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fanficsat12am · 4 months

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when the brothers realize how much MC loves them I Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜

Lucifer & Mammon

Happy New Year everyone!! Hope ya guys had a great flippin holiday time :> As always, notes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated <33 Have fun reading!!

Leviathan

Putting himself down was second nature to him at this point—sometimes he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It especially got even worse after getting into a relationship with you. His mind refused to believe that anyone could ever love someone like him.

Levi dreaded the day you’d finally see what he sees and ultimately decide to leave, but he wouldn't hold it against you. Why would you settle for someone like him when there were countless others in the three realms who could give you so much more…

“Hey, you okay?” you asked worriedly, noticing his glazed look and how his eyes had dimmed. “O-of course I’m fine! Pft, why would I be lol,” he stumbles out, trying to keep up his facade—but of course, you saw through it.

As he tries to get back to his game he can feel your eyes piercing him.

“I’m going to ask you how you are one more time and I would like you to answer me honestly,” gently taking the controller in his hands from him and placing it aside. “Now tell me, what’s up?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, the words not too foreign to his tongue.

“If this is about last week I've already told yo-” “Ugh, that’s not what I meant…” he cuts you off, trying to find the right words.

“I-it’s just…you could have had ANYBODY else, but instead you’re stuck with me. I can’t 1v1 Beel's body, Diavolo’s money, Asmo’s looks- heck even stupid Mammon’s got charm! I'm just Levi, the plain old third-born…” he bites his lip, trying to keep his tears at bay. His efforts proved futile as he felt its warm trickle slowly dripping down his face, one after the other.

A part of him wanted to take back everything he just said—to restart and pick a different approach. But this wasn’t another one of his games. This was real life, and in here you've only got one shot. It was game over, he knew he had lost.

He shut his eyes tight, listening closely for the sound of you finally walking out those doors. He couldn't bear to watch you leave him.

You shake your head at the absurdity of his words, cupping his face into your hand. “I’m not stuck with you, silly. I choose to be here.”

Opening his eyes back again he's met with you smiling at him, the sight making his heart skip a beat.

“I’m here because I can’t get enough of you. I love how your cheeks would go red when I catch you staring at me,” you say, leaning closer and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

“How your brows would furrow and your eyes would squint whenever you’re focused on your game,” sending a kiss by the bridge of his nose.

You gently grab his wrist and fumble on the soft skin of his palms with the pads of your thumb. “How you’d start gesturing with your hands a lot when you talk about the latest anime you’re into,” you reminisce, another kiss now to the back of his hand.

“How right before you fall asleep, you hold me closer and whisper to the dead of the night how much you love me,” you say as you end it with a tender kiss to his lips.

“And each day I find myself falling for you even more. They could try to give me the whole world, but they’ll never be you. So please, stop thinking you need to earn my affection because you don't. Not now and not ever.”

You lift his face up to meet your gaze, looking at him as if you see right through him. “There is nothing I would change about you. You are perfect in my eyes.”

He felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He was left speechless, his mind going haywire with everything you had just said.

Seeing how his brain had completely stopped working, he let his body do all the talking instead. He wordlessly wrapped you in a tight embrace, cherishing the warmth of your body against his.

The bitter taste of the sin he was meant to represent felt absent. Levi sensed no need to be envious of others when he had someone like you to call his.

Satan

Not once had he let himself think that he could indulge himself in something such as love—for wrath did not deserve the peace of love. While love held everything together in its warm embrace, wrath tirelessly tore with its cold unforgiving hands.

Despite their differences, there was no denying that both were blind. Just like a moth, you were entranced by the beautiful embers of his flame, blissfully indifferent to the heat.

He stared at his reflection with disdain. The obsidian black horns adorning his head felt heavier the longer he looked, not to mention the tail that whipped mindlessly on its own. He gritted his teeth in disgust, delivering a blow to the mirror that sent it hurdling to the ground. Through his ragged breaths and the rapid beating of his heart, he hears a voice not of his own.

"Satan?" you called, breaking him from his trance-like state. You softly closed his door behind you, hands outstretched and unsteady.

With each step you took, he took two back—his mind screaming at him to stay away from you but his heart yearning to leap into your hold.

"Hey, it's okay," you reassured, taking a step towards him.

"No it's not!" he screams, backing away from your approaching form.

Hearing the crunch of glass under the weight of his shoes, he takes notice of the mirror he broke just moments ago. Reflected on its cracked surface was a distorted image of him; a monster.

"Please, let me help," you pleaded, trying to close the gap between you. He hastily steps back, tripping on his own feet and leaving him a heap on the floor.

"Don't come any closer!" he screams, the room shaking with the sheer volume of his voice. You kneel to his level, quickly engulfing him in your arms.

‘Run. He doesn't deserve you. Just stay away.’ He repeated in his head like a silent prayer, hoping that by some miracle it would come true.

But as he felt you hold him tighter, he knew you would do nothing of the sort. As he trembled in your arms, he wills himself to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since the day you'd started dating.

"Why?" he whispered softly, almost inaudible if not for the heavy silence of the night. "I could lose control. Why do you insist on staying? To even consider feeling anything for a monster such as myself is just…foolish."

You think about your answer carefully, knowing that what you say next will mend or break the man in your hold. "Loving someone takes courage. To trust someone with your heart and believe they would keep it safe. Keep you safe. Let the three realms call me foolish but there's no doubt in my mind that I love you, Satan. Not the Avatar of Wrath, you Satan,'' you answer truthfully, pouring every ounce of your heart into each word.

Gently taking hold of his chin, you tilt his head up to meet your eyes. "Tell me now Satan, will you hurt me?" you ask, the demon shaking his head immediately. He wouldn't dream of ever wishing to cause harm to you. He would die first before anybody, let alone himself, hurt you.

"Then it is not foolish of me to love you" you say, your words unfaltering.

Tears welled in his eyes, accepting defeat at the hands of your love and melting deeper into your embrace. As he lays on your chest, he turns to face where your heart would be and whispers an oath. "I love you, MC. I shall protect you with my life" he vows, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Asmodeus

As the Avatar of Lust and the Jewel of the Heavens, he was always the talk of the town. You, on the other hand, weren’t too familiar with the gossip world. Although you knew that was going to change once you officially became a couple.

You took no mind to it, brushing them off with a small wave knowing that the wrong move could only add more oil to their flame. But Asmo wasn’t like you. He could feel all the looks they gave him, the incessant whispers and murmurs whenever he’d turn his back.

He typically had no care for whatever lies people have heard about him. The same could not be said though when they had the audacity to include you into the mix. It was slowly chewing away at him and he couldn’t deny the pit of doubt slowly churning inside him.

“I saw MC out with one of the brothers last week. They’ve been getting closer recently. I wonder what happened between them"

"I saw them leaving school with Simeon yesterday, I’m surprised that’d cheat on Asmo with someone like him”

”They’ve got the most powerful people of the Devildom wrapped around their finger and they’re still with Asmo? Damn”

The final blow was realizing that everything was better without him in the picture. Your smile wasn't just bright, it was brighter, you weren't just happy, you were happier.

He slams his door shut, sliding down the wooden surface as he feels his legs give underneath him.

‘Can’t you see? They were never the problem. No matter what you do, you could never satisfy them. Once again you've proved to be useless.’

‘You think they’d just be swayed by your face? By the number of followers you have? Underneath it all you're nothing. It's just pathetic.’

He shook his head, gripping and pulling on his delicate sand blonde hair. No matter how hard he cupped his hands over his ears, their words never ceased. His eyes pricked with tears, months of silent torture finally finding his moment of weakness.

You on the other hand were beyond worried. You were no stranger to Asmo’s flamboyant walk outs but this was different. As you neared the door to his room, you could hear silent sobs and cries on the other side. Knocking softly, you worriedly call out to him.

“Asmo?” The sobbing stops, rendering the halls eerily silent. “Darling, what’s wrong? Can I come in?” Still no response.

Asmo freezes at the sound of your voice, the loud thumping of his heart drowning out the constant knocking on his door. An internal conflict rages within him. Not only is the person causing all this mess of emotions on the other side of the door, but the only one who can make it all go away as well.

“Please talk to me. I need to know that you’re alright.” Just as you’re deciding if you should get some help from the others, the door opens. From it, a hand grabs your wrist, swiftly pulling you inside and closing the door.

Looking around, the usually bright and pinkish room was cold and dark. You could barely see anything with the only light coming from his window.

The crisp silence of the night was cut by the uneven breathing of Asmo who was still by the door. You reach out to gently place a hand on his shoulder.

“Sweetie?” you call, fingertips only a few milliliters away, when his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Do you love me?” he whispers.

“Of course I do,” you answer immediately, not missing a beat.

You gently grab him by the shoulder and turn him to face you, your heart breaking at the sight of your lover being in so much turmoil.

“Oh, Asmo…” your hand tenderly holds his cheek, the other wiping away the tears that have yet to cease from falling.

“Each day, I hear another rumor about you finding somebody else…” he pauses, taking a deep shuddering breath. “If you’re going to do it, please just do it already and save me the mascara.”

He knows that watching you leave will hurt more than any hangover can ever do to him. It would be like he was falling from the pristine white gates of Celestia again, powerless as he saw all he held dear fade into a memory of what he had once had.

He could try to convince himself that the rumors were true. That you were only ever with him for his fame and looks and that he never cared about you. But of all the lies that have circulated, that would have been the biggest one.

“Honey, I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” you say as you tuck a lock behind his ear. “If you think I’d ever love someone after you then I have failed in showing you how much you mean to me.”

Through blurred vision, Asmo tries to find an ounce of deceit within the windows to your soul; a malicious grin, a break in eye contact, a drop of sweat. Nothing.

He lets out a shuddering breath he didn’t know he was holding, pressing his soft hands upon your own and interlacing it with his. It was stupid of him to ever doubt your feelings for him. To hell with what they thought of the both of you. All he cared about now was now, being here in your hold, forever.

“You’re so cute sometimes, darling…" he whispers in amusement, a small smile finally making its way onto his lips.

“Please tell me I still look fabulous even after all that tears. Ugh, my eyes are gonna be so puffed up tomorrow!”

You chuckle at his comment, happy to see him start coming back to you. “Still ever so stunning, My Prince.”

“Let’s stay like this for just a bit more, hm? All this crying made me tired. Then after, we can run a nice warm bath for the two of us. Doesn't that sound wonderful?” He murmured, melting more into your touch.

“Whatever you’d like, darling,” you replied, pressing your forehead to his.

And there you stayed, forehead to forehead, hands intertwined, just you and him in the comfort of each other's touch.

AN: Thanks a bunch for reading!! Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments <33

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sunflowerskies00 · 6 days

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too sweet, part 6

to go to bed before the daylight

series master list

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes, and others

yourusername: quick trip to jersey to see 2/3 of the goons

tagged: lhughes_06 and jackhughes

lhughes_06: the way you refused to wear my jersey

jackhughes: plz she would've worn mine if she wore one yourusername: this is literally why I didn't wear one and have the jacket- so you two goons can't fight _quinnhughes: she wears my jersey when she comes to my games yourusername: QUINTON you weren't supposed to tell them lhughes_06: you wear Quinn's jersey and not mine?? I'm literally you're twin???? jackhughes: this is betrayal in it's worst form yoursername: you guys are so dramatic I can't

_quinnhughes: so you go to jersey but won't come to vancouver?

yourusername: quinn bffr I'm going to be there in like two weeks _quinnhughes: you still went to jersey first yourusername: luke is my twin? we literally shared a womb- i missed my twinny lhughes_06: so basically she's saying I'm the favorite yourusername: not what I said actually lhughes_06: agree to disagree

rutgermcgroarty: so you just go to jersey and forget about all of us?

yourusername: calm down I go 30 seconds without answering a text and it's like the world is over rutgermcgroarty: the world is over yourusername: anyone ever told you ur a drama queen? rutgermcgroarty: hmmmm don't think so yourusername: well then allow me to be the first- ur a drama queen luca.fantilli: y/n spitting facts markestapa: rut we've definitely called you a drama queen before dylanduke25: most dramatic guy I know rutgermcgroarty: i did not come here to be bullied rutermcgroarty: also have we all forgotten edwards exists?? yourusername: fair you guys might be tied for most dramatic edwards.73: i am not dramatic yourusername: yes you are rutgermcgroarty: yes you are markestapa: yes you are luca.fantilli: yes you are dylanduke25: yes you are lhughes_06: you definitely are

alexturcotte_: what a supportive sister

yourusername: fr! i'm the best I know alexturcotte_: best hughes child confirmed trevorzegras: ^real jackhughes: my own friend picking my sister over me. smh you can't trust anyone yourusername: maybe you should just be better jackhughes then they wouldn't pick me

liked by _quinnhughes and others

yourusername: had to come to vancouver to see huggy bear play *see second photo for what i wore to the game*

jackhughes: still can't believe you wear his jersey but won't wear mine to a game

lhughes_06: seems unfair really yourusername: i am not picking between the two of you so get over it

_quinnhughes: thanks for flying all the way here ❤️

yourusername: thanks for letting me take over your apartment _quinnhughes: anytime kiddo trevorzegras: well isn't this just a wholesome little comment thread _quinnhughes: well it was until you got here trevorzegras: rude _quinnhughes: true

dylanduke25: sooo you're on your back to mich then? we can't handle him anymore

yourusername: he's a big boy he'll be fine yourusername: but yes I'm literally on my way back now rutgermcgroarty: thank god I can't take this moping luca.fantilli: fr pity party of one up in this bitch markestapa: can you ask the pilot to fly faster please? edwards.73: you guys are a pain yourusername: bunch of drama queens

taylorrose: a traveling queen

yourusername: traveling queen sponsored by my rich hockey playing brothers taylorrose: at least they're good for something yourusername: amen lhughes_06: rude jackhughes: rude _quinnhughes: rude

username25: thank you y/n hughes for the captain quinn content

yourusername: anything for the people 🫡

edwards.73: come home

yourusername: i'm working on it, i can't make a plane go faster markestapa: whipped rutgermcgroarty: a little bit obvious there dontcha think bud? lhughes_06: wtf is going on trevorzegras: c'mon bud use your brain you can figure it out

username45: so we're all just ignoring these weird exchanges in the comments? cool.

username32: just let them think they're slick

tags: @love4ldr

#ethan edwards #rutger mcgroarty #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #ethan edwards x y/n #umich hockey #ethan edwards x reader #mark estapa #luca fantilli #dylan duke #nhl hockey #nhl imagine

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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Jungkook: 8:45 PM 🔞

Tags/Warnings: Adult, smut-heavy, making out, Idol!Jungkook, Fluff, Established Relationship, implied foreigner!Reader, not home AU though, Jungkook struggling hard, misunderstanding, angst with happy end, emotional smut, oral (fem. Receiving), protected sex bc this is me writing this and I teach you kids the true life lessons

Lenght: long.

AU-Masterlist

Languages are marked as English / Korean.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

He still can't believe your first time got interrupted by something as ridiculous as his manager calling him.

It's like a reminder that his career will always somehow wiggle itself between him and whatever happiness he tries to find outside of it- nothing ever truly personal for him, everything always meant to be well thought through so it fits into his public persona.

But he refuses to give you up, even knowing all of that.

Apologizing for it just feels.. odd now, like bringing up something awkward you did ten years ago that everyone forgot about anyway before you decided to rekindle the memory in their heads. But the problem here, right now, with you, is that he knows he should bring it up. Somehow. Because he's struggling hard to keep himself in check, even having had to embarrassingly rub one out in the shower this morning after you'd made yourself tea in his kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt and panties.

It's a problem.

He's hesitating to initiate anything now mainly because what if it happens again? He can't just put his phone on silent and ignore what could potentially always be very important calls from people who only want what's best for him in the long run- real life doesn't work like those movies where the protagonist throws it all away for his girl. He wants to, he truly does- but at the end of the day, he's also scared, because if he falls, he'll potentially take you down with him, and God knows how deep he'll fall with where he stands right now.

A drop from a height this high would shatter you inevitably, and he's sure he'd crack like delicate porcelain just as much by having to watch you suffer the consequences of his actions. You don't deserve that.

"..-ungkookie?" You try again, and he snaps out of his thought, looking at you.

"Hm?" He responds, looking at you next to him.

"I asked if you want me to cook for us tonight. Is that alright?" You wonder, and he nods, eagerly so, because of course he'd love to have you do something so domestic with him. He's always dreamed of being able to experience these things after all, despite his curse of being a public figure who's not supposed to appear unavailable. "Alright-!" You hum. "Gonna have to put pants on now though, gotta go get some groceries.." you whine under your breath as you stretch on the couch naked feet pushing against his thighs and oh, how your back arches-

No, bad brain. Not right now.

"I'll give you my card, hold on." He tries to save himself, getting up to fetch his wallet as you begin to laugh.

"Jungkook baby, I can cover some groceries, don't bother!" You argue softly, getting up as well before walking over to him. "You'll just have to survive some minutes without me, that's all." You tell him, hugging his middle as you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Also, people would think I'm a gold digger for using a black card looking like.. well, me." You joke, as he can't help but reach out to affectionately brush some hair out your face, hands holding your cheeks.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, and you part a bit from him, serious at his tone of voice used.

"Hm? For what?" You wonder, and he sighs. Why did he bring it up now? This is going to be so awkward, he already dreads it. But now that he's put the noose around his neck, he might as well stand on the chair too.

"Yesterday. Or.. day before? Technically it was, wasn't it.." he rants, before sighing. "I hate that we.. had moment, you know, and then.. nothing. Ruined." He complains softly, and you can't help but look at him affectionately. He's such a soft soul sometimes, worries about so much that doesn't even need to be worried about.

"Jungkook, it's fine." You answer.

"Not fine-" he shakes his head. "Not fine, I- ugh, I want you, you know? Want to, but now, it's awkward and I don't know how to initiate it because every time I plan to I keep thinking of that moment he called and-" he groans in frustration, head thrown back before he looks down at you. "I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, and you laugh.

"I forgot to pack socks for this trip, that's why I'm always barefoot in your apartment here." You say, and he blinks once, twice, before he looks at you, confused but amused the same.

"What?" He questions, tilting his head for a split second and you shrug.

"Now I've made an awkward moment for myself too. We're even." You explain, and he laughs.

"Thats not how that works-" he wants to argue but he inevitably leans down to kiss you- a peck quickly deepened by you, because God knows you want him just as much. But the struggle of initiating isn't solely his alone, because you don't know how to either. All is still new with your relationship, you don't even live together at this point in time, only a week more and you'll be back home trying to figure out how to move most of your stuff to his country so you can be closer. This was all a test, after all- to see if it's worth it. If you'll be okay.

And you know now, you'll be just fine with him at your side.

"Hm I need to get going now though-" you say, trying to escape him now- but he won't let you, hands firm on the small of your back as he keeps you against him, lips chasing yours making you giggle as you lean back as far as you can. "Jungkook!" You laugh, but he just playfully bites at your neck.

"No, I'm hungry." He mumbles against your skin, and you look at him, pushing against his chest.

