#it is also not her place to be held responsible for what others did deliberately and without informing her
Text
so, after two years I have finally written something again. it's actually one of my new year's resolutions to start writing again, just a little at least, to get into it again. I will probably also edit some of the things I wrote in the past and re-post them again because I had a phase where I deleted almost all of them (just girly things 🤪)
anyways, this is what I came up with. hope you enjoy!
thanks, @lucienarcheron for reading and offering advice 🫶
rating: mature
word count: 3,207
or: read it on ao3
archer and prey
She could feel his wicked grin on her skin as she whimpered in response, leaning back against his hard body, leaning back against his hard body, his kisses lazy – without haste. Her head fell on his shoulder as his clever hands moved to her waist. He held her firmly and with care. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
All she felt and needed to feel was this pure heat he was offering her, this fire he was responsible for that was burning low in her body and threatening to consume her. And Elain could not stop herself from shivering, repeating with a hushed voice, “Please, please.” He chuckled at her impatience.
But he rewarded her the next moment when his tongue was on her neck, drawing circles. And his lips – his perfect lips – moved against her sensitive skin, though never increasing the pace. She liked this torture more than she would ever admit. Liked how he seemed to relish in taking his time with her, too.
His hands were on her thighs, his fingers burrowed in her skirts, hoisting them up little by little. He wasn’t close enough to where she wanted him, and Elain propped herself against him with a force that surprised and delighted him. He laughed and her stomach clenched at the sound.
More, more, more.
She might have said the words aloud.
Lucien’s hand moved to her neck. It might be his favourite part of hers, she thought, with the way he always kept returning to it. He caressed her collarbone, lay his fingers around her neck, and squeezed lightly. Elain gasped as she felt his hard length at her back, his fingertips gently turning her head to face him. She looked at him and the rugged scar that graced his face.
Wicked, wanton, wild.
“Please,” she whispered again and lifted her head to meet his lips. She wanted to make him lose his composure, make him forget his purpose for a second. She kissed him like she had never kissed him before, pressing against him, her hands up in his long hair, tugging and pulling. He groaned and Elain felt the sound in her core – but it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him everywhere forever.
Lucien’s hand went to the back of her head, tilting it to have better access to her, his tongue now occupied with her own. He was in charge and taking over, deliberately slowing his movements yet again. She snarled, and he laughed again, this time louder. Her head was spinning.
Lucien’s other hand moved to her hips, turning and hoisting her up onto him. Elain’s head fell back at the pressure of him against her core and started to move slowly, leisurely against him. She felt so good, breathing his name in painful need. He was wearing too many clothes – she needed them off.
“You’re mine,” he purred, his lips on her collarbone, sucking until she felt a pain so good, so sharp –
Elain gasped as she bolted up from her bed. Breathing hard and fast, she placed a hand on her chest, willing herself to calm down. She let it happen again. This dream, this fantasy she could never shake off, no matter how much she told herself she hated him in the daylight. It was only in dreams she said his name these days, allowing it to roll off her tongue only then when no one else could hear.
She felt like a traitor. To Feyre, to Nesta, to herself.
To him.
She tried so hard to not think of him, even when he was in town. Even more so when he was out somewhere on the Continent with that human queen. Did not allow her thoughts to ever wander and wonder. Yet, at night, when the stars sparkled in the sky and the winds moved the sheer fabric of her curtains into her bedroom, her traitorous thoughts returned to him.
She knew it wasn’t fair to anyone. Not to either of them but especially herself. She had promised herself a thousand times to not let it bother her, this feeling that seemed to grow day by day. She thought perhaps that was why this body, this altered mind, now urged her to go to him, to touch him, even if only in her dreams. But she understood that loneliness was a burden she could not get rid of at night even if she could pretend it disappeared under the bright sun of Velaris. She blamed him for it.
Elain shivered as she pushed aside the covers of her bed and walked to the open window. Her feet were cold on the wooden floor, but she didn’t mind. It cleared her head. Velaris looked beautiful at night and she wished it could give her the strength Feyre drew from it. She wished it could be enough that she wanted to fit in. Wished she could feel like Nesta did after suffering for so long. But wishes were not enough and with each day passing, the feeling of isolation and desperation grew inside her and made her restless. Made her feel more alone.
Elain sighed and leaned her head against the opened window frame. She closed her eyes.
It could be so quiet here, at night. And only because the city was asleep and she couldn't be caught did Elain let herself think about her dream once more. She had stopped counting how often she awoke in the darkness, wishing to be close to him. Most of the time, the dreams were like this: slow and passionate, feeling too real. Like he was right here, behind her, worshipping her. She could almost smell him, taste him on her lips. She opened her eyes to stop the pain threatening to squeeze her heart until only tears could help her get rid of it.
Sometimes Elain woke because he touched her pointed ears and that was not something she could even accustom herself to in her dreams. Sometimes it was because she peaked, twisting in her sheets and waking up satisfied and yet yearning for more. She wondered how that was possible when she could not remember how his touch felt on her skin. Other times, it did not get that far. It was words that drew her from her subconscious.
Lucien wasn’t in Velaris. But she knew he was on his way back to the Night Court, to report on whatever it was exactly that he was doing out there for Feyre and Rhysand. She prohibited herself from caring every time someone uttered his name in her presence and hated her body for not complying. Elain wondered if on the mornings that followed nights like these, when she couldn’t go back to sleep and waited for the sunrise – she wondered if Feyre noticed. If that was why her sister studied Elain with a wariness that followed her through the rest of the day. But her sister never said a word.
