Mr. Dulrik, sir. We cannot take any risks and ju—"

"Silence!" the dean shouted. "I will not hear your reasoning. My son has told me everything I need to know. Miss Holson supported his claims and that's enough to decide what to do with these criminals."

Criminals?!

"The girl and that orc shall be expelled from this institution immediately. We do not need any murderers or barbarians here. I have always suspected why that Ernestine brat even allowed these monstrosities to be with us. To breathe the same air and walk the same land as we do, endangering our safety no less! A pathetic excuse of a founder she is! If it were me I would've—"

"You would've what?" Words came out before I stopped myself, my voice low, but it was heard still, drawing their attention to me.

"What did you just say?" He demanded, his anger slipping out more. The room was silent, except for the subtle ticking of the wall clock behind me, and the movement of air around us.

I lifted my head and looked at him dead in the eye. "You would've what?" This time, I replied, louder.

Before he could retort I went on, emotion fueling my words as I advanced with every question asked.

"Would've banned every single, non-human race from the university?

"Would've taught every human that they are greater beings and the ones that were different were meant to be stepped on?

"Would've ordered and tolerated bullying on anyone who was unnatural and weird looking?

"Would've put them in their place?

Isolate them? Degrade them? Despise them for being alive?" No-one stopped me as I approached him, the teachers separating and making way. Even Mr. Dulrik was regarding me curiously.

I scoffed. " 'If it were me' you said. You think I wouldn't notice how everyone else, that isn't human, was oppressed and treated like shit in this school? It seems to me that you already did what you would've done, didn't you? You are no dean, you are a clown, a pillock, a dumbass, and you call yourself human? You are more monster than any of us in this room."

I breathed heavily as I stood a couple of feet in front of him. His face grew to a crimson hue, my ears catching the sound of smoke seething out of him. At the back, David and Miss Holson were dumbfounded, shocked into place, shaken like ugly statues.

Finally, the dean spoke, his fists clenching hard as he faced me, almost drawing blood.

I am so gonna beat him up. Hell yeah, I will.

"Keep out of trouble if you can." Well, shit happened Mama, forgive me.

"How dare you speak to me like that! I, a pure-blood Silverstone, a line of royalty! If we were still at war I would've had you executed from where you stand—"

"How about you do it yourself then, oh mighty Silverstone jerk?" I mocked and gave a toothy smile, then I remembered he wouldn't see it. That was all it took to have him launching himself at me, the professors running to the sides to avoid his wrath.

His hands were balled tight, a fist aiming for my face, eyes filled with deadly intent.

Oh, he really wants to kill me.

Before it connected, I sidestepped, causing him to stumble forward. Even so, he immediately regained his balance and reached to grab my hoodie. I didn't dodge this time, but before he touched me, I used my right hand to slap it away. With my other hand, fitted with my crimson knuckle dusters, I met his fist with mine. Almost instantly, he stumbled back and crouched down, his left hand holding his bloodied one.

"You bitch!!!" he screamed in agony.

I think I broke his hand.

I glanced to my brass knuckles, some of the blood covering them, merely visible because of its color.

Shattered it perhaps.

"I will have you killed you insolent brat! I'll kill you!" he cursed.

"Now, now, Silverstone, you will do no such thing." A feminine voice cut through the large room. We all turned to the door to see a slim, tall, tanned woman who seemed to be in her 40s, her slightly wrinkled face showing it. She was wearing a black high-waist pencil skirt paired with a black one-button suit and a baby blue undershirt. The lady also wore classic white loafers and white hand gloves made of leather, with her ebony hair tied up in a bun.

Everything about her screams 'important'. I scented an intimidating yet reassuring aura around her.

I met her eyes and a sense of familiarity fell upon me. I know her and I've seen her before.

Wait. Could it be— she's—

"Madame Ernestine!" A professor exclaimed.

That means she's, "The founder," I said out loud.

She began sauntering in my direction, each step clicking on the floor, carrying herself with grace.

"M-Ma-Madame Ernestine!" The dean, shrieked as he stood up, shaking, his busted hand in his chest, his back facing me. "I didn't expect you to visit this year! We could've prepared for your arrival—"

"You shut your mouth now Welmir." She spoke out, her voice firm and borderline hostile. "I've had enough of your blabbering mug. I made it so that my arrival is unexpected. Leaving my outside duties rather early and rushed this year when news got to me that you, the dean, were neglecting your duties, or so, doing it wrong. Not to mention I had my assistant install extra cameras in... certain places last year and because of that, I saw what you did in the shadows. Maybe not all, but it confirmed my suspicions of you, and so," She clapped her together, "I decided to visit you today. And what a surprise it was to see you get beaten up by this lovely young lady behind you."