"Yeah that's why I have to go? Get everything to cook?" You remind him, but he shakes his head, gaze making it clear that he doesn't care for that.

"Not.. that." He tells you. "Hungry for you." He says, raising his brows and you laugh at how ridiculous he's being. How can he be both so cute but also attractive at the same time? It's truly unfair.

"You're so cute." You tease, catching him off guard to escape his grasp and run into the bedroom to get some proper pants at least. But he's faster, palm slapping flat against the wood of his door before the momentum of his move slams it into the wall with a loud noise, making both of you jump for a second before he stalks towards you.

And once the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, you know you lost.

It's like his patience had finally snapped, his hands eagerly helping you out of his shirt, happily running his palms over your skin, warm and soft as you move around a bit to get comfortable. He sighs when his phone vibrates somewhere close- probably having fallen out of his pocket on the couch earlier, and you laugh, visibly uncaring of his misery. "Go get it." You tell him when it sounds again, and he groans out loudly as if he's in pain, angrily stomping back into the living room, where you can hear him answer the call with an annoyed tone to his voice. It surprises you when he walks back into the bedroom however, pointing to the shirt you're attempting to put back on, before he motions for you to put it back on the floor where he'd thrown it down earlier.

Just what is he thinking right now?

"Yeah, that's fine." He talks into the phone, his free hand untying the strings of your sweatpants, before he pulls on the hem, tapping your hips as if to silently ask you to lift them so he can get you out of those pants. "Not right now, but tomorrow is fine." He continues to talk to whomever is speaking to him over the phone, while simultaneously running his hand from the side of your knee, up to the hem of your underwear, the last item of clothing covering you at the moment. It's oddly exciting to see him so serious, yet clearly more focused on you than anything else.

You've never felt so adored before.

His fingers slip underneath the side of your panties, teasing you, so close yet way too far from where you'd like his hands to be most right now. And he's clearly aware of it too; if the hooded eyes and the small smirk on his lips was anything to go by. "No, right now.. I'm pretty busy. Sorry." He speaks again into the phone, thumb running over the dip between your inner thigh and your by now more than aching heat. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip for a second, before the whole thing visibly seems to edge him just as much- then tent in his pants evident.

"Alright, yeah, just- text the schedule to me and I'll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay?" He offers into the phone, moving to stand up and search for something in the drawer of his bedside table- colorful foil package pretty obviously hinting at what he means when he's said he's currently busy. "Alright, hmhm, yup- bye." He rushes out, ending the call before he throws his phone somewhere onto the shirt you'd been wearing, his eyes rolling in an annoyed manner before he takes off his own shirt, joining you on the bed.

"Did you really hang up on him like that?" You wonder, giggling when he has to sit back to slip out of his loose grey sweats as well, jumping on one foot for a bit as his other gets stuck in the fabric for a second.

"I'm not sorry." He shakes his head, crawling closer to you on the mattress to get a hold of both sides of your panties. "I've got my hot girlfriend all pretty and ready, no one can ever blame me for being needy." He shrugs, shaking his hair out of his face before he tries to pull your underwear off. "Hey come on now!" He whines almost, a stark contrast to the tattooed, muscled appearance of him currently already flushed and fully erect, straining against the cotton of his own underwear.

"Needy." You tease, and suddenly, as if you'd pushed a button, as he suddenly pulls on the fabric with more determination, successfully getting rid of the item of clothing with a gaze that screams fake innocence. Jungkook isn't new to sex, and neither are you- but it's the first time doing it with each other, which naturally places a bit of pressure onto you.

Or maybe it usually should be like that- because somehow, it all comes naturally.

When his hand finds your heat, you're already melting underneath his gaze, no words spoken as he leans further over you, catching your lips again. Only that this time, he truly seems hungry; no longer offering you fleeting pecks but desperate kisses that try and convey just how much he wants you right now. He knows that he could never truly make it clear to you though- because he himself doesn't even know if that's possible.

He's never wanted anyone so bad.

And while usually not too fond of it, his need to prove himself as the perfect lover- emotionally and physically- makes him detach himself from you for a second, before he adjusts his position, leaning down to have you lay your legs over his shoulders, hands holding your thighs apart as he lays his mouth onto your heat.

It's an entirely new experience for you, and he knows.

But luckily, if your Impatient whining was anything to go by, you're definitely enjoying yourself as he flattens his tongue over your sensitive nerves, eyes focused on you while he has to use a little strength to keep your legs apart, especially when you grow close to your first orgasm. He's eager to see it, moving away to gain a better view before one of his hands finishes the job, gaze on you as you arch your back and come undone from his actions.

And its now that he really can't take it any longer.

"Fuck I need you." He curses under his breath, finally getting rid of the last item of clothing he still had on until now, no need to give his length any form of help to get ready for you. He can't help but groan a little under his breath at how sensitive he feels, rushing the act of wrapping the condom over as to not rile himself up too much.

After all, he wants to be inside you for his own orgasm, no matter what.

"Hm I'll go slow, ok?" He asks, and you nod, hands reaching out for him, making him chuckle. "You're cute." He comments, earning a roll of your eyes in return. He lets it go for now- giving you a pass this time, but only because be truly feels needy now.

He'd love to tease you a little, make you all whiny and desperate for him, but right now, he just wants you as close as he physically can get.

Though in his haste to get onto his own road towards pleasure, he never forgets you- pride swelling as he watches you hold onto him, wanting him just as much as he wants you. He's a little sweaty already, and the sheetsbare tangled badly at this point from all your squirming, arousal already staining some parts of them but right now he really can't bring himself to care.

He uses one of his hands to aid him in finding your entrance, positioning himself to carefully push himself inside, and at this point, he just feels as if he truly became one with you. It's the last key experience in a way he's had to have with you, and now that he's in exactly that moment, things start to feel real.

"I love you." He almost whispers into your neck while he starts to move. "I'm.. so grateful you're here." He tells you, hips moving at a steady pace. "I want you to.. stay forever." He almost asks, in a way, and while you can't give him an answer to that right now, you probably will later.

After you're back with the normal thinking human beings, because right now, with his pace and strength gaining as he chases his high, your head is definitely unable to form thoughts.

In a way, he loves the sight of you like this. It's awfully sinful, a sight only he wants to ever be able to see, no one else.

He can't control his own noises at this point, uncaring of his groans of pleasure as he chases after his peak, noticing you growing antsy as well, visibly eager to cum as well. And he will make sure you'll get your attention as well- he'd never let you down, ever.

And with his hand reaching in between you both to find where he needs to be, you're gone and out; head thrown back into the pillows while he pushes himself in deep, condom filling with his seed while he slows down into almost no movement at all.

Catching his breath, he leans down to you to kiss you once more, ticking of his clock on the bedside table coming back into the background noise, as well as the cars outside from the opened window, and your breathing underneath him. His senses return one by one as he pulls himself out, moving to get rid of the condom and start the shower.

"Come on." He asks, tapping your thigh, but you just whine all grumpy at him. "Noo get up, get up- the bed's all messy and we're too.!" He laughs, all energized from his own afterglow, while you seem to be the exact opposite, having to be physically pulled into a sitting position by your wrists. Jungkook himself can't help but simply laugh, before he takes matters into his own hands, lifting you up over his shoulder-

And of course, landing a loud smack onto your butt for good measure.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader

1K notes · View notes

highdramas · 1 year

Text

you’re the only friend i need | s.h.

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader warnings: language word count: 4664 summary: having steve harrington as a fake boyfriend proves to have more pros than cons, all things considered. the biggest pro is one that you didn’t even realize until you were in the thick of your fake relationship. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this fic is a continuation off of this request, which is a to all the boy i’ve loved before based steve drabble, and will make a lot more sense if you’ve read that first! ty for reading and enjoying ily alllllll

having a boyfriend, even if steve was your fake boyfriend, was like a set of constantly evolving circumstances that you never quite knew how to get used to.

the strangest part of it all was the dates.

your one real relationship never even offered the option of dates. with ryan, he had wanted to keep things so secretive... the extent of your “dates” was him sneaking in through your bedroom window and making out on top of the covers. but steve...

steve hadn’t been lying when he told you that if you two were going to be in a fake relationship, he was going to make it worth your while.

within the first week of your arrangement, steve had come to you with a list and furrowed brows. you’d barely gotten into his car before he was examining the list one last time and passing it to you. “okay, these are the ideas i came up with. i know what telling you removes some of the magic, but--”

you both say at the same time, “not real.”

“yeah, so... figured you could take a look at the list, tell me what you’ve already done, and we can skip those. whatever you did with ryan, you know--”

skimming the list, you shrug your shoulders. “i don’t know if we did any of these,” you admit, looking up at steve. “i don’t think that ryan would’ve even been able to come up with a list like this if you put a gun to his head.”

steve scoffs. “well, yeah, ‘course not, because he’s not me. but, not even a fraction? i mean... did he take you to dinner?”

you shake your head.

“ice cream?”

another shake.

“what, the movies? i mean, i’m not even listing off any of the creative things--”

“no, steve!” you exclaim, tossing the list back over to him. “no, he didn’t buy me dinner, or dessert, or take me to the movies! he didn’t do anything, that’s kind of the point.”

a hush falls over the car, and you’ve never felt awkward around steve before-- well, not in the last week, not when you started to really get to know him-- but you feel a little awkward now in his bmw, rubbing your hands on your jeans and wishing that you could just disappear. if you disappeared, maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with this mortification that was settling in your chest. just how pathetic you feel having said everything out loud.

it’s as if steve can see the gears in your head turning, can see you turning in on yourself. “hey, hey...” he turns the key and the car turns off. he unbuckles his seatbelt-- one thing that had surprised you about steve was how safe of a driver he was and how much of a stickler he was when it came to seatbelts and general car safety-- and shifts his body towards you. “i didn’t mean to embarrass you, or make you feel bad.”

“you didn’t embarrass me.”

“regardless,” steve reaches out for your hand, and you think about it for a moment, how you might feel like you gain the upper hand by refusing his, but you eventually relent and take it. your pride isn’t worth more than the comfort that steve provides, even with a simple touch. “i’m sorry.” his hand squeezes yours and his thumb draws a pattern over the back of his hand. it’s these moments where things feel so damn confusing, where your brain knows that this is all fake, but your heart can’t seem to parse the difference. “and, for the record... i know i’ve said it before, but he’s the one who should be embarrassed. i didn’t feel one way or another about him before, but he’s a total dick.”

anyone else and you may believe that they were just telling you what you wanted to hear. but steve has always had this knack about him, and maybe it’s only with you, but you simply don’t believe that he would keep things from you. that he’d be anything but perfectly genuine. maybe that’s naive, maybe that framework of thought will get you hurt one day.

you’re willing to find out.

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

steve creates a schedule for your dates. a schedule.

upon the reveal of how little you’d truly been treated in the past, he had quickly snatched the list back up, folded it up nice and neatly, and tucked it away into his pocket. he’d cited that now everything was going to be a surprise.

you go on a date with steve every tuesday and friday. and, at some point, that bled in to saturday’s and sunday’s, too.

(at some point, you end up realizing that you spend more time with steve than without him.)

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

DATE IDEA 17: CAMPING

“you really thought that camping would be good for our first fake-date that’s not, like, dinner and a movie?”

steve closes the trunk and slings the tent bag over his shoulder. “i don’t know what you’re talking about. this is still a great idea.”

“isn’t part of the point of all of this is for people to, you know, see us?” you make a dramatic show of looking around, using your hand as a temporary visor, searching high and low for any soul who may feast their eyes upon you with steve harrington. “i don’t see anyone.”

taking a step closer to you, nearly chest to chest, steve peers down at you. “no one’s gonna believe us as a couple if we don’t seem comfortable around each other,” he turns around and trudges towards the plot of land that the camp host had directed you to. “what better way to become comfortable than to share a tent in the middle of nowhere?”

you roll your eyes but follow behind him. he guides you towards the little picnic bench and encourages you to sit on it. “what are you doing?”

“what do you mean?” steve shrugs and grabs a coke from the cooler and hands it to you. “i’m having you sit down while i unpack the car and get the tent set up.”

“but...” your head tilts to the side like there’s a thought bubble forming over your head, trying to understand him. “don’t you want me to help?”

“nope.”

“you don’t want me to help at all?”

“no. not even a little bit.” there’s a cheeky smile on his face. “i want you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the view. maybe if you’re lucky i’ll get a little sweaty.”

you scoff and huff and make to stand up, but steve’s hands go firmly to your shoulders. “i’m serious. let me take care of it. can you do that?” he touches your chin, just the faintest brush of his index finger against it, but it’s practically a lightning strike. when you nod your head, he smiles. there’s something proud there. “good.”

for the record, he does sweat a little bit. and you don’t know what it means that you kinda... like it.

by the time that tent is up, the sleeping bags are rolled out, and the pillows are fluffed, it’s already dusk. steve has built a decent sized fire and has dragged a large log to it, patting his thigh. “c’mon.”

walking up to him, you open your mouth, trying to decide if he’s implying what you think he is. he takes you by the hand and guides you to perch on his thigh, maneuvers your arm to drape across his shoulders. “comfortable?” you nod your head and he pats your leg, the motion far too easy and affectionate for you to brush off. “fuckin’ pretty out here, isn’t it?”

looking around, you can’t help but nod. “it is really pretty. have you been here before?”

“we used to come here every summer. me and my folks, and a few other neighborhood families. it was my favorite part of the summer, every summer. i always wanted to bring someone here.” he squeezes you a little bit. “you should feel honored.”

“i do, actually,” you say to him, and you mean it, deeply from the bottom of your heart. “thanks for bringing me here. and for getting all of this set up, it’s...” you look around, but despite the beauty around, your eyes want nothing more than to settle on steve’s face and stay there. “magical.”

“thanks for letting your fake boyfriend take you out into the woods. with no showers.”

your jaw drops. “you didn’t say--”

his laughter drowns out anything else, his forehead falling to the side of your arm.

you stay out at the fire together until the bugs force you into the tent. slightly chilled from that summer evening cold that serves as a nice break from the heat, you rub your hands over your arms. “cold?” steve asks. before you can even fully nod your head he’s unzipping his duffel and tossing his sweatshirt in your direction. “here.”

looking down at it, your thumb runs along the worn material. you’ve seen him wear it a million times since you’ve known him.

his favorite sweatshirt.

you tug it on over your shirt, and before you can think to open your own bag, there’s a pair of sweatpants in front of you. “steve,” you begin slowly. “you realize i brought my own clothes, right? is this you saying you hate the way i dress? even my pajamas?”

“what? no.” steve shakes his head and begins to shuffle into his own pajamas, and your eye gets caught on the strong chest with the beautiful smattering of dark chest hair. he catches your gaze and smirks a little but doesn’t comment on it, tugging a clean shirt on. “i just...” he shrugs and starts to get into his sleeping bag. “i dunno, you in my clothes is definitely not the worst thing in the world.”

there’s nothing you have to say to that which won’t end in you being a stammering, blushing mess, so you opt for saying nothing. you get into your own sleeping bag and you’ve just clicked off the solar powered light when steve says, “comfortable? warm? need anything?”

“steve,” you place your hand on his chest. “you know that you’re supposed to enjoy our dates too, right? you can’t enjoy them if you’re constantly making sure that i’m enjoying them.”

it’s as if he hadn’t even considered this. as if his entire focus was on you and your happiness. “sorry. i’m not trying to be weird, or make you feel weird.” he rolls over onto his side, nearly nose to nose. “it just pisses me off.”

“what does?”

“that no one ever thought that maybe you would want to do these things. it’s just ridiculous to me.” he licks his lips and his hand flexes. “i won’t keep bringing it up, because i’m sure that’s just as annoying, i just... i want you to feel special. really.”

something melts inside you. “you make me feel very special. really.”

the two of you fall asleep like that, alongside the hum of the bugs and the sound of a lake lapping against the shore.

at some point in the night, steve has taken your hand between his own. fingers laced, the back of it is brought right up to his mouth, as though he fell asleep just after pressing a kiss to it. when you wake up to a screaming baby four campsites down, you don’t make any effort to move it.

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

DATE IDEA 5: DRIVE IN MOVIE

when steve came to your front door to pick you up for a saturday night date, confusion instantly rattled you. “where’s the beemer?”

“oh, that thing? yeah, that thing simply wouldn’t do for what i have planned for us tonight.”

you look at him with a slightly puzzled expression. “but it worked just fine for camping? do you forget the part where we got stuck coming back--”

“yeah, well,” he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “we didn’t get stuck on the way there did we?” you shake your head. “and i figured that i’d learn from my mistakes.”

sticking his opposite arm out, he gestures to the pickup truck before you. “boom. i basically had to beg my dad to drive it, and i told him i’d clean the garage until it’s spotless, but... we’ve got ourselves a truck.”

“what the hell do we need a truck for? are we going mudding?”

“i think the country folk call it muddin’. but, no.” he turns to you and runs his hand through your hair, saying, “double feature. ferris bueller and back to the future. i made sure we went on a night where they weren’t playing anything scary.” the fondness in your chest opens up and threatens to swallow both you and steve whole with the sheer magnitude of it. “sound good?”

“sounds perfect, stevie.”

steve makes sure you leave early enough to get a good spot and to have enough time to go to concessions. practically all of the hawkins class of 1985 seemed to have the same idea as he did. and all of their eyes are on the two of you. they watch as steve sets up the bed of his dad’s truck, filled with big cozy blankets and fluffy pillows. you catch steve’s gaze and he raises his brows at you, as if to say-- see? knew this would work.

maybe you should’ve trusted him, because, yes-- ryan is here with his new girlfriend, and their eyes have scarcely left you or steve since you arrived two rows ahead of them.

guiding you towards the concessions, steve bends down to press a kiss against your head. with his lips against your ear, he adds, “don’t worry about them, alright? it’s just you and me.”

once in line, steve looks around and spots ryan a few people behind you two in line. you follow his gaze and you swallow but he’s already caught the movement, already caught your chin and tipped it up to look at him. “hey. what’d i say? just you and me.” your mouth falls open as his thumb rubs against your chin and then he’s bending down, once again at your ear. “can i kiss you?”

it’s all an act, it’s all an act, it’s all an act-- your brain can’t stop screaming this clarification but your heart is hammering in your chest anyway, like a running wild horse that’s never been contained by anything, least of all a ribcage, a body. you nod your head but he tuts. “words. i wanna hear it.”

“yes--”

that’s all he needed. he sweeps your hair back with a hand, the other one a steadying point on your face. he brings his lips to yours and you don’t know how he’s so good at this. so good at pretending.

because it isn’t fake when you grip at his shirt, when you lean up onto your toes to get closer to him. the way that you sigh into the kiss, an involuntary comfort at your lips on his, isn’t fake at all. the warmth that spreads all over your face when he nips at your bottom lip, that is the least fake of all of it.

it is all so painfully real to you, and it’s scary. but not scary enough to get you to stop, not now and maybe not ever. maybe you’ll be okay being steve harrington’s fake girlfriend until he gets sick of you, if it feels this good, this real.