Feyre likely suspected Elain would shut down the conversation, never admitting to anything. And how could her sister, with her perfect baby, and perfect mate, who she had accept with love in her heart, ever understand? How could anyone? Nesta once could, but Nesta loved Cassian. Nesta had friends and a purpose. She had a home.
Elain had that once, too. With Graysen. She almost did, anyway.
She sighed, sliding to the floor and letting her chin rest on her knees. It would be a long night as she longed for the day.
---------------------------------------------------------
He was here, she realized.
In the townhouse.
It was barely dawn.
His heart beat loudly in his chest and his scent – like a summer morning brightening the day – filled up the air. Elain couldn’t breathe as all of her senses focused on him – an instinct she wasn’t sure how to work against. She hadn’t actively decided to leave her room, yet here she was. He noticed her a few seconds later, looking up the staircase with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth.
He was so beautiful, she thought. It was unfair.
“My lady,” he said.
Those were his first words after months of utter silence. She wondered if his being here meant he had freed the firebird and was back in Prythian for good. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
Elain furrowed her brow. “I live here now,” she replied and hated how quiet and unsure she sounded.
“I assumed you would be with Feyre and Rhys –”
“I thought it would be best to give them privacy. As a young family.”
Her heartbeat matched his. Could he still not hear it?
He was silent. She thought it was the most they had spoken in ages. His eyes scanned her from top to bottom as she gripped the ornate railing. As she squeezed it like she might bend it underneath her frail hands.
“You look well,” he said then, a hint of a polite smile on his lips. She swallowed and Elain did not think it could be more awkward. “I’m sorry for disturbing you in your home. I figured I would recommend the townhouse to meet with Feyre not to … barge in on you, and she didn’t mention anything about you being here. I am here for business.”
“Business,” she said slowly, frowning. Of course, Feyre hadn’t said anything to him.
But before she could say anything else, the door opened and Feyre rushed in. Elain stiffened while Lucien seemed to relax.
She suspected he hated being here. She didn’t let herself think of what else he might have hated.
Feyre lit up as she hugged him. “Lucien, I didn’t realize you were here this early!” She glanced up at Elain and cringed slightly. Elain said nothing. Feyre likely had planned on warning her.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied softly.
And Elain didn’t hear what Feyre said next as everything grew louder in her head. Like water rushing right above her and into those sensitive ears. The duo moved to the parlour and Elain found herself following them slowly.
The door wasn’t closed, so she supposed she was welcome, especially when Lucien didn’t tear his eyes away from her as she entered the room and found herself by the window. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds.
The weather seemed to match the mood of her mate.
He seemed to have anticipated the arrival of Rhys and his brother and still, his mood worsened. He may have moved slightly closer to her.
“Am I interrupting?” Eris said, grinning widely at Elain, who, in turn, frowned at him. She didn’t know what to think of the redhead. Something about him unsettled her. He looked so different from Lucien. His nose was sharper, his skin paler, and his eyes seemed to take in everyone in the room at the same time – as if he was used to paying attention to every single person in his vicinity. Like he didn’t trust anyone here. Elain could hardly fault him for that.
“Be quick about it, Eris,” Lucien hissed and Elain watched Rhys step behind Feyre, kissing her on her cheek. Her stomach tightened painfully.
“Oh, brother, how have I missed you, too,” Eris snickered. He took a seat in the armchair closest to the fireplace. “Does your firebird miss you already?”
Elain froze at his question, well aware that everyone’s eyes were on her. The room was shrinking and every little noise, the fly on the windowsill, the birds chirping outside, Eris’s breathing, was getting louder and louder and louder. She wanted to cry and she didn’t know why.
She still remembered how difficult moments like this had been in those first few months. After she had surfaced, scared and shaking, and Lucien had made his way to her. When she had arrived at the Night Court, Feyre gone, Nesta blazing, and everything had been too much, too loud, pungent. It had been Lucien, surprisingly, who understood and offered the advice she desperately needed. She had clung to the windows of the house, praying for peace and quiet, praying for her old life to come back to her.
“Close your eyes when it gets too overwhelming in this new body,” he had said. She had blinked in response and looked at him. His brutally beautiful face had looked like he understood. She hadn’t seen how. “Make sure to breathe in deeply, and I mean, deeply. Down to your navel. Then hold it, and breathe out slowly. Close your eyes and block out the noise by focusing on one thing. Be it a bird chirping or footsteps outside.”
She hadn’t replied, and Lucien had stood, bowing, to leave again. This, Elain, had to admit, had helped more than the healer’s poking and touching. She didn’t have to tell him that it was the sound of his heartbeat, or the memory thereof, that she often used to calm herself down. Even now, with so much time having passed. She didn’t know why these Fae senses were taking so long for her to get used to.
Now, her ears focused on the steady, yet agitated beat of his heart. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.
The noises disappeared as she continued to breathe deeply. She looked at Eris, surprised to see his eyes observing her, not his brother.
“The firebird,” Lucien spat, “is still a firebird and unless you have helpful information for breaking her curse, I suggest you tell us what you came here for, brother.”