Me?! Lovely—

My face warmed from her comment.

"Listen here, brat." he regarded the founder. The founder. "I do not know what you are talking about. I have done my duties and more for this university. I made it so that everyone here is safe and this girl,"— he spat— "harmed me, my precious son, and his friends!"

"And all of you deserved it, severely," she responded flatly. "You put my dear students at risk and antagonized them with your schemes, tolerating the behavior of treating other races like animals, disrespecting even the professors who are different in kind," she glanced at Mr. Dulrik and the others. "You even forced a minotaur, an elf, and a dwarven student to act the part of being in a student council, hoping people wouldn't notice the crimes you did behind our backs. Did you expect me to turn blind eye to this?"

It was all pretend?!

The mere thought of what he did to threaten them to it makes me wanna puke.

"I am furious, Welmir Silverstone. To think I believed you'd change your ways after my father's death with the renovation of the institute. Trusted you to do your job as dean and make the students comfortable, welcomed. But, no. You chose to follow his footsteps, became selfish, blinded by greed and pointless hate. You are a disappointment to all of us."

I smelled her rage under that near non-expressive facade of hers. It was spicy, like fire having an odor of its own.

"You are but a child! You know nothing of this world! This world of ours needs to be purged off of those rats. You cannot tell me what to do!" He yelled as he brought up his uninjured hand to hit her. I was about to step in when Madame Ernestine grabbed his arm and threw a right uppercut, blood spilling out of his jaw. The punch sent him a few steps back, he would have landed on me if I didn't move out of the way before he collapsed on the floor groaning and holding his mouth.

Ooh she's strong! Nice! I grinned.

"You are hereby stripped off of your job as dean along with all of your titles, properties, and henceforth banished from these grounds, together with your son and Emma Holson, whom I found out laid with him, and the abusive acts they had engaged in." Her words laced with poison, disgust and anger as she gave the final judgement.

"Never show yourselves. Ever. Again," she spat. "Take them away."

Out of nowhere, men in black suits came in and apprehended the young instructor, who twisted her heel trying to escape. She yelled at them to let her go, saying she has done nothing wrong. David, the bastard, was held in place by one of them as he struggled in their grasp. The dean— or should I say, Mr. Silverstone, in pain and bleeding, was dragged up by two others and headed straight out of the door. He shouted ;

"Mark my words, brat! I will—"

And the door slammed close.

With my gaze following them, my eyes landed on Tai'chi. I took off my dusters and waved, tucking them back up my sleeve.

He is smiling! And oh wow he's damn gorgeous— wait what?

My attention was drawn away to the lady in front of me. I got distracted by Tai'chi that I almost forgot about her.

"Oh my God I uhm— hello Madame Ernestine." I took one step back before bowing. "It's an honor to meet you. I—"

"Oh dear, please raise your head. No need for such formal gestures. I am Valerie Ernestine, founder of the new Ernestine State University." She stated as she beamed at me.

"I uh- Yes ma'am I know of you. I'm quite a fan actually— I mean! My name is Pearl Blackbell, ma'am."

Oh God, that sounded so stupid.

Then she hugged me.

"Ma'am?!" I squeaked. My arms went stiff, nervous to even touch her. Before I could, she pulled back, a gentle expression on her face.

"Nice to meet you, Pearl Blackbell."

"I- nice to meet you too Ma'am Ernestine!" I stammered, praying my face and ears isn't as red as I feel them to be.

"Please, call me Valerie."

"Ma'am Valerie."

"Just Valerie, dear."

"I'm so sorry ma'am but I can't— my mother will hit me in the head with a frying pan if I forget my manners."

"Very well, then. It brings me joy that you were raised properly by your parents."

"Thank you ma'am, I really am happy to have them, and I only hope for them to be proud of me— oh wait. Uh, ma'am Valerie?"

"Yes?"

"Am I gonna get punished or expelled?" I shrunk, expecting the worst.

"Why ever did you think of that?"

"W-Well you see, I did harm uh, students and they're probably in the infirmary right now and—"

"Oh, Pearl, no." She let out a light chuckle. "You won't be punished or even expelled for that! In fact, I saw how you defended yourself and your friend from them. They did attack you first, sweetie. And what you did was impressive!" She clapped her hands. As I stood there in relief, I couldn't help but shot up when the words sank in.