“hey, lovebirds-- you’re gonna lose your spot in line.”

at least five people have already gotten their sodas and candy while you two have been lost in each other. you half expect steve to wear some sort of cocky grin, be proud of himself, a smirk at the fact that he just claimed you as his in front of all these people. but that machismo doesn’t exist in him. all he does is touch your cheek, tuck you into his side, and move the several paces in line.

“was that alright?” he asks you, hushed enough to know that the words are just for you. “too much?”

looking over your shoulder, you see ryan with his hands in his pockets, eyes immediately darting away from yours when your gaze settles on him. but it doesn’t fill you with the sensation of pleasure that you expected it too. in fact, you don’t feel much at all. your head is too busy reeling from steve’s kiss.

“i think it was just enough,” you murmur. you settle your cheek against his chest and his hand goes to your head, massaging at your scalp. “you’re spoiling me. i’m gonna get way too used to this, and then be disappointed when i’m not always getting scalp massages.”

steve scoffs. “nah. this should just be a way to rule out duds.” as if to prove his point, his finger tips lower to the base of your neck, working the muscles just right. “any guy who doesn’t do this can be chucked in the trash.”

“you’ve done this for all the girls you’ve dated? for nancy?”

shrugging, he pauses, as if thinking about it. “not always. i mean, i was kinda a dick in high school. i may be capable of being a good boyfriend now, but i wasn’t always, i guess.”

“dicks don’t give their girlfriends head massages?”

“definitely not.” steve smirks a little and kisses your forehead. “i like to think that i’ve matured. that i’ve grown into the kind of man who gives head massages.”

rubbing your hand up and down his back, you nod your head. “i think any girl is lucky to have you, stevie. head massages and all.”

by the time that you get back with your popcorn, your diet coke and your nerds, the sun has fallen below the horizon. fireflies flicker off in the distance, the chatter of everyone around you the backdrop to your evening. steve, getting beneath the blankets, opens it up to offer you a spot. with a grin wider than it ought to be you climb in beside him. settling against him, your cheek once again resting against that strong chest, shouldn’t be so simple. so easy, but it is.

you like the feeling of steve’s laughter against your cheek, the rumble of his chest. it makes you laugh even more. you like how he twitches beneath you when your hand rests on his stomach, your pinky finger slipping under the material of his shirt. you like the way that his fingers continue to card through your hair, sometimes switching to rub your back, your arm. you like how no one can see you in the confines of the truck bed, but he doesn’t seem to care. he treats you just the same, dotes on you just the same as if a thousand sets of eyes were on you.

you realize then that you need to come to terms with the fact that you like a lot about steve. most things, even.

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

DATE IDEA 20

you. me. pick you up from work.

when you had finally finished your opening tasks for the book shop, that was when you noticed the note that had been left in your bag for you to find. and even though you had no idea what steve had planned, you knew this-- you’d done everything from go camping to stargazed at lovers lake, from a picnic in the park to going to the arcade. and everything you did together, you enjoyed. thoroughly.

all day while you check out people’s books and offer your own recommendations, all you can envision is hopping into steve’s car and driving off into the sunset and whatever it is that he has planned for the two of you.

you’re so lost in this thought process, in fact, that you hardly notice who exactly it is dropping the pile of bodice rippers onto the counter. prepared to see a horny mom of one of your classmates, imagine your surprise at who you really see.

“i kinda get the appeal,” steve says, examining the cover of a lisa kleypas novel. “i mean, this guy... he has awesome hair.”

he shakes the novel at you slightly and you snatch it from him with a tentative smile on your face. “you just like him because he looks like you.”

“who said that? not me. you said that.” he cocks his head to the side. “well, hopefully you like how he looks, because all of these are for you.” he pats the stack with pride. “i went through your collection and made sure that i didn’t grab any duplicates. i also asked the librarian for a copy of what you’ve checked out recently. so everything should be fresh.” he pauses. “why are you looking at me like that? anyway-- and don’t use your employee discount, i’m not cheap.”

slowly you start to punch in the prices, watching him all the while. “steve--” you slow yourself for a moment and look him in the eye. “you went to the librarian?”

“uh, yeah. i mean, what kind of loser would i look like buying you books you’ve already read?” steve grins. “c’mon-- you ready to get out of here?”

one hand in steve’s and the other clutching the stack of books, you slide into steve’s car, thank him for opening the door for you. “i don’t get it,” you say once he’s slid in next to you. “this is a date?”

“yeah,” he nods his head. “you’re gonna read one of your new books. i’m gonna watch the game tonight. and we’re just going to... you know, spend time with one another. cook dinner. be normal.” he pauses. “i picked up moose tracks ice cream, too. sounds like a date to me.” he glances out the window. “i know it’s not super flashy or anything, but, you know-- i dunno, a date can just be coexisting around the person that you like. maybe that’s stupid.”

“no! steve... no. that’s not stupid at all.” you tap his hand that rests on the steering wheel, coaxing him to look at you. “i think that’s actually... really sweet. you’re giving me a taste of what a real relationship is like.”

something fractures inside of him and you can see it as it happens, but you’re not quite sure how to decipher it. “’course. that’s what i’m here for.” he reaches across and ruffles your hair which makes you giggle and settle back against the seat.

since you and steve began your ruse, you’d only been to the harrington home a handful of times. almost every time you spent time together, if you weren’t out doing something, you were at your house. your parents doted upon and adored steve, and made it very clear to both him and you that they approved of this union. you silently wished that you didn’t have to bring your families into all of this. it would make everything much more confusing and difficult when it inevitably ended at the end of the summer, once both you and steve have gotten what you wanted out of your endeavor. but it’s the harrington house that comes into view now, and steve seems to sense your surprise. “parents are out of town. another conference.”

“oh.” he puts the car into park but doesn’t make a move to get out yet. you clutch the books a little bit closer to your chest. there’s something written all over his chest as he peers at his childhood home. “i really hate living here still, you know?”

“how come?”

on the outside, the harrington family was perfect. two parents still together and one son, basketball star and stand up guy. but you knew what the reality was. the state of steve’s parents marriage and steve’s own insecurities weren’t lost on you.

“my dad,” he hisses out a sigh and his head thunks against the headrest. “you know, i don’t have regrets about not going to college. would i have worked a little bit harder on my grades a little earlier? probably. but i know that i’m not dumb, or a bad person because i’m not going. and i know that i can still go! and--” he looks over at you where you’ve already opened your mouth. “no, no, don’t. i know what you’re going to say, and i know that, alright? i know the stuff you’re going to say. and i appreciate it.” he looks back to the house and shrugs his shoulders. “i know that you’re going to say that i shouldn’t care what he thinks, or that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. and, realistically, i know that. but... he’s my dad. shouldn’t he know what he’s talking about when it comes to me?”

you press your lips into a line while he carries on. “i just... i just want to make them proud, i guess. haven’t heard that in a long time.” he looks over at you. “i’m not really setting the mood for a nice date, am i?”

shaking your head, you wrap your hand around his wrist, slinking down to his hand to slot your fingers together. “i don’t care about that,” you say easily. “i’m glad that you’re talking to me about stuff. real stuff.”

“yeah, well...” he rubs his nose. “for the record, if your dad was a piece of shit, i’d listen. or... any of your problems, or fears, or anything. i’d listen.” he levels you with a slight upturn of his mouth. “you may be my fake girlfriend, but you’re also my friend now. one of my closest friends.”

maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. yes, you were sad that you felt rejected and neglected when ryan was your secret boyfriend, but... maybe what you had really wanted was a friend. a true friend.

and steve harrington was the truest kind of friend around.

it only made your heart tumble nearer towards loving him truly and completely.

you spend the night doing exactly what he laid out. you read the book with the model that looked eerily similar to steve on the cover, and secretly, you imagined him as your rakish hero the whole time. steve sat on the couch and watched the basketball game, and every once in awhile, you’d get distracted from your book and simply watch him. it’s easy to watch him from this position: your head in his lap. it gives you the perfect view.

you cook spaghetti together and you eat every last bite. you eat the moose tracks ice cream together, after your book is put away and his game is long ago, his favorite team losing. and you decide if this is what every weekday date night could be like with steve, that whoever ends up with him might just be the luckiest girl in the world.

there’s a hope that bubbles in you that maybe, in one of the alternate universes out there, you’re that girl. none of this is fake and steve’s your boyfriend for real, and he loves you.

but when he looks at you and swipes a bit of chocolate away from the corner of your mouth, you think that maybe he loves you in this universe, too. maybe.

#steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic

1K notes · View notes

judeswhore · 2 years

Text

out of your league; steve harrington

summary: steve’s friends refuse to believe his secret girlfriend is the pretty girl from the bakery and are more than a little surprised when you actually show up

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

requested: yes

warnings: none

notes: you can find my masterlist here.

“you’re so full of shit.”

“are you being serious right now?”

“bullshit, harrington.”

“why would i lie?”

“why would y/n date you?” dustin and steve sat opposite each other at a table in benny's diner, glares almost identical although dustin looked just slightly more bewildered than the older boy. steve had his arms crossed defensively, brow creased in slight annoyance over the fact his friends were refusing to believe who his girlfriend was. they'd been arguing about it for the past fifteen minutes since he'd declared you'd be joining them for lunch, dustin and max insisting that a girl as hot as you was far too cool to even consider dating him. it had been four months since you’d called it official, almost five months since your first date but steve had held off on even telling his friends he knew you, mainly because in all honesty, they were right, you were far too cool to even hang out with him.

"because i'm hot and charming and a total killer with the ladies?" this made robin snort from the seat next to him and he threw her the biggest glare he could muster, squashing his palm down on to the tiny origami swan she'd been making out of a napkin. her response was a quick kick to his ankle beneath the table, her own glare withering.

“you’re unnervingly full of yourself.”

“i’m factual.”

“factual schmactual, there is no way y/n l/n is the secret girl who’s been leaving love notes at the counter.” a snort sounded from across the table, max not even bothering to hide it as she grinned teasingly at steve.

“you’ve been getting love notes?”

“and sending them.” at that she only laughed harder, robin giggling a little behind her hand and steve wanted the ground to swallow him whole. his face was burning, the tops of his cheeks and ears no doubt a startling shade of red and he vowed to himself this was the last time he was treating them to lunch.

“i still refuse to believe it’s y/n,” dustin picked at the corner of the menu he was looking at, head shaking while he took quick glances at steve. “i mean, why were you keeping her a secret? shouldn’t it have been the other way around?”

“dude?”

“i’m serious, max back me up, y/n is way out of his league.” the other girl nodded, tore a napkin in half, placing one part at each end of the table. she pointed to the one closest to the window, just beside robin.

“this is y/n, all pretty and smart, basically owning that bakery she works in because customers can’t get enough of her and, let’s be real, she’s hot and a total charmer.” max shifted and pressed her finger to the other napkin, almost shoving it off the table before sending a pointed look at steve. he knew what was coming but still he raised his brows, crossed his arms over his chest. “this is you. recommending movies to people and badly at that, practically scaring customers away with your awful flirting and spending most of your time with a bunch of kids. compared to her? you’re a loser, harrington.”

“so forgive us if we think she’s just in a whole other ball park to you.” steve huffed, narrowed his eyes at his ridiculous and right now regrettable best friend but in the back of his head he knew they were right.

steve was a total loser compared to you and it was a surprise to even him when you actually wanted to go on a date with him. he’d been hanging around your bakery for weeks at that point, so pathetically into you his friends would not have hesitated to mock him and by the time he finally found the courage to speak to you, you beat him to it. you had asked him out and at first he’d simply stared at you, his mouth a little slower than his brain and your soft laugh and even softer smile was what kicked him into gear. his cheeks had flushed and he’d nodded, almost knocked your tips jar to the floor in an attempt to look cool as he leant against the counter.

“you can pick me up tonight at eight, harrington, i like movies.” you’d sent him a flirty grin, grazed his knuckles as you passed him his doughnut and he’d watched a little star struck as you disappeared through the back door. it was even more of a surprise to him that your date had been a success because he’d been so nervous his palms were damp the entire night and he’d changed his shirt six times before leaving because it didn’t look right. but you liked him, despite as dustin and max were now claiming, being way out of his league, and one date led to another and another until he was certain he wasn’t gonna let you go and now months down the line he was ready to introduce you to his friends. even if they did think he was lying.

"i can't believe you lot think i'm lying about this." steve grumbled, slumped a little in his seat and let his gaze wander to the door. he wished you'd hurry up because this grilling was slowly turning into one of the worst experience of his life, and he'd fought a monster with a diy killer bat.

"we've seen the way you flirt, steve." robin had gone back to folding max's half shredded napkin.

"there's nothing wrong with how i flirt." three pairs of eyes landed on him, three similar expressions of disbelieving faces but it was whatever. you liked his flirting. "y/n has no issues with how i flirt, she's more than satisfied." dustin, his head always somewhere it shouldn't be, grimaced, launched a balled up napkin straight at steve's forehead.

"gross."

"that's not what i meant, dickhead."

"y'know, if you really have been secretly dating her this whole time i'm gonna be so pissed." max folded her arms on top of the table, tapped her fingers a little and steve furrowed his brows, head cocking to one side.

"why exactly?"

"because we could have been getting those cherry and cream pastries for free, moron. you totally haven't been utilising the perks right." this time it was max who got a balled up napkin flicked in her direction, the white ball hitting her square between the eyebrows. "hey!"

"she's my girlfriend, maxine, i'm not pimping her out for pastry because you won't buy your own." dustin made a noise under his breath and shook his head.

"girlfriend, you keep saying girlfriend but where exactly is-?" the diner bell jingled as the door opened and dustin cut off immediately, him and max lifting over the back of the booth to see who was walking in. “bullshit.”

“no fucking way, harrington.” the grin that formed on steve’s face was bright and adoring, his heart thumping a little louder in his chest when he set his eyes on you. he’d seen you only last night but he’d missed you and fleetingly he wondered if he could just turn you right back around and take you to his house. he wasn’t sure he wanted to share you anymore.

when the door clattered shut behind you the gust of wind fluttered your dress and he had a struggle keeping his eyes on your face as you smoothed it back down, your bare legs a constant distraction to him. your head turned, eyes searching the diner and steve lifted his hand in a wave, your face lighting up in that smile he loved so much before you were heading over. he just scooted a little on the bench to give you space and then you were dropping down beside him, all eyes on you but your eyes were on him, soft and glinting, just a little mischievous.

“hey, you.” your voice was a soft whisper, barely understandable to the rest of the group but it tickled a little over his lips. your thigh was smushed into his, your arm just as close and the smell of your perfume made him dizzy, drunk on everything that was you. your lips were plump and glossy, begging for a kiss but it seemed you had similar ideas because you were leaning in before he even had chance to think.

it was a quick kiss, gentle and fleeting but still stomach knottingly nice that he had to hum quietly, his hand reaching to squeeze your thigh. “hey, baby.” in the background steve heard max’s gag and muttered “baby” in a mocking tone but now that you were here he wasn’t all that bothered by their teasing because now they’d been proven wrong. you did like him and he most certainly hadn’t been lying.

there was a patch of flour on your jaw and grinning steve gently rubbed it away, his thumb soft over your skin before he planted a kiss in the very same spot. he knew it was an unnecessary amount of pda and he was aware all three of his friends were ogling you both but he was more than happy to show you off, pda and all. robin’s foot suddenly connected with his beneath the table and he turned a glare on her, his arm falling around your shoulder as you tucked yourself into his side.

“aren’t you going to introduce us, harrington?” he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, turning that knee weakening smile on his friends. max and dustin were staring, both looking a little dumbfounded because they’d been one hundred percent convinced steve was just messing with them.

“hi, i’m y/n, steve said it was okay if i had lunch with you? i didn’t wanna intrude or anything but i’m kinda sick of eating collin’s sandwiches.” there was a chorus of hello’s, your smile only growing as you swirled your ring around and around your finger.

“you have collin’s sandwiches for lunch?” robin sounded incredulous, her face twisted into a grimace as she leant against the table to see passed steve’s body. “they’re so dry and gross.”

“right? and i don’t even wanna know what his mystery meat is but it’s definitely not chicken.” you shuffled a little further into steve and he ran his thumb over your arm, his chest feeling light as he watched you with his friends. “i mean, i don’t really eat them all that much anymore, steve usually brings me lunch or we go out but even once a week is too much.”

“steve brings you lunch?” max was grinning, all teasing and light and steve knew he was never going to hear the end of it. he rolled his eyes.

“so what, mayfield? i’ve brought you lunch before.”

“oh man, this is so different, you’re like whipped.” she shook her head, blew out a breath. “god, wait till i tell lucas.” despite steve’s grumble you laughed, turned and kissed his jaw.

“i take it your friends don’t know how romantic you are?”

“steve? romantic? he thinks the best way to a girls heart is to ignore her.” dustin was smirking, thumbing at the menu again and steve only shook his head, tugged the paper away from him.

“i was young and an idiot.”

“you’re still an idiot.”

“are you going to argue with everything i say today?” the younger boy shrugged but he was smiling, more than happy seeing how happy steve was because as much as they all teased him, he deserved to be happy. and he deserved to be loved. it had been mere minutes since you’d sat down but they’d all seen the shift in him, the way his eyes never seemed to leave your face for long, or the way they lit up whenever your spoke, the soft smile he was wearing and the little glow to his cheeks. steve loved you, whether he was aware of it yet or not and dustin was more than happy about that.

“before we get food can we clear this one thing up?” everyone turned to dustin, his face serious as he eyed you. for a second steve was worried what he might say but as soon as he spoke the older boy was rolling his eyes again, leaning forward to knock the cap down over dustin’s face. “how much is he paying you to be his girlfriend?”

#stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic

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jesuistrestriste · 3 months

Text

♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

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The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven.” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah? " you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel, sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

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avelera · 7 months

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OFMD S2 Meta - Stede's Garbage Self-Worth with regards to Ed is still unresolved

(And I'm so hyped for this plotline)

H'ok! So of all the scenes in episodes 1-3 of OFMD S2, this is the one I've been most hyped to discuss but I've been putting it off a few days so people had at least a little time to watch the new eps.

Gifs are courtesy of @ratchet from this gifset:

Hoooo BOY this is such an interesting scene to unpack! Because to me there's at least 3 levels going on here.

What Lucius hears

What the audience "hears"

What Stede literally said

Thing is, I believe when Stede says, "I'm not ready to believe that," the tone that Lucius hears and that the audience is at least 50/50 expected to hear based on the sort of cadence of the scene is, "I'm not ready to believe that Ed's best days are behind him. I'm going to change that."

But I'm not convinced that's what Stede is saying, what Rhys Darby is portraying, or what is literally on the page.

Literally, on the page, Stede says he's not ready to believe that. And given that Stede is very neurodivergent coded, Rhys is self-confessed autistic, and I believe Rhys is bringing that to his portrayal of Stede, I think we really should look at literal words as written and not just run with they're implied to say. This could be read as a declaration that Stede refuses to accept a reality where Ed's best days are behind him or the literal reading: he still can't process that Ed Teach's time with Stede Bonnet was the best Ed's life is ever going to get.