Rhys chuckled and sat with Feyre on the couch, obviously trying to calm the flared tempers. He looked suspiciously at ease, but maybe that belonged to the artful skillset of a High Lord.
Her sister rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to discuss Vassa, Eris.”
Lucien ran his fingers through his hair, clenching his jaw and Elain couldn’t help but look back at Lucien, but he was staring at Eris.
“I am here to discuss my father’s death.”
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Then –
“You mean you are here to discuss treason,” Feyre said quietly as Lucien remained silent.
But Elain could hear him clear and loud. He did not want to be in this room. She saw flashes of blood on a dark floor, she saw a red forest and a head on the ground. A thin, red-haired woman crying in a beautifully decorated parlor.
“Treason,” Eris grunted. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“We told you, we cannot get involved,” Rhys said slowly. But he leaned forward like he had had the thought, too. Lucien noticed and clenched his fists.
Elain’s heart ached, and she hated herself for following him into this room. Hated herself for getting herself into this mess and to witness him like this – agitated and internally pacing. Did he want to return to his home? Did he miss the sight of those colourful trees?
“Mother would like to see you again,” Eris simply said.
“He will kill me on sight,” Lucien’s voice was quiet and emotionless. Somehow Elain knew what her mate’s brother would say next. Feyre did, too, as she straightened her back and looked at Eris with narrow eyes.
“Not if you bring your mate – both of you protected by the Night Court and her being Feyre Cursebreaker’s sister, he would not dare.”
Silence.
“You have lost your mind,” Feyre said at the same time as Lucien snarled, “Over my dead body.”
Eris wanted her to be a distraction. To be a piece in his chess game as he played his way to the position of a High Lord. Rhys was silent, but Elain’s irritation with Eris grew. He knew, she realized, when to press which buttons. Her brother-in-law understood too, what Elain had learned in this moment.
Feyre was watching her with worried eyes and Elain felt a darkness brush against her mind, but she recoiled from it. She barely could form any coherent thought and did not want to have Feyre invade the chaos inside of her.
“Elain.” Lucien’s voice was gentle and she looked at him, his golden eye whirring frantically. He looked ill while Eris seemed to be enjoying his moment. Elain clenched her fist and faced Eris.
“You cannot decide to use me and expect me to oblige. You cannot drag Lucien into this simply because it is convenient for you. This is your mess.” She was oddly proud of herself for saying those words without shaking. The anger, a burning flame ignited in her heart, made sure of that. Rhys smiled. As did Eris.
“Maybe it is. But surely you and Lucien have a desire to see him gone. After all, you are a princess of the Autumn Court now.”
Lucien’s eyes turned cold, perhaps for the first time in his life. “Elain is a free female. The Autumn Court is nothing to her. As it is to me. We are not going to help you commit treason. I will not risk her life like that.” His words were clipped. Elain didn’t understand why Rhys and Feyre stayed silent.
“What of mother?”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “What of mother?”
“You know I will do it either way. With or without the Night Court’s help. I understand their … reluctance to assist me. Despite my continued assistance over these last months.” Feyre rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, Eris continued, “I will do it and should I fail, what do you think becomes of our mother?” He looked at Lucien and Elain swore she saw a flicker of vulnerability show on his face. Perhaps another form of manipulation. Her heart ached nonetheless.
“He will punish her,” Eris added and looked at Elain. “If they won’t help me save my mother, you certainly could, Elain. I will forever be in your debt.”
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Lucien turned livid and tried very hard to restrain himself and not tackle Eris off the armchair. His brother was holding on to the armrest as if he was aware of that. Elain didn’t hear what Feyre and Rhys were saying, but their anger was palpable.
Elain knew, she knew, that Eris was a mastermind, but she believed him. She believed that he wanted nothing more than to see his mother in safety. Elain didn’t know their father, but given Lucien’s hatred for the Autumn Court, she could only guess what evil he was responsible for. She again saw puddles of blood on the floor. Did blood stain marble?
It irritated her that Eris used her to force Lucien to play by his rules. He clearly did not want to step a foot inside his home again, but everyone in this townhouse knew that if Elain went, Lucien would follow. Perhaps that was why she said, faintly but clearly enough for everyone to hear, “Fine.”
“I will go but not for you,” she said looking at Eris with a frown, then back at Lucien. His face had paled. Elain didn’t really know where it came from, she had certainly not expected the day to go like this. Seeing Lucien, seeing his brother, and saying things she never would have expected herself to even think. “I will go for your mother. No one should be left at risk.”
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
Outer Child, chapter 13
( I mean, the Foundation has a point, but they have forgotten that they are up against West, whose response to feeling helpless or dismissed is to make terrible plans that cause a lot of trouble. )
Outer Child, chapter 13
Warnings: none
Words: 1100~
-----
Victoria knew it was going to be bad news when Combs wanted to talk to her in her containment's observation room. An interview room would be more appropriate, but he knew that Victoria would get anxious and combative and think the Foundation was going to try to sneak Amica and the Doctor away from her if she was too far from them.
Victoria took a peek through the observation window. She'd deliberately placed her bed directly below it, since the angle gave her a little privacy. It didn't matter much, given that the room also had a video camera. The important part was that Amica and the Doctor were safe, sitting on the floor and occupied with a small tupperware full of apple and pear slices.