"Oh, thank you. But how...?"

"Apparently, I had my assistant install some cameras in the forest area for particular reasons. I watched you from the monitor as I made my way here," she replied.

"Oh. Oh, wow. That's actually pretty awesome," I sighed.

"Indeed, it is," she smiled. "Excuse me for a bit."

******pov shift to 2nd person (two characters)*****

Madame Ernestine turned and walked towards the remaining teachers to talk about important matters at hand.

"Greetings, my friends." She beamed at the staff and looked at Professor Dulrik and the woman who supported him earlier. "Hello, Roldo and Amila. I have missed you dearly." She bent down to hug the two of them before she went on. "I apologize for not taking action immediately. To think he did this to all of you right under my nose! Why didn't you contact me Roldo?"

"My apologies, Madame Ernestine. I didn't have any proof to show his plot against you and the others. He was very elusive and kept us very busy in our own offices for the past year with you away. That was until today, with the young lady over there standing up against his son, he snapped."

"It really is a good thing she came here, didn't she?" she whispered.

"Indeed, Madame," Amila replied.

There was a brief silence, before Valerie spoke up again. Her gaze locked at the dwarven professor.

"Roldo, my old friend, I want you to take your place as the new dean of this university. I trust you to do your duty a hundred percent better than that impudent man ever did. Will you accept this responsibility?"

"I- Valerie this is-"

"Roldo, you are wise and have seen things most of us here have not. I will not force you on something you do not want, but I put my faith in you, to help me, along with the rest of the staff, to teach everyone here that all of us stand in equal ground, and that we must respect and acknowledge each individual, regardless of their kind. No one, no student, should ever feel uncomfortable in this haven of mine."

"I understand, Valerie." The dwarf took a deep breath and vowed;

"I, Roldo Dulrik, son of Grol II, son of Frerin, accept the responsibilities given to me as dean of Ernestine State University. I will do my duty to the best of my abilities, and remain loyal to you and to this institution." He responded as he thumped his right fist against his chest.

"I know you will, my friend." Valerie grinned at him, her eyes full of trust and hope.

While they were occupied with discussing certain issues, you tried to sneak away, only to be called back by Madame Ernestine.

"Pearl, my dear."

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you."

She had a soft smile, emotions clear on her face, directed at you. The founder, Valerie was thanking you for your bravery, kindness and overall honesty. You simply nodded and grinned from ear to ear behind your mask. You were, however, suddenly nervous when Valerie and the two professors approached you. No, actually, all of them were, but the others are heading out of the office, perhaps to go back to their respective classrooms and start working, they gave their thanks as they went out.

"Pearl Blackbell, a wonderful name!" Professor Dulrik remarked. "May the Gods bless you and shine upon you in all your days," he grinned. Before you could reply, Professor Amila hugged you and whispered. "Thank you, for beating up those idiots," —which made you giggle— "It was the right thing to do, and also I had to defend myself. and thank you, Professor Dulrik."

"Nonsense, call me Professor Roldo, lass." He patted your shoulder as he went past you and out of the office, but not before he slapped Tai'chi's forearm.

"You best protect her if you can, lad. Even so, it is obvious she won't need protecting!" He laughed, and went on, quietly, as if whispering. "...Be her friend, my boy. Her eyes...they show the pain she had gone through. You saw that in her, didn't you?"

Tai'chi simply nodded in response. He knew what he meant.

"Then do what you must. If word ever comes to me that you hurt her, I will hunt you down with me battle axe hidden in my office, you hear?"

This time, he chuckled. "I hear you, Professor. I won't. I swear on the the name of my clan, no harm will befall on her." He told him, his voice firm and true.

"That's what I'm talking about, lad!" He replied as he finally exited the room.

Tai'chi shifted his gaze to you. You and the dean were still talking so he stood there, patiently.

"We best be on our way. We still have a number of things to set straight. We will see you around, Miss Blackbell. Don't get into trouble now." The founder giggled.

"I will try my best, ma'am."

"Oh sure you will, sweetie. Goodluck. And oh, the two of you should start going back. It's past lunchbreak afterall." She said as the two ladies sauntered past you and went out.

"Thank you, we will." You said, mostly to yourself.

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

Part 6 will be posted shortly! Like, shortly shortly. Like, an hour or so shortly. Stay tuned! Thank you for reaching this point uwu✨

Tags: @crackinanutshell @kokokatsworld @mitchiesdungeon <3

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