I believe this is for multiple reasons:

Stede isn't going to throw off a lifetime of low self-esteem and bullying overnight just because he's realized he's in love. Especially when the manner of realizing it (end of S1) was hurting the person he loves pretty badly by abandoning him without a word. He's determined to fix his mistakes but each step of the journey is revealing just how big of a mistake it actually was. Not exactly the stuff of sudden self-confidence and positive self-image change.

It requires a full re-write in Stede's brain of every single assumption he had about his relationship with Ed before their separation. Stede in S1, to my eyes, very much saw himself as the junior partner in the relationship. He saw Ed as taking pity on him, to some extent. He felt blessed to have Ed there. It informed so much of their relationship and it especially informed him taking off when he thought his presence was an active burden on Ed. Basically, what Lucius is saying here attacks the very foundations of Stede's understanding of the happiest part of his life so far. To learn that Ed wasn't just the happiest part of his life, but that he, Stede Bonnet, was the happiest part of Ed's life? Whew. Fuck. Not good. Very not good.

Because it's really not good if he was the happiest part of Ed's life, that he so fundamentally misunderstood their dynamic because of his low self-esteem, that he ended the happiest period of Ed's life without warning, without a note, prematurely, and left Ed with the inescapable conclusion that Stede doesn't care about him.

I think worse, even worse, is that Stede has evidence that Lucius is right that he was the best part of Ed's life. But in S1, we're heavily in Stede's POV and Stede's POV of himself is that he's a joke, pathetic, garbage, lucky to have someone like Ed in his life. But Ed's literal actions, louder than words, are that he chose Stede. He gave up piracy for him. He stayed by him. He offered his life for Stede's. Stede wasn't ready to hear that then, he couldn't hear it over the sound of his own low self-esteem whispering poison in his ear, externalized by the Badmintons (both real and imagined). He took their words as fact, rather than Ed's actions as fact. Reexamining Ed's actions shows just how wrong they were. Just how wrong Stede was. And just how badly he hurt Ed because he didn't listen to Ed, the person he loves, over the voices of his own trauma, self-doubt, or of the Badmintons, people who literally hated Stede.

It's a lot. It's a lot for Stede to take in. He's not there yet. But I love that we've had it said aloud: this is a major plot point still. Stede's end-of-S1 glow-up didn't signal that he's self-confident now enough to realize he might be as good for Ed as Ed is for him. He's still grappling with that. It shatters him to even begin to realize this. They have to work through that still. Stede is ready to start listening but he still doesn't, can't literally can't, believe it just yet. It's just too big.

And I am absolutely salivating to see how the rest of the season deals with this thread.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #my meta #spoilers

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 3 months

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Unpredictable, Part 8-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: This took me way too long to write but as per usual, please let me know what you think and if you want more.

Warnings: angst, negative family dynamics, eating issues, body issues, and swearing.

Word Count: 7.8k

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @badbishsblog, @gardenof-venus, @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog, @kasslucilfer, @darksoul100

Luke’s smile would have been more contagious if my thoughts were not so jumbled. Even though he was standing right across from me, my brain refused to believe he was real. Sure, he was wearing his favorite brown jacket over a t-shirt with jeans, and the sun (or whatever light) highlighted the natural glow around him. But, it was impossible.

“Impossible?” Luke asked. “That’s a little harsh.”

I hesitated and pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. “Sorry, this is a lot to take in.”

But I could see the scene in my mind’s eye: the Vought clean-up crew hosing the blood off the cobblestone in front of Lamplighter, the chunks of Luke they put in biohazard bags, and the smell---

I wretched at the thought of it and tried not to double over. Luke rushed over to me and softly grasped my shoulders.

“Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I…I saw you die, and this is a messed up joke if this is a joke. Or…”

Luke sighed. “You’re not dead if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He slowly backed away and I straightened up. Then, I launched myself at him and he caught me in a bear hug, laughing as he did. The scent of pine and clean aftershave almost made me cry.

“I miss you,” I mumbled into his chest.

“I miss you too,” he replied.

“I wish none of this happened. Why didn’t you tell any of us what was going on?” I demanded.

Luke paused. “I didn’t know how but, it sounds like you guys are figuring things out.”

I slowly pulled away from Luke and eyed him. “How can you tell?”

Luke pursed his lips. “I’m a manifestation of Cate’s subconsciousness. So, I see everything she sees.”

At his words, my eyes wandered around the forest. At first glance, it looked like any other forest with large trees and whistling wind. But on closer inspection, there were no woodland creatures, no sounds of birds, and the sky was more like a large gray cloud with red cracks that flashed every few seconds.

“I’m in Cate’s head?”

“You catch on quick but then again, you always do.”

I looked up at Luke. “So, if I’m in here, what’s happening to my body? And where’s everyone else?”

“You touched Cate when she was in extreme duress and she retreated to her mind but she brought you with her,” Luke explained. “Your body could be experiencing several things: seizure, vomiting, a comatose state, or hysteria.”

I groaned. “So, her going into shock put me in shock?”

“Pretty much.”

Another shock of lightning flashed across the “sky” but this time, it struck and destroyed a boulder that was about thirty feet away from Luke and me. The crash made me jump and Luke grabbed my arm.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“She’s kind of self-destructing. This hasn’t happened before and the only way to get out is if she wakes up,” Luke warned.

“So, I just need to find Cate and wake us both up,” I confirmed with a nod.

Lightning cracked through the sky and I jumped further into Luke’s grip.

“Basically but you don’t have a lot of time. If she doesn’t wake up, you’ll be stuck here forever.”

His words hung heavy over me and I could feel pressure weighing down on my shoulders. Somehow, I had to find Cate and snap her out of this state. Even though she’d been through a lot in the last few hours, she didn’t have to go this far.

I managed a smile. “Well, at least I have you here as a guide.”

Luke straightened up and puffed out his chest. “Of course. So, all you have to do---”

An instant later, a flash of lightning took him with it. It was difficult to tell whether knowing he was already dead made this second loss easier or harder. At the same time, it was nice to see Luke again, to talk to him, and touch him.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to think. The best course of action would be to try to use my powers again and figure out the best route out. It definitely could not hurt after the last couple of tries.

I closed my eyes and focused on the best way to find Cate. However, it was like my powers didn’t exist at all. Before, it felt like they were just out of reach and this was definitely worse.

I opened my eyes as I felt my heartbeat pick up.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe,” I hissed.

There was no time for my anxiety to spike. No one else was here except me and Cate and I was the only one who could find her.

After a few deep breaths, I opened my eyes and saw a large glossy oak door standing in front of me. The door looked familiar, and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing its knob and pushing it open.

Seconds later, the bright light stunned me as I wandered into the space. When my eyes adjusted, I realized that I was in Dean Shetty’s office, complete with the expensive furniture and tapestry. Dean Shetty sat at her desk and stirred some sugar into her cup of tea. Cate was sitting across from her but she looked much more innocent, like she had when we first met.

She sipped from a pristine teacup and tapped her gloved fingers against the porcelain. She wore a white varsity sweater and ripped jeans.

“How is your first week as a sophomore?” Dean Shetty asked.

Cate nodded. “It’s going well so far. It feels different.”

“That’s only a natural feeling. You are much more in control of your powers and you are more experienced.”

“Thank you, Indira, it’s all because of your help.”

Dean Shetty shook her head and set her teacup down. “No, I only supported you; you did a lot of work. You are in the Top 20 for a reason.” She clasped her hands together. “Considering your progress, I think it’s time that I give you a new challenge.”

Cate raised her eyebrows. “Challenge?”

“Yes. I believe it is time for you to pass on what you learned and that you are ready now. There is a freshman that I would like you to meet. She is an incredibly bright, talented supe but, she needs some guidance to realize her full potential.” Dean Shetty grinned. “Considering how similar your abilities are, I believe you would be a fantastic match as her peer mentor.”

Cate paused. “Peer mentor?”

“Yes, a guide of sorts about how to succeed at Godolkin; who to befriend, what events to engage with, and how to gain more control over your abilities. These sorts of things tend to come better from someone who is of a similar age. What do you think?”

Even though it sounded like a question, it wasn’t. Dean Shetty’s tone was light but her eyes seemed to darken slightly and she straightened up a little as she eyed Cate. Cate stared at the teacup in her hand for a while, mulling things over.

“Okay, if you think it’s a good idea, then I’m open to it,” Cate declared.

Dean Shetty smiled. “Wonderful.”

“When do I meet her?”

A second later, someone knocked on the door behind me and Dean Shetty rose from her seat.

“Right now,” she commented.

As she walked towards me, Dean Shetty’s gaze never left the door. Even as she walked past me, she didn’t acknowledge me.

“They probably can’t see me,” I concluded.

Dean Shetty opened the door in one flawless motion but she stood in a way where I couldn’t see who was on the other side.

“Am I early?” a soft voice asked.

“No, you have impeccable timing. Come on in.”

Dean Shetty stepped aside and in walked a very anxious freshman version of myself. I watched as my freshman self fought to not grab at the black tennis skirt that swayed when she walked. The silk pressed curls bounced against the middle of her back as she approached Dean Shetty’s desk.

Cate stood when freshman me got close enough and Dean Shetty stood next to me.

“Cate, I’d like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N. She’s at the top of Brink’s first-year class and I am confident her star will continue to rise with proper guidance,” Dean Shetty announced.

Freshman me extended a hand towards Cate and Cate accepted it. “It’s nice to meet you. I saw your TikTok on supe psychology and it was really cool.”

Did I always ramble that much?

“I’m glad you liked it and it’s nice to meet you too,” Cate responded.

Dean Shetty gestured for Cate and freshman me to sit and she poured freshman me a cup of tea. “I was just telling Cate that I think she would be a wonderful peer mentor.”

“Peer mentor?” I echoed.

“Yes, someone your age who can help guide you through GOD U. I’m sure you’ve noticed how hectic it can be and not everyone survives here. Any freshman would kill to have personal time with a Top 20 supe but they do not all meet the standard to do so.”

Freshman me’s eyes widened with each word Dean Shetty spoke. “That’s amazing but, why me?”

“Like I said you are exceptional in your classes already and your skill set and Ms. Dunlap’s are similar and cause similar side effects. I believe she can help you navigate that as well as all things GOD U.”

Freshman me turned to Cate and smiled softly. “If you’re okay with it…”

“Of course. What is your ability, by the way?”

Freshman me rattled off my ability and Cate nodded, impressed. Then, Dean Shetty’s cell phone rang and she excused herself to take it. Cate leaned closer to Freshman Me.

“Don’t be so nervous. I already know that we’ll be friends,” she smiled.

Freshman me grinned in reply and I could feel the residual giddiness or that could have been me remembering this day. Cate was so impressive at that point that I was afraid that she wouldn’t want to be stuck with me or ignore me. But the anger that rose at the sight of Cate’s grin leapt out of me.

“If we were such good friends, why did you trap me in your head?” I hissed.

Cate turned to me. “I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I thought your powers were impressive and I could tell how powerful you were when we first met. I still want us to be friends.”

I stomped over to her. “Then, let’s get out of here. We can go together; we don’t have to stay here.”

But as quickly as she was there, she was gone. Suddenly, I was in the corner of the training gym and Luke, Andre, and Jordan were hanging out on the other end. Jordan was in their female form, wearing a baggy tank top and loose sweatpants, something they’d rarely wear outside of a memory.

I remembered this, this was the first time I ever trained with the Top Five. Cate had dragged me to the gym, insisting that I meet her friends and almost-boyfriend while also improving my combat skills. At the time, I thought she was crazy and that maybe it was a cruel prank but her genuine smile and encouragement were comforting.

Slowly, I approached the group, moving to stand near Jordan and listening to the conversation.

“So, who’s this girl Cate’s bringing?” Andre asked.

“Her mentee. Shetty set them up, but she sounds excited,” Luke answered.

“You don’t have a name?” Jordan asked.

Luke laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cate mentioned it, but I can’t remember.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Well, this freshman better not waste my time.”

Luke playfully elbowed her. “Stop being so grumpy. If Shetty paired Cate with her, it probably means she’s impressive. At least give her a chance.”

Jordan scowled. “Why do you always have to be nice?”

Andre clapped his hands on Luke’s shoulders. “Because he’s Golden Boy.”

Watching past Jordan in all their surliness was jarring and I felt like a freshman again.

A second later, the training door opened, and I watched as Cate strutted in confidently with an arm wrapped around freshman me’s shoulders. I could feel the terror and anxiety wafting off freshman me as I watched her nervously eye the trio.

“Sorry, we’re late!” Cate called.

“It’s okay,” Luke insisted with a dazzling grin.

I giggled as Freshman me’s knees wobbled; it was funny how such a short time ago I couldn’t even make eye contact with Luke.

“Everyone, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my peer mentee. She’s doing amazing in her crim classes but needs a little help with combat,” Cate explained.

Freshman me did a small wave to everyone and Andre smirked as he swaggered up to her.

“Cate was keeping you all to herself, huh?” Andre commented.

Freshman me hesitated. “Uh…”

“Relax, Andre,” Luke said.

“Yeah, I don’t want you freaking her out with all that rizz,” Cate mocked.

Andre rolled his eyes and muttered something about the couple being “cockblockers”.

“Oh, you must know Jordan since they TA the first-year class,” Luke acknowledged.

“Um, sort of, we never…really…talk,” Freshman me admitted.

“Aw, don’t be scared of Jordan, their bark is worse than their bite,” Cate encouraged.

Andre raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Jordan scoffed. “I’ll give you this, you’re the least annoying freshman.”

“Thanks?”

“Okay, let’s split up into pairs.” Cate turned to Freshman me. “Don’t worry about getting hurt----we never go all out in training and we only spar until someone’s knocked out of bounds.”

Freshman me nodded and I watched as she side-eyed Jordan. Even though I’d known that I’d have to spar with them, it didn’t make my nervousness any better. However, the four of them split up amongst themselves, with Andre and Luke going first, followed by Cate and Jordan, and decided that the winners of those rounds would play rock-paper-scissors to determine who sparred with me.

Andre and Luke’s fight was interesting, and I forgot how close of a match they were. Of course, Luke used his fire and flying abilities to his advantage, but Andre was still a force to be reckoned with. Luke still won and Andre grinned as Luke helped him to his feet afterwards. Cate and Jordan’s fight was as surprisingly decent as I remembered. Even though Jordan switched between their forms depending on the circumstance, Cate managed to keep up for a while. It wasn’t until Jordan leg swept her, knocking her out of bounds, that the fight ended.

“Not…fair,” Cate panted as she sat up.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Jordan teased as she helped her up.

Cate smirked and they stepped out of the ring. Andre playfully rubbed his hands together.

“So, who gets to fight the freshman?” he sang.

“It’s Y/N,” Cate corrected.

“Right, sorry.”

Freshman me smiled softly as she stood from her seat and walked closer to the group. Luke and Jordan faced each other and played rock-paper-scissors. Playing best out of three was a little cruel since Freshman me hoped to spar with Luke. At the very least, he would be nice when I inevitably lost. Jordan was difficult to read but I’d had a feeling that they would taunt me about losing.

When Jordan won, I couldn’t read their expression but Freshman me was terrified.

“Stop looking like I’m going to kill you,” Jordan snapped.

Freshman me jumped and Cate placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Like I said, don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” she whispered.

At the time, I was so frazzled that I couldn’t focus on the outcome of the fight. Instead, I had focused on keeping my lunch down. Instead of joining Andre, Cate, and me on the sidelines, Luke stood on the mat, a couple of feet outside the circle. He waited a couple of seconds before signaling for Freshman me and Jordan to spar.

My shoulders hiked up towards my ears as I watched Freshman me clumsily evade Jordan’s attacks. At that time, I’d learned how to predict my opponent’s movements but I rarely landed strong attacks. Brink thought that because my mental strength was so high my physical strength had no choice but to lag.

“It would be unfair at that point. But, as a future supe, you do need to learn the basics,” he’d instructed.

Freshman me’s form was all over the place; her guard slipped every few seconds, her feet never had solid contact with the ground, and any kick or punch was weak at worst and sloppy at best. I cringed when she took a small energy blast from Jordan that knocked her out of bounds. It didn’t hurt but it was definitely a shock at the time.

“Jordan!” Cate admonished as she jumped to her feet.

She started to rush forward but Andre held her back and Luke shook his head.

“She’s fine,” Luke mouthed.

Freshman me panted on the ground, sweat staining the lime green Alo set she wore a couple of shades darker. Jordan shifted into their male form as they sauntered over to me and extended a hand. Freshman me stared at his hand like it would turn into a snake at any second.

“Come on, you just saw I won’t bite,” he quipped.

At his words, Freshman me accepted his hand and Jordan pulled her to her feet in one move. I smiled as she almost bumped into him, but Jordan steadied her by gripping my forearms.

“I never thought you’d be this clumsy,” he commented.

Freshman me huffed. “I’m, uh, usually not this bad.”

“Well, your form needs some work, and you need to build up more confidence when you’re on the offense. But, you were great at evading me.” “Until that last move.”

“Not a lot of people could avoid that, especially not a freshman. Don’t worry, we’ll work on it.”

Freshman me frowned as Jordan turned and started sauntering back to Cate and Andre. “Wh-what does that mean?”

Jordan glanced at her over his shoulder. “It means I’ll spar with you more often. You can’t be one of Brink’s new favorites and be this bad at fighting, freshie.”

Freshman me continued to gawk at him as he walked away. Andre finally let Cate run over to Freshman me and she insisted on looking her over. When Jordan finally got close enough to me, he had the smallest smile on his face. I stood just as he bent down to grab his water bottle.

“I still don’t get how you flipped like that. You mostly ignored me until then and I was a horrible sparring partner,” I commented.

Jordan chuckled. “I thought you’d get it by now.”

When he turned to face me, my stomach dropped. I didn’t understand why I still had this reaction to him after everything that happened. No matter what, every time he looked at me, I felt warm all over.

“You agreed to train with some of the highest ranking supes on campus and even though you were intimidated, you did your best and you didn’t give up,” Jordan stated. “Before we sparred, I thought Brink liked you so much because of your ability but it was more than that: you face challenges, even when you don’t want to, like a real supe.”

“So do you,” I pointed out.

Jordan shook his head. “Yeah, but it’s different when you do it. I didn’t want to dig into any of this GOD U shit but you didn’t hesitate. It’s scary but also inspiring.”

It took all my strength to keep my mouth from falling open. I inspired Jordan? The same Jordan who did everything in their power to stay in the Top Three. The same Jordan who impressed one of the most influential crime experts so much that they became his TA.

None of this made any sense and I wondered how long Jordan thought of me like that.

Do they actually think about you like that?

I blinked and my heart sunk at the realization that Cate could have been messing with me; this was her domain after all.

But what if Cate knew what Jordan was thinking or feeling at the time? It was possible, especially if she had her gloves off.

“Jordan---"

“And that’s when I said, ‘I hate to tell you buddy but, you’re looking at the wrong end’!” a loud voice cut me off.

When I turned to face the direction of the voice, I was suddenly standing in the corner of the dining room at Mom’s. The candlelight from the tables reflected off the wall, giving the space a false sense of warmth. The scent of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and collard greens tickled my nose as I wandered further into the room.