The observation room had a small desk. Combs waited, hands clasped on the table, until Victoria sat in the other chair. "They've figured out how to reverse the transformation," he said.
Victoria hadn't realised how tight her chest felt until those words loosened it. "Finally."
"They aren't going to," Combs continued. He had never been much good at hiding his emotions. He was angry about this, too.
The invisible hand clamped around her heart again. "Fuck them."
"They're keeping one of the D-Class they transformed as well," said Combs. "They want to see if she'll age normally. And they want to see if 049 will grow up at all or if he doesn't age since he still has his anomalies."
"What about 035?"
"They think it will be easier to contain this way." Combs sighed. "I tried, West. I told them this would cause setbacks to researching 049. That there had already been an incident with 2264. They didn't want to hear it. They're more interested in using the object to render dangerous SCPs harmless, so they're leaving 049 and 035 transformed to study that."
Victoria clenched her fists. "Do you know the method of restoration? Was the object itself needed, or could a thaumaturge reverse it, or a reality-bender -"
"I don't know. They didn't tell me details. It isn't my project, it just affects my project." He slumped forwards onto his hands. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I know how hard this is on you. Please don't do anything rash."
"What can I do? I don't even know what Site they have the object at," Victoria huffed.
"I know you well enough to know you'll think of something, and it's going to go badly for you." Combs sat back up and held up his hands as if to deflect Victoria's glare. "You're self-aware enough to know what you're like - when you're in a bad situation, you don't ask anyone for help, you try to fight it head-on and you make things worse for yourself. You can't even say it hasn't killed you yet!"
"My plans are perfectly good for the information I have. If I knew what the Foundation did to reverse -" Victoria cut herself off. "No. That's not your fault. They're withholding the information from you, too."
"Please just … make a plan around dealing with the situation as-is, not about how to breach and steal the object or whatever you're plotting. Take some time to think about it and try to accept the change in case it's permanent. Ask for help when you need it," said Combs. "I'll keep trying to get the higher-ups to reverse the decision. But I need you to stay out of trouble."
Victoria sagged back. "Fine. I'll try." Try to accept the change, he'd said. Not maybe you'll come to like it. He knew better than to try to spin things positively.
Once back in containment, Victoria kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed. Of course the Foundation wasn't going to help. Leaving Amica and the Doctor like this was an interesting experiment. It rendered two of the most dangerous SCPs in Site-19 harmless. If Victoria didn't know them like she did, if they weren't her spouses that she wanted back so badly, she would have agreed with the Foundation. It would be fascinating to know the results and it made Site-19 a little safer.
Small fingers patted her arm. Victoria turned her head to look into a pair of wide black voids. "Victoria is sad," Amica stated.
"Yes," Victoria agreed, sitting up. "Don't worry about it. I'll always love you."
Amica climbed up on the bed and curled up in Victoria's lap. The Doctor appeared a moment later, having a little more trouble getting on the bed since he had brought the fruit slices along with him. He held out a piece of apple. "Eat?"
The offer almost made Victoria burst into tears. Even like this, the Doctor tried to look after her. Food made him happy, it should make Victoria happy.
Victoria wasn't hungry but she ate a few slices of fruit for the Doctor. Once he was satisfied that his treatment was helping, he settled against Victoria's side and continued munching on his snack. Sometimes he handed a piece to Victoria or Amica. Amica remained curled in Victoria's lap. She pet its hair like petting a cat, and it hummed happily.
They were trying to comfort her, in their childlike ways. It was sweet and made Victoria feel incredibly guilty. It wasn't fair to them. She was the adult, it wasn't their responsibility to comfort her. She had to be strong and look after them.
Ask for help when you need it.
The only help that mattered was restoring Amica and the Doctor to their true selves. If she couldn't have that, she needed comfort and understanding, and there would be none of that in the Foundation. Combs was kind, but he was her researcher and couldn't be a friend. Her therapist would just tell her she needed friends - but even though Site-19 had a small enrichment program being tested, Victoria had never been good at making friends. And who would want her as a friend? She had nothing to offer.
There was only one being left she could ask for help.
Victoria was fairly certain that Odious hadn't lied to her, that it wasn't just a trick to lure her back to Alagadda. Odious didn't cajole or manipulate, it took. The only reason it hadn't simply kidnapped her in the dream was that the other Humours had different plans and would have punished it. But the other Humours didn't care what happened to her or the Doctor.
She couldn't trust Odious. She couldn't trust Alagadda.
But the Lords of Alagadda wanted Amica restored, while the Foundation would do nothing.
The risk of madness, torture, and death against the certainty of a lifetime of having lost the best thing she'd ever had.
She would give Combs a chance to get the decision reversed. He deserved that much of her trust.
But she would make discreet inquiries to the location of Ardente's containment.
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
"We need to be quick," Eddie whispered, gently closing the door to Ben's luxurious two-floor cabin on the waterfront in New Hampshire, isolating themselves from the Loser’s bustling reunion outside. Eddie's yearning for a private moment with Richie was palpable as he assertively pushed him onto the bed.
Surprise flickered across Richie's face as Eddie straddled him, his gaze filled with passion. "Wow, Spaghed's, I've never seen you like this before. Did something in Bev's cooking make you feel frisky?"
Eddie responded slyly, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Wouldn't you like to know? You also ate her pie."