At the long table, Mom and Dad sat on opposite ends, the large spread Ms. Murphy, the family cook, prepared obstructing their views of each other. My brother, Isaac, sat on one side, grinning from ear to ear as both our parents laughed. My fourteen-year-old self sat across from him, smiling as she pushed some greens around on her plate.

I remembered this, this was our first Thanksgiving after Isaac took the Buenos Aires job. The tension was so thick in the air that I could have choked on it and it nearly stopped my appetite.

Younger me slouched in her chair, clad in a red plaid cap-sleeve dress with her hair swept up in a loose curly bun. My face was so much rounder then. As I slowly traversed the table, Isaac pushed up the sleeves of his charcoal gray Brooks Brothers sweater.

Everyone liked Isaac, boys, girls, adults, everyone. If no one fell for his charm, his good sense of humor, or his fantastic social skills, they tended to be drawn to his tall, broad frame and smooth copper skin. When I was a kid, Isaac was everything.

“And that happened your first day?” Dad asked as he adjusted his glasses.

Isaac shook his head. “First week.”

“As expected from our brilliant son,” Mom bragged, sipping some Dom Perignon.

Isaac’s laugh sounded like a deeper-pitched version of Denzel Washington’s. Younger me smiled widely at the sound while I stared on, knowing full well that he probably got it from years of practice.

“I mean, I’m still learning a lot. Everyone I work with has been very welcoming,” Isaac insisted.

“Are you learning a lot about the culture? In school, we learned that it’s so vibrant there,” Younger me piped in.

Mom’s gaze cut towards me. “Y/N, don’t interrupt Isaac.”

Younger me shrank back and I flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Y/N was only asking a question, Y/M/N. She hasn’t seen him in months, it’s only natural.”

Isaac raised his hands. “It’s okay, everyone.” He looked at Younger me. “It’s a really good question, Y/N. These past two years, I’ve really immersed myself in the culture and I’ve even started picking up more Spanish. Also, the Argentinians are a very welcoming people and I’m so fortunate to work and live with them.”

For the first time, I realized how practiced Isaac sounded. It was the same way Coco sounded whenever she practiced speeches but, she was also going into political science.

Who was Isaac trying to impress or sway?

I made my way to Younger Me and stood against the wall behind her. Her eyes were so wide and sparkling, hanging on to Isaac’s every word. I wondered if that was the same way I looked when I was rushing Si Chi.

Younger Me ate a mouthful of yams and nodded happily. “I’m glad you’re having such a good time. We miss you here, though.”

“But this is a great opportunity for your brother, Y/N. We couldn’t hold him back here,” Dad interjected.

“Right, yeah---” “Yes,” Mom corrected.

“Yes,” Younger Me repeated, turning to Isaac. “Can you pass me the turkey?”

My stomach dropped as the memory echoed in my ears. I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned further into the wall, rubbing my sides.

“Sure, Sis.” Isaac grabbed the dish and started to hand it over when Dad placed a hand on Isaac’s wrist.

“Y/N, you’ve already had a…generous helping. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked gently.

I thought I was sinking into the ground as I watched Younger Me grasp for words and could feel how flustered she was in my chest.

“You can’t blame Y/N, Dad. Ms. Murphy’s an amazing cook,” Isaac tried.

Mom scoffed. “It’s all that cooking that made her fat.”

The room was silent for a moment. Suddenly, Dad looked both shocked and understanding as he stared at Mom, Mom was staring at a painting on another wall as she sipped her drink, and Isaac couldn’t take his eyes off the turkey dish in his hands.

I could feel the ball begin in Younger Me’s throat and the tears burned in her eyes as she tried to keep herself together.

“Y/M/N,” Dad admonished.

Mom cut her gaze towards him. “Don’t use that tone with me. Unlike you, I care for our daughter’s health. It’s especially important considering her abilities and we have no idea how obesity could impact them!”

Dad set the turkey dish down and Isaac started nibbling on some mac and cheese. “Don’t do that, I care about Y/N’s health. She has made a lot of progress thanks to my encouragement.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re saying that like the dance lessons that I paid for had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh yes, Y/M/N, only your contributions supported our daughter. When will you stop acting like you’ve financially supported our children this entire time? Don’t forget who gave you the money to start your agency.”

If looks could kill, Dad would have been dead a long time ago. Mom threw her head back and drained the last of her glass. When she set the glass down, she maintained a neutral expression.

“You can stop throwing that in my face now, Y/D/N; I’m the one who grew it without your or anyone else’s help!”

They went back and forth for a few more minutes and I watched Younger Me’s mind race.

Finally, she interrupted, “Did I tell you that I got all As for the semester?”

The statement made Mom and Dad pause and they relaxed a little.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N,” Dad praised.

“That’s my little sister,” Isaac added with a grin. “Have you solved any cases recently?”

Younger Me grinned. “Well, there’s this one murder that happened out in Cincinnati; a woman was found in a dumpster horribly attacked. The police think it’s a one-off but, that makes no sense since it matches the MO of several other murdered women who were found in the state.”

“What’s the MO?” Isaac asked, sipping some pinot noir.

That was when I noticed that there was something different about Isaac’s eyes. The light brown orbs looked slightly more playful than usual, almost mischievous.

“Oh, she was bludgeoned to death with a blunt object and raped post-mortem,” Younger Me rattled off.

“Y/N, we are eating,” Mom said slowly.

Younger Me hesitated. “Sorry, Mom, I was just answering Isaac’s question.”

“You’ll get better at reading situations, hon,” Dad assured.

Mom shook her head and started stabbing at some greens on her plate. “I don’t recall having this issue with Isaac.” She glanced warmly at him. “You were always so polite and well-mannered.”

“I was well-mannered,” I huffed.

Isaac smiled sheepishly. “It’s different for different people. Y/N will be fine.”

Younger Me nodded slightly but I knew she was trying to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“I hope so. You know, Vought is merciless about who they select to represent them. With every B-list hero in my agency, they are trained to hell in PR. There can be no mistakes, Y/N, not if you want a future as a supe.”

Younger Me nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

After a few moments where the only sounds were cutlery hitting the plates, Ms. Murphy stepped into the dining room. The portly older black woman rubbed her hands on the towel attached to her apron.

“Pardon me but, dessert is about ready. Should I have the table cleared?” Ms. Murphy asked.

Isaac stood. “It’s alright, Ms. Murphy, I’ll clear the table.”

“Isaac, there’s no need, we have people for that,” Mom insisted.

“It’s okay, I’m happy to help.”

Ms. Murphy nodded and shot a glance in Younger Me’s direction before slipping back into the kitchen. Isaac gracefully collected his plate and started going around the table, collecting ours.

“What a polite boy I have,” Dad complimented, playfully punching Isaac’s arm as he past.

“Despite all that success you’re so humble,” Mom added. “Remember this when you start to get big, Y/N.”

Younger Me nodded and once Isaac was at the kitchen door, she stood. “I’ll go help with dessert.”

Neither of them responded as she trailed behind Isaac, and I trailed behind her. The kitchen smelled like pecan pie and my mouth watered. Ms. Murphy was fantastic at her job, but no one could do desserts like her. She claimed that the secret was that she used full-fat everything.

“A growing girl like you needs that,” she quipped once.

In one corner of the room, Ms. Murphy was adding the finishing touches to the immaculate pecan pie perched on a silver server. Isaac set the dirty dishes on the counter and opened the dishwasher. I decided the island was the best position since it gave me a good view of the two of us and kept me at a decent distance.

“Let me help you,” Younger Me insisted.

Isaac paused and nodded. “Sure, sis.”

“I’m gonna go take this out to your folks,” Ms. Murphy said, pecan pie in hand. She leaned down to Younger Me. “You eat as much of this as you want.”

Younger Me smiled softly as the older woman disappeared into the kitchen.

“It’s really good to have you home, Isaac,” Younger Me commented as she handed Isaac plates.

“You keep saying that,” Isaac joked.

“It’s true. It’s like before when you’re around,” Younger Me said.

Isaac tensed a little but continued loading the dishes. “So, how have things been since I was gone?”

“Horrible,” I stated.

At that time, Mom and Dad cooled off from World War III which was their divorce but they still fought every time they saw each other. Even though Dad moved out a while ago, they would still see each other for my dance recitals, cheer events, or awards ceremonies. And whenever one of them dropped me off with the other, the tension made me sick but the worst part was how they bad-mouthed each other.

They both said things that no daughter should hear about her parents.

“Fine, things have been fine,” Younger Me lied.

I could have cried for her as she fidgeted with a plate. At the time, I didn’t want to burden Isaac since all the phone calls and text conversations we had were so positive. He was doing important work and I didn’t want to complain. But at the same time, he had to know things were bad.

“That’s good to hear,” Isaac replied. “I want to make sure my little sister’s okay.”

Then, Younger Me hesitated and handed him a plate. She bit her bottom lip and several moments past before she said, “Actually, sometimes, things get really, really bad. They both say some things that I hope they don’t mean and sometimes, I know what’s coming but it still freaks me out.” Younger Me shrugged. “Sometimes, I wish I could escape far away from here, like you did.” As innocent as the words were, little did I know at the time that it would be enough to set Isaac off. He straightened from loading the dishes and closed the dishwasher door stronger than he had to. When he turned to Younger Me, the pleasant expression he wore all night disappeared; his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“You think I escaped?” he asked slowly.

Younger Me blinked and the realization of her words poured over her. “Isaac, I didn’t mean----”

“You think I took that job so that I could run away? It was a fantastic opportunity, and I would have been an idiot not to take it!” he hissed.

Younger Me flinched and I gritted my teeth. “No, it’s great, Isaac, really. We’re all so proud of you and you’ve been doing so much great work. I just meant that it must be nice to get away.”

“I would never want to get away from my family. Adults fight sometimes, Y/N, grow up.”

Isaac’s words stung against my face and I clenched my fists as Younger Me fumbled for words. As Younger Me pled more and more with Isaac, my anger grew.

“I’m sorry, Isaac, really. It’s okay, everything’s okay, don’t worry about us,” Younger Me insisted.

I scoffed. “Nothing was okay, and you had to know that.”

Then, Isaac’s gaze left Younger Me’s and burned into mine. “Stop overexaggerating, Y/N. You never went crazy and you got into the special supe school; you’re doing just fine, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

It was hard to tell whether Isaac’s tone or his insistence on being right was the nail in the coffin but I didn’t care as I charged around the island and stood in front of Younger Me.

“Are you kidding me? I had a million anxiety attacks, and I could barely sleep. No one noticed, though, because I almost killed myself keeping up good grades and trying not to eat too much because Mom and Dad would comment,” I snapped.

Isaac hesitated. “Like I said, though, you’re doing fine now.”

“I’m not fine!” I exclaimed. “I never was but I couldn’t show that because someone had to be the adult in this house. I still don’t understand how you all thought that was okay when it wasn’t.” I scoffed. “Wait, I have an idea, maybe it’s because perfect little Doctor Isaac couldn’t be burdened with the fact that he abandoned his little sister in hell!”

“I didn’t abandon you, it was a good job!” Isaac argued.

The laugh that erupted from my chest was spiteful and it had no joy or air in it. Then, I couldn’t stop laughing, to the point that I doubled over. Isaac must have thought I had lost it but I didn’t care as I straightened up.

“What are you laughing about?” he asked, frowning.

“You could have gotten a surgeon job anywhere in the country and you’re telling me the best offer was ten thousand miles away? You graduated at the top of the class, you had to have other offers.” I huffed. “I had to be so deep in denial but I knew, I had to know. But what does it matter as long as you’re still the favorite.”

“I’m not the favorite; you’re the one they made a superhero,” he defended.

“Please, Isaac, they think I’m a freak at worst and a profitable freak show at best. They never criticized you, they only ever did that with me.” I sniffed and looked up at him. “By the way, why didn’t you ever tell them that I wasn’t fat?”

Isaac hesitated. “What?”

“You were in school for, what, ten years and you became an expert on the human body and health. You could have stopped them from tormenting me about food and my body, but you didn’t. Why did you never defend me?”

His silence almost sent me into another fit of mad laughter, that and the stunned expression on his face. The giddiness and rage that flowed through my veins was almost dizzying as I stared at Isaac. I didn’t blink for so long that his face began to blur. Then, my legs started moving and I wandered around the state-of-the-art kitchen.

“You were always better at this than me-----the performing. It must have been easy coasting as an only child and every gold star, and every A was praised.” I paused and poked at the pot of greens. “They were happy back then.”

“Y/N, you’re talking crazy,” Isaac insisted.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. All the overthinking and overanalyzing finally helped me realize the truth: you all hate me. No matter what cases I solved, how well I did in school, or how much weight I lost; it was never good enough.” Isaac was silent and I think it was the first time he didn’t know what to say. It was okay because I knew exactly what to say.

“This whole time, I thought that I had to earn people’s love and that if I just worked hard enough, I could get Mom to call me pretty or Dad to post a picture of us without trying to spite Mom.” I finally made eye contact with Isaac. “You made me think that I was broken.”

Then, the kitchen door swung open behind me and Mom and Dad entered the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked.

“We heard yelling,” Dad added.

I smiled as I turned to them. “You all made me think I was worthless unless I was perfect. I thought I was going to die so many nights because I made one mistake in an essay or lost a friend because my powers creeped them out. But none of you cared.”

None of them spoke and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear any of them. All they could do was lie since I finally realized their true feelings.

My family hated me.

None of them ever really loved me.

My vison blurred as I tried to make eye contact with them again. “How could you think I could end up perfect when you all screwed me up so bad? You make me question myself so much that I’m not even sure what I want anymore.”

I could feel the sobs coming on but I willed them to stay at bay for a moment.

“I’ve met a lot of amazing people at Godolkin, crazy, talented people. But two of them stand out. One of them is this standoffish bigender person who always has a comeback but is actually the kindest person I’ve ever met. The other one is this amazing girl who can see the brighter side of things no matter what, even when people betray her.” I sighed. “And I like both of them, I want to be with both of them, and I don’t know what any of it means and as much as that terrifies me, I’m so happy that I met them.”

They must have all been stunned but I couldn’t focus on them as my chest felt lighter but my throat constricted and I could feel my heart rate pick up. I slowly walked away from the oven and back to my original spot at the island. My hands crept onto the marble counter and I realized that my knees were wobbling.

“You know what’s funny, Isaac?”

Isaac jumped but eyed me.

“If you wanted to abandon me, you didn’t have to go to another continent. Mom and Dad managed to do it and I saw them every day.”

Then, the sobs broke from me and I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying to shove them back in but there was no point. My shoulders shook as I slipped to the ground, the pain barely registering to my brain as I hiccupped into my hands. The tears were hot as they ran down my face and everything hurt so bad and felt so good at the same time; it was like an emotional massage.

Everything that I thought and felt was finally out in the open and none of it was even real.

For a second, I thought a toddler was wailing at the top of their lungs but I almost started laughing again when I realized it was me.

This was it; I was going to be stuck in Cate’s head forever; alone and with nothing to show for it.

The first thing I noticed was something warm against my back. The second was a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. The grip was firm but non-threatening like the owner wanted me to know they were there. The third thing I noticed was Marie’s brown eyes staring back at me as she knelt in front of me.

I paused in my sobbing and sniffled. “Ar-are y-y-you r-r-real?”

“Yeah, I’m real,” she assured.

Her words made me freeze and I started trying to wipe my face, but Marie carefully grabbed my hands. Her thumbs rubbed the top of my hands, and I could feel my sobs slowing down.

“H-h-how’d y-y-you g-get h-here?”

“We found you and Cate and somehow got transported into her head,” Marie explained.

I sniffed, wincing at my congested nose.

“We got to go through a lot of memories, freshie,” Jordan mumbled behind me.

I tensed in their grip and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Andre standing off to the side. He glared at my family with so much malice that my parents cowered next to Isaac.

I gasped. “Th-this i-is s-so embarrassing. H-how m-much of t-that d-did y-you hear?”

“We heard everything you told your brother,” Andre stated.

Marie placed one of her hands on my face. “Breathe, Y/N, you’re hyperventilating.”

It took a couple of minutes, but I managed to even my breathing and once I did, I felt like shrinking away from her and Jordan.

“I can’t believe you were going through all this and never said anything,” Jordan muttered.

I shrugged. “How could I? You, Andre, Cate, Luke, Marie, and everyone in Si Chi are perfect. If I was going to be accepted, I had to be perfect but now you all know that I’m a mess.”

Marie grabbed my other hand again. “Everyone’s a mess; it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.”

“If we’ve learned anything by wandering around in Cate’s head, it’s that everyone’s a mess,” Jordan mentioned.

I shook my head. “Don’t say that to try to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.”

Jordan quickly rattled off everything they saw: from Cate and Indira meeting to Andre and Cate cheating to Jordan knowing about Brink drugging Luke to Marie killing her parents. Even though he was brief, everything hit an emotional nerve and it almost shook me back into being myself.

“So don’t act like you’re special or anything, we’re all screw-ups,” Jordan concluded.

“And just so you know, I don’t think that you liking me and Jordan makes you weird or bad,” Marie confessed.

At her words, I jerked my head back to Jordan. “You told her?”

“No, you said it while you were yelling at your brother!” Jordan exclaimed.

My face warmed at the realization, and I groaned as I buried my head into Jordan’s shoulder. This day could not have gotten any worse.

“Wait, you told Jordan before you told me?” Marie asked.

“I was going to tell you but then I got sucked in here,” I murmured.

Marie huffed. “Well, you’ll both have to make it up to me once we get out of here.”

Wait, both?

Marie couldn’t be serious; it would be impossible for her to agree to any of this. It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. That didn’t stop my heart from pounding faster though as I leaned away from Jordan’s shoulder to look at her.

Before I could say anything, Jordan and Marie both helped me to my feet.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?” Jordan offered.

“Uh-huh.”

At that moment, Andre approached my family and they tried to scramble away from him.

“You should all know that Y/N is the best thing to come from you shitty people. If I see you outside of here, we might have some problems,” Andre threatened.

“Please, don’t hurt us,” Mom begged.

It was hard for me not to laugh as Andre slowly backed away, flipping them off as he went. I laughed a little as he came closer to us.

“Thanks, Andre,” I said.

“No problem. Does anyone know how we get out of here?” he asked.

“We have to find Cate; I saw her briefly earlier but I haven’t been able to find her since,” I admitted.

“If you found her once, you can find her again,” Jordan said.

“Not unless I find you.”

In an instant, my mom’s dining room turned into Cate’s dorm, complete with green accents and comfortable furniture. She sat on her bed, eyes bloodshot and downturned. Marie was the first to approach her and Jordan and I trailed behind her.

“Cate, I’m so glad we found you,” Marie said.

“You have to wake up,” Jordan added.

Cate shook her head. “I don’t want to. You all can wake up but I’m going to stay here.”

Marie frowned. “You’re going to die? But, there’s so much we can do once we’re out of here.”

“Yeah, we can expose what’s going on at the school but we need your help,” Jordan insisted.