If someone were to ask, they would expect to hear that Eddie and Richie, a deeply affectionate couple, were living together, unable to keep their hands off each other. However, while Richie resided in his sprawling home in Los Angeles, Eddie still inhabited a dim, modest apartment in New York, leading to a solitary existence. Their encounters were sparse, primarily conducted over phone calls, despite having been in a committed relationship for almost two years.
Their panting breaths mingled as their naked bodies intertwined, the other members of the Losers' Club bound to notice their prolonged absence. But they couldn't care less. In this moment, the joy they felt for finally being together overshadowed any concerns about being discovered.
Richie's heart swelled with love as he pondered that familiar question. Eddie's soft breath tickled his neck, radiating a sense of peace and happiness.
“Hey, Eds?” he whispered, receiving a blissful grunt in response. “Do you ever wish we could be together all the time?”
Eddie's tranquil contentment faltered, and he held Richie a little tighter, his silence speaks volumes. "Yes," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
A surge of anticipation filled Richie as he made a suggestion they had discussed before, though it had been some time. Nearly two years had passed since they started dating, or rather, since their first kiss in the hospital, right in front of Myra. Eddie had taken time to confront his feelings, navigate his divorce, and financial constraints had plagued him after the finalization.
“What if you come to live with me in L.A.?” Richie proposed, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes.
“Um- I...” Eddie's words stumbled out in a hesitant manner, his fingers nervously tapping on Richie's stomach. He sat up abruptly, hastily pulling on his boxers. "Maybe it's time we went back," he suggested, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"No, Eddie, please don't do that! Just answer me," Richie pleaded, aching in his heart. "Is it me? Are you not ready to live together?"
“No!” Eddie cut him off abruptly, a touch too harshly. He only managed to put his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes untouched. His gaze drifted sadly around the room, deliberately avoiding Richie's piercing blue eyes. "It's not that," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm just... afraid to move to L.A. I've hardly traveled anywhere. Maine and New York City are the only places I've ever lived. It's embarrassing, really."
"It's not embarrassing," Richie interjected, gently touching Eddie's hand to capture his attention. "You know, L.A. isn't as scary as it seems."
"You weren't scared when you first moved there?" Eddie raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Oh, I was scared shitless!" Richie chuckled, earning a trademark eye roll from Eddie. Clearing his throat, Richie shifted to sit closer to him, rubbing his hand down Eddie’s back. "But it gets better with time. Although to be honest, I'm still a little scared myself."
Eddie was immediately filled with surprise and concern. "You are?" he questioned, his worry evident in his voice.
Richie tenderly rubbed his thumb over Eddie's hand. "But when I'm talking to you, I don't feel as lonely," he confessed, his touch providing comfort.
Eddie's eyes glistened with tears, which he quickly wiped away. Overwhelmed by guilt, Richie embraced him tightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he murmured sincerely.
"I hate New York!" Eddie confessed tearfully, his emotions pouring out. "I've always despised it! It's too chaotic, I dislike the people, the city is overwhelming, and I'm constantly afraid of running into Myra wherever I go. I hardly ever leave that cramped, shitty apartment! No matter how much I clean and sanitize, it always smells terrible. My hands are covered in scabs from incessant scrubbing. And...," he paused, taking a deep breath as tears streamed down his cheeks, "I am so fucking lonely!"
Richie held Eddie tightly, allowing them a moment to seek solace in each other's arms. He gently kissed Eddie's cheek and whispered, "So, why don't you come to live with me?"
Eddie sniffled, holding him even closer. "What if I fuck it all up?" he questioned, his voice filled with uncertainty.
"Fuck what up?" Richie inquired, his gaze fixed on Eddie.
"This," Eddie replied, gesturing between them. "I wasn't a good husband. I don't even know what Myra and I were, but I was never romantic. I constantly felt the need to escape rather than be at home with her. And I'm just... too neurotic."
"No, you're not..." Richie began, but Eddie interrupted him.
"Don't disagree, Richie! You know I am!" Eddie insisted, his voice tinged with frustration.
Richie smiled, playfully bumping his shoulder against Eddie's. "Yeah, you are," he conceded, his tone filled with affection.
"Oh, gee thanks!" Eddie responded sarcastically.
"What? You told me to agree!" Richie chuckled.
Eddie sniffled, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I just wish I could be brave," he admitted, his voice laden with longing.
"Eddie, you are the bravest man I know. Remember what I said to you?" Richie reminded him gently.
"Yeah, I know," Eddie replied, his voice heavy with emotion. "But somehow, I can walk into a demonic alien clown's lair where I almost didn't make it out alive, and yet I can't gather the courage to move across the country to live with you in L.A. And it fucking sucks because I love you!"
Richie felt like his heart had exploded. Eddie's confession left him in shock. Had they never expressed their love for each other during their nightly chats? A wave of warmth surged through Richie's entire body, even to his core.
"You love me?" Richie whispered, his voice unusually cautious, a departure from his usual demeanor.
The confession took Eddie completely by surprise, leaving him on the verge of fainting. Myra had often said those words to him, but it was the first time he truly felt it in his heart. "Ye-Yes," he managed to utter, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Oh, my little Spaghetti-Man. I love you too!" Richie exclaimed, showering Eddie's face with kisses, one after another. Eddie chuckled, attempting to act disgusted, but failing to hide his genuine delight.