No matter what anyone said, Cate remained unresponsive. Both Jordan and Marie tried to reason with her while Andre snapped at her for everything that happened. All I could do was watch and wonder if her behavior made sense. In a way, her entire world fell apart and she’d exposed everything in all of us. She must feel alone but what did she think would happen?

How could she incense me and make me feel sorry for her at the same time?

Finally, I stepped over to her and bent down so that we were eye to eye. “Despite all the psychological torment I experienced in here, all I can think about is what else you haven’t told us.” I swallowed. “Because I have a really bad feeling that if Shetty used you like this, she would use me too.”

“No, Y/N, Indira wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s been in your head since you were a kid, Cate, it would make sense that she would go after Y/N too and you wouldn’t notice it,” Jordan pointed out.

Cate hesitated and then looked at her gloved hands. “This is all my fault.”

“You can make it right but not if you stay in here,” Marie said.

I didn’t know how much time had passed as Cate mulled over her options. All I knew was as she was deciding, my heart continued pounding in my ears as the lightning cracked above our heads. My hands shook as the cracking got louder and louder.

Then, it stopped.

#black!reader #jordan li x reader #gen v x reader #limoreau x reader #marie moreau x reader

155 notes · View notes

heich0e · 1 year

Text

"you can't eat blueberries for dinner."

the berry pinched between your thumb and forefinger pauses just at the threshold of your parted lips, your eyes flickering up to the man before you who watches you with his hands on his hips. you hold eye contact as you pop it into your mouth, something almost smug in the deliberate maintenance of his stare.

"god gave me free will and a chequing account, so actually i can do whatever i want."

rintarou doesn't find this funny–he does actually, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of knowing that–and his expression stays passive as he watches you pop another little blue fruit into your waiting mouth. he continues to stare, and you continue to eat (ignoring him) until finally he sighs and shuffles away.

you have very little time to appreciate your victory before you hear a racket coming from the kitchen.

you wouldn't consider yourself a particularly intrusive person, by nature. you're generally happy to live and let live, especially when it comes to your longterm, live-in boyfriend: oftentimes it's better not knowing what suna's up to, for your own sanity. but your nosiness, and his noisiness, soon gets the better of you, and you shuffle over to the kitchen with your little bowl of blueberries in tow.

"what are you doing?" you ask, watching as rintarou rifles through the refrigerator in a crouch. there's something very primitive about his stance, hunter-gatherer even–though you know enough about him to know that were he a hunter-gatherer he'd be unlikely to survive a winter.

suna rises from his stoop with a strange assortment of ingredients in his arms, none of which really go together, and he looks at you proudly.

"i'm making you dinner."

you scrunch up your nose.

"uhhhhh-" you draw out the noise as your brain struggles for a proper response. "i'm not hungry."

he might even have believed you, if you hadn't popped a handful of blueberries into your mouth just after saying it.

rintarou drops his armful of ingredients onto the counter, looking at you pointedly.

"you can't eat blueberries for dinner," he repeats his earlier point firmly.

"why not?" you parry petulantly.

"blueberries aren't a meal. they're a fruit."

"they have antioxidants. they're anti-aging."

suna pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out a long, aggrieved breath. "you're the most pro-aging thing in my life."

you waggle a finger at him accusatorially. "don't blame me for your grey hairs. if anything blame atsumu–he beat me to you by like three years."

rintarou places his palms flat on the counter and leans towards you on the other side. "baby, let me make you dinner."

he's changed his tactic now, playing a different angle in his effort to persuade you. he's softened his tone, lets his lashes flutter in a demure blink, his lower lip pouts slightly. in any other argument it may have been enough to sway you.

there's just one problem:

suna rintarou cannot cook to save his own life.

this is not to say that rintarou can't feed himself, or relies on you to take care of him in that regard. suna's happy to eat whatever he manages to scrape (or singe) together for his own consumption, and does it without complaint. it's just that, in all the time the two of you've been together, you can count on your own ten fingers the number of times he's made a meal that could be considered edible (and that's under relatively lenient terms.)

it really only becomes an issue at times like these.

"rin," you start, choosing your words very carefully, "i'm really not that hungry."

"it's the first night all week you've been home in time for dinner," he argues, "shouldn't you eat a real meal?"

he's not necessarily wrong–much to your eternal dismay. you've been working late all week, and it's the first evening you've made it home while the sun is still up, let alone at an hour that could be considered a normal meal-time. but as a result of your long work days, you're left with no energy to even think about what you might want to eat, let alone prepare something. even just ordering takeout seems too involved for the meagre amount of brainpower you have.

ergo, blueberries.

"i'm too tired," you say, your shoulders slumping slightly. you set your (mostly eaten) bowl of blueberries down on the countertop in front of you.

suna watches your body language shift, sees the visible deflation of your frame. he approaches you, slinking up alongside and pressing himself into you, an arm snaking around your waist. it's comforting, protective even. it makes you feel nice.

suna tugs you into him a little bit further, and you don't have the energy (or the desire) to fight him off. you let him pull you into his arms, burrowing your face in the front of his t-shirt, and you feel his palms brushing comfortingly along your back.

"long week?" he murmurs into the top of your hair after a moment of letting him hold you. you nod as much as you can, squished against his chest. his hands stop patting along your spine, and (mortifyingly) you let out an involuntary sound of displeasure, he chuckles lightly and then resumes the motions, swaying you gently while he's at it.

it's kind of nice, just letting him hold you like that.

you might even call it romantic if you could ever consider yourself so sentimental.

emphasis on might though, because your stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble, shattering any semblance of ambiance that may have existed.

rintarou laughs, really laughs, when it happens. it's the kind of laugh where you know if you were to look at him his teeth would be bared and his eyes would be crinkling, his head tipped back in his mirth. but you don't look up at him, instead you groan and press your face even further into his chest to hide your shame.

suna's arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you tightly before hoisting you up–still laughing as he plunks you down onto the kitchen counter right between his forgotten ingredients and your abandoned blueberries, slotting himself between your legs.

he takes your chin in his hand and tilts your face up to meet his, your nose scrunched up in embarrassed indignity. he kisses your cheek, but he's grinning, so you mostly just feel the press of his teeth.

"at least one part of you is honest," he teases.

you can't really even argue with him, given the circumstances.

suna steps away for a moment, reaching up to the top of the refrigerator and snatching the stack of takeout menus to nagano's finest(-ish) eating establishments (at least within 6 blocks) that the two of you have collected over the years. he fans them out between his fingers and totes them over to you, slipping back between your thighs and holding them up in front of your nose.

"pick one," he says.

"rin, i'm too tired to-"

"just pick a menu and i'll do the rest," he assures you gently. "i'll order, pick up, and hand deliver it right to you on that couch,"–he nods his head over your shoulder in the direction of your living room–"all you have to do is pick one."

you peer at him for a moment, a little shocked–a little moved–by his thoughtfulness.

you place a hand over his and gently lower the fan of takeout menus between you, craning up to press your mouth to his. he seems a little bit surprised by the gesture, but happily reciprocates, parting his lips against your own and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

you pull away before anything gets too heated, plucking a menu at random from his hand.

"this one," you say, clearing your throat and looking away coyly, a heat prickling through your cheeks.

rintarou laughs lightly, taking the menu you've chosen with a nod. he kisses your cheek again.

"whatever you want," he agrees, turning the menu over to see which restaurant you've chosen for your evening's meal.

"you're being really nice to me," you say to him quietly, appreciatively, as close to proper thanks as the two of you usually ever get.

he lifts his gaze from the menu to peek at you.

"duh," he replies, "i love you."

the heat in your cheeks intensifies, and you can't blame the feeling in your stomach on a pang of hunger.

you can't help but laugh at how plainly he says it.

"besides," he goes on to add, setting the menu down under his palm on the kitchen counter, dipping down until the two of you are nose to nose and your lips are almost brushing, "i'm getting dinner, so that means you're responsible for dessert."

#suna x reader #suna x you #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou x you #suna rintarou #suna drabble #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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bidisasterevankinard · 2 months

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Buck breakdown meta(+ a little bit of divorce 2.0 era)

“Did you know you were clinically dead for three minutes?” - “Bobby” from Buck’s coma dream or Buck’s part of the brain that always helps him to find the answers (6x11)

“Buck, you died” - Maddie(6x12), Bobby (6x14)

“You died, Buck” Eddie (6x12)

Before I started this meta I remembered these three (well, technically four but how you can see Maddie and Bobby said the same thing) times someone said in real words what happened with Buck, what exactly he experienced in his life, how he lost it. Because it wasn’t just “an accident on the job”(Buck 6x14), not even a near death experience Buck had in his life before(and not once), because Buck is indeed a good “friend” and “old acquaintance”(Buck 6x15) with death since he was born (as a donor to dying child) and not just “for a moment” how he believes. But I haven’t remembered Buck himself (not a coma Bobby), especially after he woke up and “started his healing” (the lyrics of the song right before we see Buck after hospital in 6x11) saying it. And I really thought aha, you sneaky boy, you haven’t really recovered as you never even said “I died”. But he actually said it once, but, to whom do you think he said it?

To his sister who raised him as a parent and said “Buck, you died”? No.

To his father figure who he knows was praying to God sitting in his room, thinking his another child is dying and he can’t AGAIN do something? To the man who was cradling him like a baby to put him on a gurney and wanted to take it easy on him in 6x14 because “Buck, you died”? No.

To his best friend, to whom he ran to hide from his sister’s fussing? To the man on whose couch he fell asleep seconds after sitting on it? To the man who tried hard to support him, how Buck supported him during his breakdown? No.

He said it to the woman he never met before (btw Natalia is cute and it’s not her bashing post. so DO NOT DO IT IN TAGS PLEASE), just a matter of factly, when helped her with her injury because he heard that she is “death doula”(but before it, he tries to say it in the other words)

But even to her he says it ONLY THIS ONE MOMENT. When they met again he spoke about his death experience in the pattern we saw before.

And this pattern is : “When i woke up,” “I woke up in a world” “I recovered” “accident on the job”, joking with Maddie, “it’s all a gift” or with Eddie not even himself in 6x12 talking about HIS death experience. With Eddie he asks about shooting, but Eddie makes it a conversation about “You died, Buck”.

Buck doesn’t like when people talk about death, showing him their grief, so he tries to talk about his new life. He jokes, or moves the conversation to the point of talking about his new life, new possibilities for him, about how he processes he is still here, but NOT HOW HE DIED. Buck refuses to process that he died. Yeah, it happened, he knows everyone grieved him, but he refuses to talk about how it changed him and others. He just wants to accept changes not to “act” like an “old same Buck”(Buck 6x15) for everyone, but to be a new Buck. And who is perfect to make him think about not his death, but about how many new experiences he can have, if not the person who is amazed by his death, who thinks it is “cool” he had the opportunity to experience it and get back, if not the person who never grieved him? Natalia wasn’t around to see him dead, she wasn’t the one who saved him. And Buck knows his family had to see him like that and act to save him, but he can’t think about it. He concentrates on good things, on being alive, on moving forward, to see “what’s next” for him. And he refuses to look and speak about what happened before it, to really move from it.

But I think we all remember how Maddie said that Buck is more than good at pretending that he is ok(4x4). Remember how in therapy he said “You said, I hide my true feelings from others. You might be right”, but then what happened? Oh yeah “new Buck 3.0” and him forgiving his parents for going to therapy with him. Because he hides it not just from others, but from himself too. Acting as Buck 1.0, 2.0, etc. Buck knows how to repress his feelings and move on to a new stage. How to act as a new Buck, not just for everyone, but for himself too. How to believe he is ok.

And he for years was mistaken or even hiding a lot of his feelings, so it’s not hard for him to play like he moved on. And on the way to make everyone, except one person who till the last moment (cemetery seen) tried to make Buck talk about his death. Who was the last person to say it to Buck, who used death, and died, in one conversation right to the point till Buck with his words “She sees me. like she really sees me for who I am and what I’ve been through. I think she might even see more in me than I see in myself” almost stopped him. He stops for a moment. Tries to play with Buck on his rules, tries to wait for Buck again how he did in 6x12, but tries one more time to make Buck talk about death.

“You cheated death”

But Buck speaks about life. About lightning. About his new life being a gift.

“My life could have ended right then and there,but it didn’t. That has to mean something, right?” (Buck looks at Eddie because even closing himself he still need Eddie)

“It means you are one lucky guy”(Eddie does’t not look at him)

“Yeah, well, I don't think I’m gonna get that lucky again.”

“We, maybe you don’t have to. Lightning doesn’t strike twice at the same place.”

“Which is why I have to make the most of every single moment. Because from here right now out it's all a gift”

And after that, Eddie, who thought he could give Buck the same “shoulder to cry on” and “sit with you” while you experience bad moments, stopped doing it. He looked at Buck and saw the man he saw, the man he thinks doesn’t need his help. Because Buck doesn’t look affected as Eddie expected him to be. Buck overplayed Eddie with his tires to prove he is ok. Eddie believed him. But also he heard that he is not that Buck needs to feel ok. He needs not that Eddie expected he would need (talks about his death and Eddie’s help), but someone else living with Buck his life and Eddie understood that Buck doesn’t need him at all.Not in the way he needed the man a year ago, crushing his room. And the feeling of loneliness he started to experience while he gave Buck time to come to him, before Buck pushed him away when he wasn't ready in the cemetery, just became all consuming. Because now Eddie believes Buck never needed him, how Eddie needs him. But the thing is, Buck needs him. He just pushed Eddie from him, because he feels that it’s dangerous to look at his death, because he doesn't want to be a burden, because he doesn't want to run in a circle of “someone loves me when I’m in pain” he did all his childhood. He doesn't want to experience love when he is broken, so he closes his death deep inside him, in a box. But we know how boxes explode if it’s too many things inside.

And let’s think that Buck has in his box: childhood of neglect, truck bombing, tsunami and embolism, well and shooting, ambulance hostage situation, Bobby shot, Maddie almost killed by Doug, the secret about Daniel being revealed, and then his real death. All it packed neat inside him, never spoken about. And after shooting we never heard him talking about therapy again. So Buck acts as a “new Buck” ALL THE TIME. Buck 1.0, 2.0, 3.0 it’s a proof. And he is just ready to be another “new Buck”, but others don't, because to see the new Buck they should fully grieve the old Buck. But Buck doesn’t want them to grief, he wants to joke and move on and that’s why he is feeling like he should stay “same old Buck”, act the same, but IT’S A PROBLEM. Because old Buck can’t help to mask the pain and fear from the death he experienced. Old Buck never looked at his life as a “gift”. This old Buck can’t help Buck to hide under this mask of everything being fine. And let’s nor forget how old Buck tried hard to find HAPPINESS. OLD BUCK WASN’T HAPPY. But the new Buck should be. He is still alive. His life has ended yet. But has he found his answer for happiness after death when Lev did it? No.

Buck's answer for happiness wasn’t shown, which means he tries to be happy, but he still doesn’t know HOW. And on the way he pushed his best friend from him, starting their as we call it in a fandom “divorce era 2.0”. Because it is what Buck does when he feels trapped (lawsuit waves at us). When Buck thinks he needs other things, not that others try him to do, speak about, heal properly before move on, not just “rush with his head first”, he pushes everyone from himself (yes yes boy with abandonment issue does it, but it is easier this way). In the lawsuit it was easier to blame Bobby, right now he ofc doesn’t blame Eddie, but he also doesn’t want Eddie to constantly talk about his death. So he pushed Eddie from himself.

So Buck can’t hide behind old, and new Buck is not something his family is ready to see, and it’s still an act. Buck is on the edge of breaking, and I’m sure in 7s it will happen. After Bobby's near death or maybe something else, but it will break him.

Now Eddie. Eddie, who already felt kind of alone, started his journey of trying to find someone who makes him feel not alone anymore. Who will make him feel enough. Because for Shannon, for Buck he wasn’t(at least it’s how he sees it).

That’s how he sees the cemetery. Buck pushes because Eddie is too much for him at this moment, because he isn't ready (something something “you need to move on. I did.” Eddie himself pushed Buck from himself when he wasn’t ready, but he thought if he would make Buck talk NOW Buck wouldn't break like him.) Buck wasn’t ready to be supported by Eddie, because he never was supported like that (Eddie wasn’t in a place to really support him after the fire truck. don't even start. Eddie was deep into his grief and “suck it up and move on” era to really support Buck on this deep mental level). But Eddie was finally in the place to give this support, and he felt like it’s not enough. So he dates, he meets Marisol. He opens himself to the world and new opportunities. Maybe even starting something serious in season 7, when Buck goes deeper and deeper in his own grief and pain of losing the life he had, of losing the part of himself, of not knowing who he is right now, how he should act.

Now we add Bobby’s and Athena’s water related near death experience and … BOOM. Buck is broken, a crying mess. Because he feels grief and fear of losing people he loves so hard, and he can’t imagine who they felt, and he can’t even say what the fuck is the answer to happiness. He doesn’t remember his death, but he remembers his coma, he remembers how he woke up, he remembers old him, but who is new Buck? To this we also add that he feels that his best friend pushed him away, not understanding he did it first(because he did it subconsciously trying to hide from his feelings).

Buck will break in season 7, because it's long overdue. He has so many things he never “allowed to feel it” before moving on. They can’t just stay forever inside him. “At some point that box is going to blow open. And take everyone around you”. Eddie was ready to support Buck and eventually in season 7 Buck would need it and Eddie would see that Buck needs him, he never allows himself to ask, to see what and who he needs. Buck always tries to look at himself through other people's eyes, still tries with Natalia. Maybe look at himself thought Eddie’s feel help him to see something new

Why I also see the possible divorce era 2.0 it’s because we started and continued 6s with domestic Buckley-Diaz scenes but scenes 6x13 Buck wasn't even talking about Chris. So I see it as a possible proof of divorce era, but after new stills I’m not so sure anymore

#yes it's 2k words. i'm not sorry #i could say more #buck will break in season 7 #911 loves parallels so I used moments not related to the Buck as talk about him relation to his arc too #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #911 abc #911 meta #911 season 7 #my 911 thoughts #oliver stark #911 on abc #911 speculation

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nebulouscoffee · 10 months

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The thing about Kai Winn's storyline ultimately being a tragedy is, it's not only a tragedy because her fate (in the eyes of the non-linear Prophets) was already known and nothing she did or said was ever going to make them acknowledge her- not only because she wanted so badly to have a big role to play in the grand, historic story of the newly independent Bajor and just couldn't handle the fact that she was never meant to- not only because the Prophets spoke to Sisko and Bareil and Kira and literally even Quark but not her- not only because she was deceived and raped and killed in the end- but most of all because, it was partly her love of Bajor that killed her.

Think about it- her whole regression during that final arc with Dukat is so tragic precisely because she was THIS close to redemption! Throughout the show, we see that her brain processes information in very rigid, binary ways: if you are not my ally, then you are my enemy. If you disagree with even one of my opinions, you are my enemy. If you refuse to endorse and support me in this mission, you are my enemy. That's part of why she's so easily swayed by fascist rhetoric, I think- she's just unable to cope with nuance. (This is foreshadowed in 'Shakaar', where she puts the whole of Bajor under martial law just because Shakaar disagreed with her over how she was handling soil reclamators.) Her personal narrative is I am the one who will save Bajor -> anyone who gets in my way is my enemy and therefore an enemy of Bajor -> I must stop them using any force necessary for the good of Bajor because I am after all the one who will save Bajor.