"You're ruining the moment with those gross nicknames, asshole!" Eddie playfully pushed back against Richie, secretly relishing the sensation of their skin touching.
Richie enveloped Eddie in his embrace, his hands securing themselves around Eddie's waist as he lost himself in the depths of Eddie's remarkable brown eyes.
Now it was Eddie's turn to feel his heart melt away. He had never imagined that happiness could feel like this. Richie was the only person with whom he felt safe enough to reveal his thick red scar. It was a constant source of shame for Eddie, but at this moment, it became a symbol of his courage.
"Eddie, if you come to live with me in L.A., I promise to be there with you every step of the way," Richie vowed passionately, his words brimming with sincerity. "I'll help you move out of that shitty apartment, whether by flying or driving, and I'll carry you into my home. We'll explore every corner of L.A. together. I just want to see you happy. What do you say? Will you move in with me?"
Tears streamed down Eddie's face as he nodded in agreement. "Yes," he whispered, his voice filled with overwhelming emotion.
They kissed passionately, sinking back into the soft pillows. Eddie crawled on top of Richie once again, peering down at him with a mischievous look in his eyes.
"Do you think we should go back now?" Richie asked a hint of playfulness in his tone.
Eddie discarded his underwear, that familiar sly look returning to his eyes. "I think we can take a few more minutes," he teased, giving in to the allure of their intimate connection.
13 notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay, yeah, I didn’t contradict your interpretations with the intent to be rude, I was trying to actively forment discussion with someone who I think has an interesting interpretation of the characters, that perhaps might lead to even more in depth discussion of these issues and how they could play out not only within the story at hand, but by also examining the situation within several hypothetical spaces. Like, nature versus nurture, and what your takes perhaps are on how much that can affect a person’s sexuality, their openness and awareness, as well as freedom to explore themselves as opposed to feeling like they have to hide themselves. I didn’t make my own post, as it were, because a discussion of such issues is just that… a discussion. As someone who has an excellent bead on the character, as well as their own very clearly held takes, it was less about purposefully ‘disagreeing’ with you and far more in the interest of starting a dialogue. I simply stated my own take as a starting point, a place from which a discussion could go, as I was feeling curious about what led to your particular reading of Touya. Not everything that doesn’t agree with your own stated opinion is meant as a disavowment of that take or to antagonize or belittle your take on a character. I kinda thought people post and ask questions and such because we like talking about characters, exploring their dynamics, exploring the things about them we connect with, or the things we feel reflect ourselves. I could understand your ire if I had used rude language or was deliberately trying to bait you into an argument, but all I did was start with how I had personally seen Touya and then presented the question of seeing Touya through a different lens, how his possible development could have otherwise have happened, and explored that scenario. I also presented the question of what we can interpret of Fuyumi from the little we’re given of her, and how the Todo-kids seem to mostly eschew romantic pursuits in general, except notably, the one kid who received the least attention from their father. I simply thought it was an interesting point.
Maybe in the future just delete those questions you dislike rather than making earnest people, just interested in discussing the characters and the opinions of others, feel like total dicks just for being interested in what you have to say.
It seems you missed the part in my previous response where I said "I don't see the point in arguing with people's headcanons, especially when I didn't ask." - I'm still not asking. Me making posts or answering asks is not an invitation for other people to share their opinions. I did state that to me, Dabi and Shouto are aroace. Nowhere did I imply that I was interested in what other people think about this topic.
Headcanons are often very personal to people, especially when it comes to sexual/romantic/gender orientation because more often than not, people project their own identities onto characters, which is why it is so very frustrating that there is not a single post of someone interpreting a character as ace, aro, or aroace without there being at least one person saying "No, they're clearly something else" - again, there are many reasons as to why I find this problematic, starting with the lack of representation there is for aro/ace people. And even when people aren't outright disagreeing, then they're still often trying to "negotiate" so that their characters are still shippable. "Yeah, maybe they're ace, but they could still fall in love-" "They're ace, but then they meet THIS character and-" and many many more arguments that absolutely piss me off because yes, not every ace person is aro and both asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums, but people tend to make these arguments to justify completely ignoring the ace/aro aspect of the character and ship them with other characters, which is not the point of representation. So when I say "X character is aroace to me" and someone says "But-" it's an immediate red flag to me because I've seen this conversation too many times.
My headcanons aren't me trying to state facts. I'm not saying that either Dabi or Shouto is 100% aroace in the canon story. That is simply my personal headcanon and partially so because that is my identity and I relate to these characters in ways that I can't with other characters and that gives me comfort because it makes me feel less alone. And when someone tries to argue with my headcanon, it's just like people IRL dismissing my identity and that's not a fun experience. So whether or not it was your intention, it came across as rude and you don't get to argue with that unless you're actively trying to be an asshole.
Again, this is my headcanon. You can have a different one, but that's why I said make your own post. In that post, you could say "this is my take, what's yours?" and actively ask for people to share their opinions. But that's not what I did. In fact, there have been multiple occasions before, where I told people to make their own posts instead of arguing with my interpretations on my posts. Believe it or not, not everything people say online is an invitation for a discussion and if you disagree with someone, keep it to yourself or make a post without shoving your opinion down someone's throat.
What's more, when someone says that they didn't ask for someone else's opinion, the right thing to do is to just apologize and move on. Instead, you decided to send me another ask, claiming that I made you feel bad, whilst it's obviously you trying to make me feel bad for not humoring you.
For some reason, you were allowed to share your opinion on the matter without my consent, but now you claim that I am in the wrong and hurting your feelings? Then go find a blog that will just agree with everything you say, but this is not the blog. Never has, never will be.
"Maybe in the future just delete those questions" see, that's the thing with sending an ask, though. While me making a post isn't an invitation for other people to share their takes, sending an ask means you expect me to reply. But you don't get to choose what that reply is. This is my blog and if I don't like an ask, the tone someone uses with me, etc. I get to say and do whatever I want. You don't get to just walk into someone else's home, say "I don't like what you've done with this place" and then get offended with how they react. If you don't like people setting boundaries and whatnot, don't send asks. It's as simple as that. You don't get to be butthurt over this and I suggest you think a bit more about how you interact with people and that maybe it's you being the asshole and not the person you came to.
If you think you made an interesting point, make the post. But I don't care why Dabi is aroace. I don't think it matters if Endeavor hit the sexual and romantic attraction part right out of him, brainwashed him into being aroace to focus on becoming a hero, or whatever else you think happened here. The Dabi we see in the story with everything that has happened to him is the Dabi I'm talking about. Not a fanon version of him. In my interpretations, I focus on canon because I want to understand his character as best as possible, and thinking about fanon versions doesn't add anything to it because it's simply not relevant. It may be interesting to you, but it's not to me and that is something you simply have to deal with.
That being said, I kindly ask you to fuck off. Further asks will be deleted/blocked because I've said everything there is and if you still can't accept that or respect my boundaries, it's a you problem and I'm not gonna waste any more time on you.
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHAPTER FOUR
Etymology
Just as the night had lulled me into slumber, it also stirred me awake. My eyes, now open, gradually adjusted to the dimness of my room. Silver streaks of moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting the walls and furniture with a mysterious interplay of light and shadow, reminiscent of scenes from noir films. I meticulously traced every detail, my gaze occasionally drifting to the aged photographs adorning my walls. They were fragments of my past, not numerous, but significant enough to merit their place. Each image featured either Nana, Areum, or myself—those who had remained in my life for the long haul. It was both comforting and disconcerting. Nice things never last, I thought, a sense of dread accompanying the idea. While my grandmother found beauty in such transience, often remarking, ‘They don't last so other nice things can have a share in your life too’, I resisted the notion. I didn't crave more; I wished only to preserve what I had. ‘More’ frightened me, ‘more’ overwhelmed me, and I was hesitant to embrace it.
Minutes of internal deliberation yielded no resolution. My eyelids, no longer heavy with sleep, and my mind settled into a calm state. Interpreting it as a negative response from my brain, I pushed my covers aside and got out of bed. Peering through my window, I observed the serene night, its hushed streets illuminated by the soft glow of yellow street lamps and a blanket of rolling clouds. Usually, moments like this beckoned me for a peaceful stroll, the night offering solace. But now, as I gazed out, a nagging sense of danger shouted in my mind. The night was never truly mine; it belonged to someone else. The anger I had felt upon reading the letter resurfaced, gradually consuming me. I hate the night, no, I hate them.
I was not one to easily succumb to intimidation. Even as a child, when bullies taunted me with words, I stood my ground. Verbal jabs never affected me, but the moment a hand was laid upon me, I reacted with unbridled fury. Fists clenched, teeth sinking into flesh, kicks soaring as high as a horse. My grandmother had taught me to defend myself, a fact that had invited criticism from some. ‘How dare you raise such a thing? She bruised my child,’ they would complain. Or, ‘There are places for girls like her—troublesome—and that's nowhere near a neighborhood like this.’ But these words held no weight, merely masking narcissism and fear.
Yet that night, I had been intimidated beyond measure, dwelling in a perpetual state of terror. Reflecting on how easily I had panicked over a simple letter earlier filled me with shame and anger. They had made everything seem poised at death's door, and it infuriated me. Their words in the letter, carefully crafted like a viper's strike, amplified my frustration. They attack me and then attempt communication with a letter? What the hell. Returning my gaze to my desolate neighborhood, I clenched my teeth, slipped into my slippers, and wrapped a scarf around my neck for added warmth. If I want the night for peace, for myself alone, I can have it.
My heart continued to pound, even as I descended the stairs until I stood at the front door. Now, with my hand hovering over the doorknob, hesitation grew, though not as rapidly as the fiery rage that coursed through my thoughts. Just open it, Sora! I urged myself. And so I did. A gentle breeze wafted in from outside, tousling my ebony hair.
Stepping onto the porch, I took deep breaths, savoring the sensation of truly inhaling again. There were no short gasps of air; instead, my lungs were filled with the crisp autumn night. Once on the sidewalk, I scanned my surroundings, searching for anything out of place, yet finding only empty spaces. "It's yours, Sora," I whispered to myself, seeking reassurance. Convinced, I let out a light laugh, a sigh of relief. "I don't need Sincheng to escort me home to feel okay. I can do it myself. I am okay."
For several minutes, I walked down the street, studying my neighbors' homes. I was well-acquainted with their appearances, but my eyes couldn't resist wandering. Most adhered to a palette of cool-toned colors for their houses, while a few stood out vibrantly. Mine was among the vivid ones—a two-story yellow house with a dark wooden roof and small statues in the front yard. I had always cherished my home as a reflection of my grandmother's character—a quirky woman with countless surprises and stories to share.