But when Sisko discovers the city of B'hala in 'Rapture', she is for the first time forced to accept the truth that he really hasn't been faking this whole "talks to the Prophets" thing- he's the real deal. We learn later on (when she tells "Anjohl" about how she honestly felt nothing the first time she saw the wormhole open) that a small, small part of her actually always doubted the existence of the Prophets. Now, she is faced with definitive proof that they are not only very real, but they also really do have a bond with Sisko. And for a while, she even comes to terms with this! In fact, at the end of the episode, she and Kira have possibly their first completely honest exchange:

KIRA: Maybe we're the ones who need to trust the Prophets. For all we know, this is part of their plan. Maybe they've told Captain Sisko everything they want him to know. WINN: Perhaps. I suppose you heard that Bajor will not join the Federation today. The Council of Ministers has voted to delay acceptance of Federation membership. KIRA: You must be very pleased. WINN: I wish I were. But things are not that simple. Not anymore. Before Captain Sisko found B'hala, my path was clear. I knew who my enemies were. But now? Now nothing is certain. KIRA: Makes life interesting, doesn't it?

Like, YASS babygirl- you too can learn to handle nuance!! I believe in you!!💪💪

And later on, at the onset of the Dominion War, she comes to Sisko for advice herself. She doesn't want to see her planet colonised again, and she's even willing to put aside her desire to be the main character to ensure it doesn't happen. Driven by pride and the need for power as she is, she is also driven by the desire save Bajor (and preferably be the one saving Bajor, which is the subsection of this desire that ultimately ends up being her downfall) - and she does briefly decide that cooperating with the Emissary is the best way to do this! I think about this scene from 'In The Cards' so much:

WINN: ... I have asked the Prophets to guide me, but they have not answered my prayers. I even consulted the Orb of Wisdom before coming here and it has told me nothing. So I come to you, Emissary. You have heard the voice of the Prophets. You were sent here to guide us through troubled times. Tell me what to do and I will do it. How can I save Bajor? SISKO: You want my advice? Then this is it. Stall. Tell Weyoun you have to consult with the Council of Ministers, or that you have to meditate on your response. Anything you want, but you have to stall for time. WINN: Time for what? SISKO: I don't know. But I do know the moment of crisis isn't here yet, and until that moment arrives we have to keep Bajor's options open. I'm aware that this is difficult for you, given our past, but this time you have to trust me. (Winn holds Sisko's left ear.) WINN: Very well, Emissary. We put ourselves in your hands. May we all walk with the Prophets.

In the earlier seasons, Winn would often casually make claims that the Prophets had "told her" something, or that she was just "doing what the Prophets asked"- and her political position as Kai always allowed her to just lie about being in contact with them all the time. Now, you can see the sheer humility- the embarrassment, even- on her face as she (for the first time) openly admits to Sisko that she has never actually heard them speak before; and that they clearly "prefer" him. Yes, there's some (understandable imo) bitterness here- but not at him, at THEM. And when she tries to read his pagh at the end- something she probably does to dozens of people every day, most of whom would unquestioningly believe anything she declares afterwards- she doesn't even try to pretend she felt anything there. It's one of her most genuine moments in the whole show, you can just SEE the redemption arc in reach and it's so heartbreaking!!

I think 'The Reckoning' is a huge episode for her too, for many reasons- but let's talk about how it sets up this fascinating parallel between her and Kira (who Odo describes in this episode as having "both faith and humility"). The Prophets choose Kira as their "vessel" because she was "willing"- meanwhile, Winn was right there just begging to be a part of this! Here she is, with a Prophet right in front of her face- and she prays and postures and begs and prays some more, all just to get ignored. Kira's brand of faith is very, "I am ultimately insignificant and I surrender my power and my body and pagh to the Prophets"- Winn's is more, "if I do all the right things, then I will be able to prove to the Prophets that I am worthy of their attention, worthier than everyone else, and maybe then they'll appoint me the saviour of Bajor! It's My Destiny, You See!! (Why Isn't This Happening For Me??)" And the events of this episode are kind of a big slap in the face to her honestly, because they sort of prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Prophets have no interest in her. Maybe stopping the battle was also an attempt at regaining some kind of agency with them- I DID THIS, I pulled a switch and it had a direct effect on the Prophets, so there!! (Whatever that effect entails). She does care about Bajor. Of course she does. But her ideal configuration of Bajor involves her being a major player in its salvation, which she was just never meant to be. And this is why she's so tragically susceptible to Dukat's manipulation- he was the first person ever to tell her everything she always wanted to hear.

And the intriguing thing about Dukat's deception is, it doesn't all fall apart at one go. It falls apart in layers. And this makes for some excellent, excellent Winn characterisation imo.

First, she thinks the pah wraiths are the Prophets- and they tell her, hey, The Sisko has faltered, Bajor needs you, and only you can fix this. Good lord, imagine finally getting to hear those words after a lifetime of silence! And it's very telling that her first reaction isn't to gloat like she would've in the earlier seasons, but instead to humbly- even anxiously- pray. Bajor needs her, the "Prophets" have asked her to do something, this is her moment! Then, this random lovely Bajoran farmer comes in and tells her even more things she has always wanted to hear- that her activism during the Occupation (ignored by Kira and Sisko alike) saved lives, that he always wondered why the Prophets would choose an alien as their Emissary, that surely Sisko and his followers were mistaken- and finally, "our world will be reborn- with YOU as its leader". Sounds good, right? But THEN she finds out she's been speaking to the pah wraiths and the lovely farmer is a devil worshipper actually. And she tries the "wash away my sins" approach- she wants some kind of quick fix ritual that will "purify" her, so she can continue to be Kai the right way. She even admits to Kira that she's always been power hungry and she wants to change- and I believe her! Unfortunately, Kira then tells her something she doesn't want to hear- that she has to step down as Kai. And surely that can't be, right? She's the saviour of Bajor! She's so complex... it's not simply her love of power that this scene reveals imo, but more significantly, her inability to see herself as not a vital part of Bajor's history; of this whole larger narrative. Like-

WINN: I'm a patient woman. But I have run out of patience. I will no longer serve gods who give me nothing in return. "GIVE ME"!! ADAMI MY BESTIE MY GIRL MY BUDDY THEREIN LIES THE PROBLEM!!!

So, okay, fine, now she's swayed over to the side that maybe the Prophets aren't that great, and maybe the pah wraiths are the true gods of Bajor (because they were willing to talk to her), and maybe she's okay working with the devil worshipper. But then it turns out he's DUKAT- and at this point, she's literally murdered someone, she's ready to stop this, to go back to Sisko and set things right- but then the book of the Kosst Amojan lights up because of the blood she spilled. She did that. It happened as a direct result of her actions. She's just so desperate to be acknowledged... to have a role to play in all this, no matter who offers it to her. So the pah wraiths actually giving her a reaction isn't something she can resist. And here's where things get even more tragic.

WINN: But the prophecies! They warn that the release of the Pah wraiths will mean the end of Bajor. DUKAT: The old Bajor, perhaps. But from its ashes a new Bajor will arise and the Restoration will begin. WINN: Who will be left to see it? DUKAT: Those the gods find worthy. It will be the dawn of paradise. And you, Adami, are destined to rule it. WINN: You're sure of that? DUKAT: It is meant to be.

Again with the ease at which she's swayed by fascist rhetoric! Let's be clear, she was (and is) absolutely against the Cardassian Occupation. But her worldview is built on the pursuit of being "worthier" than everyone else, of being "closer to god" than everyone else- her expectation of faith is that it's some sort of determiner of who's doing it The Most Effectively, rather than it being a practice- and she just completely misses that any sort of plan that executes masses and spares whoever is deemed "worthy" is... literally exactly what people like Dukat did to her planet. Something something faith as competition, faith as determiner of inherent superiority, faith as a way to gain power via proximity to god… never faith as submission. And the worst part is she’s self-aware. It’s heartbreaking.

And it's about to get even more heartbreaking, because she truly believes she has arrived at her girlboss moment in the finale (I think the tragedy of her being a rape victim and knowing this and having to hide the body of the one (1) person who was looking out for her while being stuck with her rapist speaks for itself.) After kicking Dukat out on the street (lol), she studies the eeevil texts and realises that to set the pah wraiths free, you need to make a sacrifice. So now she gets to deceive him in return. And she does! The look of shock on his face when he discovers she poisoned him is priceless imo, and her triumph as she taunts his dead body, the sheer joy on her face as she casts off her Kai robes, when she recites those incantations and something actually happens- and that too such a large pyrotechnic spectacle- is so sad knowing what's coming. Because ultimately, the pah wraiths want to destroy Bajor, right? And Winn just doesn't. Of course they don't choose her. Of course they choose Dukat over her! She really thought that by tricking and murdering him, she'd made him the unimportant piece of the puzzle, that she was stealing back his thunder- but tragically, it turns out even the pah wraiths see her as disposable. Of course they resurrect Dukat (a man who's proved time and time again that he wants to see Bajor & Bajorans destroyed) and turn her into the sacrifice. The way she screams "NO!" here breaks my heart- she's betrayed her planet, and it was all for nothing. (Dukat's "are you still here?" is particularly devastating.) I think it's very significant that her final words are "Emissary, the book!"- it shows that in her last moments, she's owning her mistakes- she's stepping away from power and putting Bajor first, and leaving her own fate in the hands of the Prophets. Who, of course, once again ignore her, and choose to save Sisko instead. God.

The utter tragedy that even in the pah wraiths' plan, she was just a pawn. That she died at the hands of the gods she thought chose her, but used her, all while the gods she'd coveted her whole life stood by and did nothing. The Prophets chose Sisko because they believed he would put Bajor's interests over even his own- and now they ensure he will be back one day to see the new Bajor. She never will.

Yes, it was her pride that got her here. Her mean streak. Her inability to cope with nuance. Her inability to see herself as ultimately insignificant. Her inability to surrender to a higher power in any way that didn't involve becoming more powerful herself; more relevant, more "close to god". But it was also her love of Bajor. Because if she'd cared about Bajor less, then maybe the pah wraiths might have chosen her- or at least spared her, or taken her to their realm after she burned, the way they did with Dukat. Now, she ends up being the one thing she never wanted to be: insignificant.

Honestly if I had to summarise the tragedy of her arc in one sentence, it would probably be Kai Winn: Too Evil For The Prophets, Not Evil Enough For The Pah Wraiths. She and Dukat are not the same! She is a perfectly pathetic, sad and wet blorbo and I am holding her gently in my hands while apologising for her crimes <3

#cw rape mention #ds9 #just to be clear: I did write this post after seeing the take #'the prophets never spoke to winn because even they found her insufferable & knew she didn't even care about bajor'#which I happened to disagree with (as I do w/ every take that claims she didn't care about Bajor or that she and dukat were 'equally evil')#BUT! this is absolutely not meant to be a callout post or anything #there is a lot of general misogyny in discussions about her and I have my issues with the way people make light of her trauma #but if you just don't happen to love her as a character that's totally fine! honestly the very last thing I want #is to make anyone reading this post feel bad (or for it to be used to hate on people who just like other fictional characters more)#so I kindly request that people not reblog this post with that sort of energy thank you <3 #(also I might turn off reblogs if I suddenly get shy lol)

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lastoneout · 3 months

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You know what, I just realized something that I can probably add to my list of reasons I'm more ND than I think I am...

So in middle school I found out The Princess Bride was based on a book I immediately decided to read it. But here's the thing, unlike the movie's framing device of a grandfather reading the book to his grandson, the book has one that's basically like an autobiography?? Where the author talks about his grandfather reading him the book as a kid and how it affected him growing up and how, eventually, he decided to "abridge" the original and publish the version you're reading. The author even says Florin and Guilder are real places, and gives "history" on them.

I found(and tbh still find) this part of the book exceptionally boring. It's mean spirted and depressing, and an absolute slog to get through. But I kept trucking through taking everything as complete truth, even though I was pretty sure these countries weren't real places. Europe is big after all and I was in middle school, maybe I just hadn't heard of them before. Thankfully once the "real" book, the story The Princess Bride, actually starts the intersections start to make sense and aren't as boring and I quite liked them more or less, even if they were a little confusing at times. I also read everything after the "real" book ends, an epilog of sorts about the author not being allowed to abridge the sequel bcs Steven King?? Was going to do it?? But there was a bit of this "sequel" included so I read that too.

When my friend, who had leant me the book, asked what I thought, I said I liked it but I didn't understand why the author included all that personal history at the start where he complained about his job and family, it just didn't seem necessary to me and was boring as hell.

My friend informed me that all of that "personal" history wasn't real. The author made it all up. It was as much fiction as the actual story itself. It was satire, you see, and apparently??? very important to read bcs without it you wont "understand" the story. My friend genuinely thought it was super weird that I didn't realize it wasn't true, and also that I didn't like it.

But nah, I thought it was true!! Why would he lie like that?? What was it even satirizing(I still don't really know tbh)?? Why would I need to read all that bs to understand the book?? The story of 'The Princess Bride' made perfect sense on it's own!! I ended up kinda hating the book after that. I felt SUPER betrayed. He said all that stuff like it was true, what on earth was the point of lying?? Didnt he know people would believe him?? Why wouldn't I, after all I almost always tell the truth, lying about all that stuff was dumb and mean and I hated it.

A while later when I brought it up to my godfather he ALSO thought it was silly that I believed all that and didn't get that it was satire, and insisted that it was important for understanding the story.

I still don't get why it's important, and I refuse to read any of it again. When I re-read the book I just skip to where 'The Princess Bride' actually starts and then stop once it's "over". The rest of it is probably important, but to this day I think it's mostly mean spirited and stupid, and idk why he didn't just write the book normally or do what they did in the movie.

Anyway I figure this is like...normal, right? I totally don't have any deeper stuff going on with my brain. When I take assessments I insist I'm great at picking up on sarcasam and satire. Totally great at it. Yeah...

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hoeforhao · 7 months

Note

may i request “How do you feel about two at once?” w/ joshua and vernon 😩

this american duo concept has been tickling the right parts of my brain for real! That is the sole reason why I want to make it into a full blown oneshot and not just a drabble!!!

۫ 𓈒 ✸ Whipped Cream Cloud ✸ ۫ 𓈒

✸pairing: joshua × fem!reader x vernon

✸warnings: filthy smut, minors dni 🔞, threesome, sub vernon, dom joshua, oral (both f and m), edging, overstimulation, double penetration, ass fuck. I'll add more if I miss any in the main fic!

✸author's note: am not very sure about the concept I've tried this time so releasing just the trailer to test the grounds.

Enjoy the teaser hehe ;))

"Wanna join us tonight Sol?" putting your feet to the gas pedal, you peek your head slightly out through the rolled down glass, to flash Vernon with a inviting smirk who was standing like a npc on the porch of your boyfriend's house.

Your eyes could only manage to register a nod from the side view mirror as you drive off to your place, leaving the youngest stationary on the grass, his cheeks heating up from the mere thought of all the wishes you two were about to grant him.

Vernon Chwe or as he liked to call himself, Hansol Vernon Chwe was your boyfriend Joshua's younger brother, more appropriately his stepbrother ; someone who has recently experienced the worst heartbreak he could've ever imagined when his 7 year long girlfriend broke up with him. Now everyone would normally think that one must be completely out of their mind to leave this perfect of a man - be it the greek godlike features or his absolute gentle and sweet demeanor, he was the best dessert platter a girl could ever lay their eyes on. Except...

You have always been quite close with Vernon, trying to be that 'your brother's girlfriend who's now your bestfriend' type, so when he broke the news to you first, you were quite taken aback as to what did he lack for her to cut it off. But when he spilled out the actual reason why he had to dust his hands off of such a longtime relationship, the first thing that came to your mind was " There's no way a boy with such a well built and tempting body IS BAD IN BED "

The question constantly kept on eating your brains out as you literally refused to believe that JOSHUA'S BROTHER, YOUR OWN BESTFRIEND, was a loser when it came to taking action between a woman's legs. It was a matter of family reputation afterall and there was no way you were gonna let such a small solvable thing taint it. So when you started noticing Vernon's lingering gazes on you whenever his brother was being touchy with you or his eyes travelling down your cleavage everytime you wore a deep cut blouse around the boys or when that time you accidentally overheard him moaning your name while trying to get himself off in the washroom after you came to the Chwe's family dinner in the most eliciting maroon slip dress he has ever seen a lady in...you decided to talk to your boyfriend about an all benefited way out.

But Joshua was one step ahead as always. Not being ignorant of his younger brother's continous dotings on you, nor of all the flirty teasing looks you gave the boy while slyly grinding your body on his, making it look like a mere accident always...he has already deviced something that would cater to the needs of all three.

"Baby?" Joshua calls out to you while being was fully drowned into your sweet pheromones, mouth and lips too busy in lapping up each and every bend of your slicked folds to give out full sentences. "Hmm?" is all that leaves your throat as you were too occupied with taking in the pleasure your pussy drunk boyfriend was giving.

"How do you feel about two at once baby? Do you think it would be a bad idea if we umm you know teach Sol the ways with women's pleasure, so that the poor boy's heart is never broken just because his dick doesn't know how to navigate through the walls of a needy cunt?

Joshua's face slowly emerges up from between your thighs, chin coated with the already leaking juices as he finally settles himself comfortably on the bed, fingers refusing to leave the warmth of your core yet, while his bambi eyes look at you like a child pleading for his wish to be granted.

"Have you ever had any bad idea, baby!"you mentally rejoiced over the fact that your boyfriend kept front the proposal you were yourself waiting to bring up but shying away from as it had sort of a sibling pride attached to it.

A low chuckle is all that is heard from Joshua on your acceptive reply as he instantly dives back into his abode, back to riling up your insides to the very edge , while a scheming smile creeps up on your face at the thought of everything you were gonna do to that vulnerable boy.

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wispforever · 5 months

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Some thoughts on Itachi

So, I've seen a lot of comments circulating about my tags on this post, and I'm intrigued at the interest. I didn't expect it, as I see much more pigeonholing of Itachi's character than honest to god analysis. No hate- I'm no stranger to Kishimoto's writing. Some of his characters were unfortunately butchered or never given the chance to be developed properly, and Itachi is most certainly no exception. That said, I like to grant him a bit more nuance than I see on most blogs. I think people get a little wrapped up in the supposed "moral implications" of exploring how Itachi was also a victim of the system, as well as someone who victimized many people. But it's silly to equate character analysis and context consideration with condoning genocide.

I have a good laugh every once and a while at the metaphorical gymnastics people do in order to stay in the good graces of a bunch of internet trolls who are just Waiting for any opportunity to tell you you love murder and think it's delicious just because you made a post exploring a character's background. Media is grey; it's layered and wonderfully complex. There are many wrongs and rights in every story, and many wrongs and rights within those wrongs and rights. That's what I love about Naruto. Often times it's really too much like real life. Instead of people being black and white, right or wrong, bad or good- they're usually in a tough situation, trying their best and falling short, don't have all of the information, acting with good intentions or acting on what they believe will bring about a lesser evil, and then end up hurting others.

But it is much easier to assign blame and move on. A so-called bad person will always be the perfect scapegoat for issues bigger than them. In Itachi's case, the fascist government in the Leaf. It's easier to say Itachi could have just refused and decided not to be involved, than to recognize that like almost every other character in the narrative, he was under extreme duress, living in a military state. He was a child whose existence, along with all the other children and adults in the Leaf, was only valuable as long as he could serve as a tool for the war machine in the shinobi world's fucked up political system. And saying this is not the same as saying he was not capable of better decisions or that everything that he did thereafter or in general should not be read critically or subject to hypothetical consequences. It is the same as a saying his actions cannot be fully understood without complete context, and the themes of Naruto will never come through if every villain is just "evil" with no further nuance. And it would be boring too LOL

That said, I love to think about Itachi's situation back then. The ages in Naruto are a bit muddled, a little inconsistent, subject to change and interpretation, but Itachi was a child when he murdered everyone in the Uchiha compound. Most sources say he was 13. It should go without saying that someone so young isn't capable of the same decision-making or critical thinking as say, a 30-year-old, someone whose brain is finished developing and has much more experience on Earth.

Itachi's experience at this point in his life is informed by his age, and it's obviously informed by his childhood, as he has no other place from which to draw conclusions. Itachi grew up in a warring state. He saw people die and was subject to extreme violence in his formative years. To make matters worse, he was taught that war was inevitable and the only thing he could do to guard against it was kill others before they got the chance to kill him (threaten the village). Thusly, Itachi internalized at a very young age that what was in his power was to minimize damage (to himself, to his village, and to the world). What was not in his power was to stop this violence entirely (by adopting a critical mindset and going against fascist powers).

A part of this I think people often forget is that Itachi has absolutely nowhere to adopt this mindset FROM, as even though his father and the other members of the Uchiha clan seek equity in the Leaf, if they were to overthrow the Hokage and create a new system, it would still presumably center around the same ideals (minus, of course, the oppression of the Uchiha as a group). Fugaku is the head of the Uchiha clan at this time. As someone who imposed near impossible performance-related expectations on both of his sons, and withheld love and affection whenever they came up short (so often that it was at the cost of having any considerable emotional bond with either of them), there is absolutely no good reason to believe that Fugaku would reform the Leaf using a non-fascist ideology. And if he did, there is no good reason to believe that he would be some kind of visionary LMAO

This is important to remember because when it comes down to Itachi's decision to either kill everyone in the Uchiha compound and his family, or be part of the coup that would overthrow the Leaf, some people treat it as though it's a choice between fascism and non-fascism, which it most certainly is not. And if it was, Itachi, as a child who had grown up immersed in this ideology, would not be able to appreciate the difference. This context allows us to understand further what Itachi was really weighing in that moment. Accounting for his young age and limited worldview, the only valuable difference in this moment to Itachi was the amount of bloodshed that he would "allow" to happen. Essentially, he sees the options as follows:

Either give in to Danzo and kill everyone in the Uchiha compound, or facilitate a coup where the current government is (hopefully) overthrown and risk starting another war.

Here, Itachi pauses. He has known war. He knows how it affects children, adults, families, and whole nations. The peace he's living in currently is bought with blood, but it's the only peace he's ever known. The alternative is horrifying. And a war in this context, Itachi likely thinks, would be his fault, as he has now been put in the position to "prevent" it. Danzo and the whole shinobi system have groomed him into thinking so. Itachi, at age 13, cannot understand that there would be no war; it exists only as leverage for Danzo's argument at this point. His sensitivities are being played on.

Fugaku, though he is not the same as Danzo, offers about as much help as he does (that being none). Fugaku has no interest in avoiding war; if a war breaks out, it's justified because it will still mean his clan will no longer be living in oppression. This idea is valid, as fascist systems and discrimination can only cease to exist when we rise up against them; unfortunately, this most often calls for righteous violence, as the oppressive powers will not be moved with peaceful shows (not to mention they are willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid losing their hold on the people they have crushing power over, i.e. the Uchiha massacre). But Fugaku has no words to explain this to Itachi, who fears the worst and further fears being responsible for the worst. All he does is act as if it's a moral failing that his 13-year-old son is unwilling to stage a coup, which he believes could mark the abrupt end of a peace that's only just begun.

That said, let it be known that Itachi does appreciate this situation with SOME nuance, though it isn't of the kind that might have enabled him to see he was being manipulated. He at the very least understands that Danzo is a warmonger and oppresses those he fears (the Uchiha). He understands that the rights of his clan have been sorely disrespected, and that the issue needs correction. He understands the anger of his friends and family. This is why it takes him much deliberation before he can even come close to making a decision. He plays both sides right up until the end, listening to Danzo, as well as Fugaku and Shisui, paying attention to the current atmosphere in the Leaf as he tries to decide.

It is something he doesn't want to do. Here's where I get to the part I put in the tags of my drawing.

In this situation, it's almost worthless to write an analysis about Itachi's feelings at this time, his understanding of what was actually going on, his loyalty to his clan or his loyalty to the Leaf, because really, he could not grasp it. He was never prepared for this. He never knew he would be asked to make a decision he could only understand as "your family or the world?"

Itachi was put in a position that had no happy ending. There was no decision he could make that would not hurt. That could not result in a cataclysm that split him right down the middle. There was no version of this story that a 13-year-old could carry out thinking "I have done the right thing."

And that's the important part. Both sides asked him to make this decision, and so both sides are guilty of placing an immeasurable pressure on a child who should never have been put in such a position. Regardless of ideology, regardless of price, regardless of oppression or loyalty or devotion or any other thing- someone else should have made this decision for Itachi. Someone else should have been responsible. An adult, at the very least. Someone who COULD understand the implications of both options. Someone who COULD go forward and appreciate the evil of fascism and know that a coup was necessary. Itachi was never capable of such a thing. If he made the "wrong" decision, than every child who can't explain to you what a fascist government in a military state looks like and explain what the difference is between a hate crime and resisting a hateful power, is also wrong. Here is the nuance. These are things a 13-year-old in this universe cannot be expected to understand unless they are taught. And Itachi had no teacher. Quite the opposite. There were only forces pressing him from both sides, saying "choose."

Had his father done this for him, had Shisui been in this position, had any other adult Uchiha acting as a spy been put to this task, it would be a much different narrative. But of course, it had to be Itachi, who Danzo knew he could manipulate. It had to be a child, someone skilled enough to do the job, but inexperienced enough, afraid enough, to be willing to sacrifice everything they had to see the mission through. Someone you could whisper "greater good" to and have them hand over their well being on a plate. Someone who didn't understand they had the power and strength to destroy the system threatening them.

On a narrative level, Itachi exists to illustrate this point. How young people are systematically indoctrinated to serve a greater purpose, be it under a specific government, religion, or otherwise. We see it in real life fascism, in real life cults. There's no mistake. It isn't an accident that Itachi's story begins like this.

Which brings me to the rest of his life. The reason I drew the picture in the post referenced at the top. Itachi's character is a bit of a mystery the rest of the anime. Be that because of bad writing or an intentional omission, his motives, thoughts, and opinions are largely left ambiguous. However, there are still a few moments that interest me as far as the implications of his development.

When Itachi first comes back to the Leaf village, he faces Kakashi. On the one hand, this could simply be a narrative tool- the big bad meets the big good. He takes Kakashi out of commission! The first rogue shinobi we see who is able to defeat the pillar of the Leaf, the Copy Ninja, and without even breaking a sweat!

On the other hand, I find the brutality of Itachi's attack very intriguing. Again, it could be the tough guy act, but he's able to keep three jonin busy easily using standard genjutsu (with the help of Kisame). It wouldn't be a stretch to say that using the tsukuyomi is overkill, and at a considerable price, we learn later.

Why then would Itachi, who has been shown to have excellent battle intelligence, who is strategic to a fault, be willing to jeopardize his health among other things just to... scare the Leaf? Make sure Kakashi wouldn't be a nuisance in the future? Sure, the last one would make collecting Naruto less complicated, but they dispatched Kakashi easily enough, and surely Jiraiya, who Naruto was with at the time, would pose a bigger problem than Kakashi.

It doesn't make strategic sense, which makes me wonder if Itachi has a special animosity toward Kakashi. Being his superior in the ANBU before the Uchiha massacre, someone who was willing to conduct surveillance of the Uchiha compound without question, Kakashi could have become a symbol of the indifference of the Leaf for Itachi. He could very well have been a reminder of the inoperable position Itachi was put in when he was still a child, and Kakashi, of course, was an adult. Another adult who did nothing. Noticed nothing. Did not help Itachi.

And while I'm certain that Kakashi would have taken severe issue with the goings on in the Leaf at that time, judging by his reaction when he finds out the truth in Shippuden, Itachi knows him only by what he did then. Facilitated surveillance of the Uchiha compound, was a supportive superior, but nothing greater. A bystander whose compassion, while well meaning, was entirely unhelpful.

I don't think it's far fetched that Itachi fucking crucified Kakashi because he was so angry at what being in the Leaf did to him. At some point, as he got older, he realized how terrible it was. He realized there were people like him. Children who were "born killers". Pawns in the game of the shinobi powers.

After leaving the village, Itachi joins the Akatsuki, who are also seeking peace through war (another story). He is supposed to spy for them, but doesn't follow through in any enthusiastic way (that we're shown). He works alone for quite some time, or else with a group (briefly he was shown with Conan and Kakuzu). He is partners with Orochimaru before he's expelled from the Akatsuki. He is partners with one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He grows up and meets many people, sees lots of stories unfold. He learns that he isn't in a minority. Many shinobi are just like him.

And then, as an adult, he is partnered with Kisame, who he finds excellent camaraderie with because of their similar backgrounds. We see in this relationship that he understands what happened to him and what he did enough to acknowledge that, while neither of them are monsters, as many people say, they are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans are complicated. Wrong and right and wrong and right. They understand each other, and Itachi understands more clearly what the world puts these children up to. What it forces shinobi to become. That it isn't all his fault, but he still did it. And so he is responsible. He appears to be able to live with that.

But when he returns to the Leaf, those feelings bubble up. He hates the Leaf. He hates that system. He hates what he did. Maybe he even hates being a shinobi, how his excellence was weaponized, how being an Uchiha doomed him and his clan. And for what?

Itachi is played as a character who is only sensible, only logical, only interested in practical things, has nothing to express. But the way he behaves toward Kakashi in that moment bares all his grief and anger. I just like to think about it. We have so few moments where we get to see Itachi genuinely. The fight with Kakashi, the Sasuke/Deidara fight, his thoughtful moments with Kisame. Just makes me wonder what could've been if Itachi's story had gone a little differently.

Anyway, if anyone would like me to expand on any points or has additional thoughts, feel free to hop in my ask box or leave a comment. Thanks for the interest, I love to talk.

#this is wisp #itachi uchiha #analysis

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spicyclover · 9 months

Text

Delilah | Part two

Summary: “ Hey there, Delilah I know times are gettin' hard But just believe me, girl Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar We'll have it good We'll have the life we knew we would My word is good “

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

You kiss her head and close the door getting back to the living room. Paola returned to her apartment, and you sat by the door, wondering what to do.

You’ve had an exhausting week. The lack of sleep and the anxiety of seeing him again is eating away at you. You have nightmares. Each time the same. You are in front of his house six years earlier, begging him to let you in. The rain is falling, and you are wet. Your tears mingle with the rain, and you’re exhausted from banging on his door. You end up collapsing on the ground, curling up on yourself. The dream keeps repeating itself, and you wake up with a start every time the door opens.

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to find your breath. You frantically search around you without knowing exactly what you are looking for. You are hot. The sheets are soaked with sweat, and you sigh by passing your hand on your face. It can’t last any longer. You look at the time on the dial on your bedside table and blow more, knowing it’s just four in the morning. “So much for your sleep.” You take your phone and look at the messages you received. Your mother sent you a mem of a cat, and you smile tenderly, noticing the resemblance with Cato. Speaking of which, he enters the room discreetly and rests at the edge of the bed. "Of course, he heard me." You look at him briefly before he turns to the door.

It is not possible, this cat. No matter what time he asks for food. You whisper it is not time, and he shakes his disgruntled tail. You keep watching the news and your networks. You follow the F1 closely and pass their story one after the other. The Spanish Grand Prix is fast approaching. Delilah always dreams of going there and seeing the cars in real life. You look at the time again, and already two hours are gone. You decide to get up and start the routine.

The hours go by, and the idea is always in your head. Why not go? There is no harm. What could happen? That you meet him, that he recognizes you, that he sees Delilah, that he ignores you and ignores her at the same time and that your daughter’s little heart is broken again... Out of the question! You are on the bus back, and your mind is lost in your contacts. You are in his name. You never managed to get his number off your phone or his nickname simultaneously. Your thumbs overlook his name without touching him. Your brain hesitates, but your body seems to want to decide for itself.

The bus stops suddenly, and you press the call button. Panic invades you, and you look at your phone with big eyes. You get it near your ear.

"Sorry, the number you’re trying to reach is no longer available."

He changed his number. Surprisingly, your heart is tightening. You’ve invaded with vomiting. He changed his number. That asshole changed his number. You know it’s not necessarily your fault, but you can’t help but think about it. He didn’t even send you a message to warn you. Tears come up, but you refuse to let them down. He doesn’t deserve your tears. He abandoned you. He... he broke your heart.

You put your keys in the lock and the ball in your belly. What are you going to do now? Delilah will never recover. She wanted you to contact him so she could see him at least once. You don’t want to break that hope in her. It’s so hard. Not having her father present for her is already so hard. Not having two signatures in her school notebook. Not being related to his father’s side. Not having him at her dance shows. Not having him for her birthdays.

You open the door with a heavy heart and a full head. Delilah sits quietly in the living room and draws. She is so wise. You thank Paola, and you sit next to her.

"Delilah, cariño, escúchame." You say, caressing her long hair. "Sé que realmente quieres conocer a tu padre y yo..." Delilah, baby, listen to me. I know you really want to meet your dad, and I..."

"¿Te pusiste en contacto con él?" She asks, starry eyes. "¿Quiere verme? ¿Dijo qué? ¿Cuándo lo vemos?" She gets increasingly excited, and you feel bad breaking her dream. Did you contact him? He wants to see me? He said what? When do we see him?

You don’t know why or how. But the lie that came out of your mouth sealed your destiny.

"Sí, e incluso dijo que lo vamos a visitar en Madrid. Vamos a pasar algún tiempo con la abuela y el abuelo." You want to bang your head against a wall. Why couldn’t you admit to your daughter that her father didn’t warn you about his number change? It wasn’t hard to say you couldn’t get in touch with him, and he didn’t want to see her… Yes, and he even said we’ll visit him in Madrid. We’re going to spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa.

You got yourself in a mess.

The end of the month is here, and you get on the train to your parents' country house. You haven’t been there in five years and for good reason. Last time you were here, you were so pregnant with your daughter. Your mother begged you for weeks to come home and spend a few days trying to reconcile your relationship with your father, but he wouldn’t listen and went fishing all the time you were there.

You walked in the fields with your mother to try to get her out. You laughed when you saw Blanca in the distance. You quickly turned around to avoid her, and your mother followed you. You heard her call you, but you ignored her. Fortunately, your oversized coat hid your belly, and you could leave without further incident. You took a train ticket that night to avoid another incident, and you’re saying goodbye to your mother and hometown with big tears. A few days later, when you arrived in Fuengirola, you gave birth. You texted him to tell him she was born, but you never got an answer. So you didn’t insist, and you gave up.

The landscapes pass by, and you get to fall from the night in the small village. Delilah is asleep, and you take her off the train thanking the nice Samaritan who helped you get your bags out of the vehicle. You then found your mother waiting at the entrance of the station. She greets you with open arms and embraces tenderly the forehead of Delilah, who sleeps in your arms. You thank her kindly for taking your bags, and you head to the car. The headlights are on, and you’re surprised to see your dad sitting in the driver’s seat, but you don’t say anything. You don’t know how to react by getting closer to the car. He comes out and approaches you. No words are exchanged, but you know he forgave you. He hugs you and kisses your temple before he takes Delilah and puts her in the car seat.

The ride is quiet, and you end up falling asleep at the noise of the road. Two hours of the car are between the city center and the house. This dream-free sleep does you good, and you recover the energy that left you that last month. The vehicle is parked, and you wake up. Your eyes are looking at the garden where you spent all your childhood and the house that saw you grow up. Six years have passed. You cannot believe it. Delilah wakes up beside you, and you smile tenderly. The energy took her, and she began to admire everything around her. She greets her grandpa and grandmother warmly before running around the garden laughing.

The first few days go well. Your parents get to know your daughter, and you gradually regain your strength. You’re happy to find your father. After so many years, you’re pleased to be able to hug him and watch your favourite show together again. You took a stroll through the city and its surroundings. Delilah got a nice bike, and your father has been teaching her to do it for a few days. You talk to your mother, and you miss your complicity.

You spend a lot of time biking and enjoying nature. It changes the urban landscapes that you’re used to seeing. Delilah is riding a pony for the first time and doesn’t want to let it go. She eats pony, laughs pony, plays pony, and wants a pony.

You regret that your mother had this idea, but seeing Delilah so happy does you good. Maybe she will forget her father...You spoke with your parents about Delilah’s desire to meet her dad. To be able to see him. You talked about your fears and the hard years you’ve been through alone. Your father feels guilty that he couldn’t put his ego aside so that you could stay close to them, but you reassure him that you don’t regret anything. Seeing your daughter smile daily is worth all the trouble in the world.

You’re talking about going to a Grand Prix to find him, but you don’t want to. You’re completely lost and don’t know what to do about it. You talk about a good part of the evening, and it’s only once the big clock in the living room announces midnight that your parents decide to go to bed. You just sit out in the open, taking advantage of the summer breeze to think better. It’s already mid-July. You can’t believe that time is moving so fast. You return to your room a few minutes later with a restless but relaxed mind.

The next day, you are at the village market, and you market the various vegetables and fruit you see at the best prices. Delilah smells each product and displays a satisfied head every time the smell is sweet. The traders laugh at her adorable face and even offer her fruit for free. Delilah walks through the different stands making her little game to get as many items as possible. You sneer tenderly with your mother when you notice your daughter’s ploy.

Watch her from the corner of your eye. Her little hat with strawberries strapped to her head helps you spot her in the crowd. She is at the honey stand. You thank the seller, who hands you your bag filled with good vegetables and turns around to find your daughter. You see her talking to a stranger. You frown as you approach. If there’s one thing you don’t want her to do, it’s talk to strangers.

“Delilah, come on. Let’s go. We’re done shopping for today.” She turns to you, and the stranger raises his head. Your heart misses a beat. It’s not possible. What’s he doing there. The eyes of the unknown also open.

Let me know if you would like a part three in the comments!

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