The scarf that had been neatly wrapped around my neck gradually unwound as the wind picked up. It came in gusts, causing my hair to dance mid-air. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my sweater would provide enough warmth for my nightly walk. I continued, my senses alert, until one gust of wind hit harder than the rest. It nearly blinded me as my hair and scarf flew about. Pushing my hair out of my face, I scoured the area for my scarf, which had landed in the street below. Walking back, I kept an eye out for any passing cars. I mean, there can't be any; there haven't been any for hours.
Before retrieving my scarf, I gave one last look around. Then, determined, I began walking toward it. Reaching down to pick it up, I inspected it to ensure it hadn't gotten dirty. I brushed away bits of cement, painstakingly picking them out with my nails. Afterward, I smoothed it down with my palm, unaware of the ring of light that had begun to glow behind the scarf. My mind slowly grasped the significance—there was a car approaching.
Time seemed to stretch as the car's engine roared. Why wasn't it stopping? Why wasn't I running? I stared at the approaching headlights, my fear akin to that of a deer caught in headlights. My breath caught, and my feet felt leaden. I wanted to scream, but even my voice felt trapped in this moment. All I could do was clutch my scarf to my chest as the car hurtled toward me.
As the light engulfed me, swallowing the feared night I had fretted over, a sudden tug at my back yanked me to the side. In a split second, the car sped past me, not stopping as it continued down the street. Disoriented by the abrupt shift, I clung to whatever had pulled me aside. Wide-eyed, I continued to watch the spot where the car had vanished, my breathing rapid as my heart raced to catch up with my adrenaline.
The arms that had encircled me loosened, and I tumbled onto the sidewalk with a moan of pain. Slowly, I rose to my feet, regaining my balance. Standing erect, I turned my attention to my rescuer—a young man. Soft, brown hair framed sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and half-full lips. His hands rested on either side of his head as he panted, breathing deeply as if dispelling a headache. When he finally glanced up at me, our eyes locked.
We stood there, sizing each other up. I clung tightly to my scarf, and he remained in a maroon blouse and black skinny jeans. He patted down his disheveled hair and watched as I continued to maintain my silence. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Are you okay?” I replayed his demeanor from moments ago. “Are you?” I asked, pointing to my head to make myself clear.
Recognition flickered in his eyes as he understood my meaning. He brushed it off with an apologetic smile. “It happens sometimes. I'm fine now. But you seem pretty shaken up by what just happened, right?”
I nodded, still keeping my distance.
“I won't hurt you. I was just passing by and happened to be here at the right moment.”
Just passing by? I would have noticed you; these streets are quite empty.
“Thank you. Otherwise…” I glanced back toward the street where I had stood. “I would have died.” I returned my gaze to him as he spoke.
“I'm Mark. Nice to meet you. And you're welcome,” he replied with a sheepish smile.
I continued to observe him, noting his posture—hands in pockets, one foot slightly behind the other as he leaned back. His raised eyebrow conveyed his expectation for me to break the silence. I let out a series of quiet 'um's' in my awkwardness, but he remained patient. Eventually, I reached a conclusion. I guess he isn't bad, or at least not one of them. He could have let me die, but he didn't.
“I'm Sora. Nice to meet you too.”
He offered a warm smile, and I reciprocated it. During this exchange, I noticed his nose was bleeding. “Oh, Mark, your nose,” I pointed to my own nose as a reference. “It's bleeding.”
Mark reached up to his nose and attempted to wipe away the blood that slowly trickled onto his lips. I couldn't help but think, Um... I looked around for a nearby tree, found one in a neighbor's yard, and plucked a green leaf that hadn't yet turned ruby or amber. Walking up to him, I offered the leaf, which he snatched from my hand quickly, distancing himself from me. Had I done something wrong?
Noticing my startled expression, he quickly offered an apology, his voice tinged with sincerity, “Sorry... thank you though.” His gesture indicated the leaf now covering his nose.
“It's nothing, you should thank the neighbor though; it's their leaf,” I quipped with a hint of humor in my tone.
Mark, taken aback by my shift in demeanor, closely observed my newfound composure. My muscles had transformed from tense to relaxed, an unspoken trust apparent in my demeanor. Without warning, I approached him, causing him to instinctively step back, but I reached out and gently grasped his arm. My grip conveyed a clear message, an unspoken ‘stay,’ yet it remained loose enough not to appear threatening but rather gentle.
“Do you tend to have nosebleeds, or is this because of that headache of yours?” I inquired, my eyes probing him. Since my grandmother had begun to fall ill, I had become attuned to detecting signs of pain as potential threats. How could I not, given that any sudden ailment could potentially prove fatal for her ailing Nana? I had become a self-taught nurse through research and careful observation of how actual nurses cared for her Nana when they had been able to afford hospital visits. Now, here I was, tending to a stranger in the middle of the night.
It took Mark a few seconds to register the situation unfolding before him. However, when my gaze shifted from his nose to his eyes, he refocused on my question. “Umm... yeah... no,” he stammered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I mean… haha…”
Watching him stumble over his words, I couldn't help but let a genuine smile spread across my face—an expression of awe and intrigue for the boy who had come to my rescue. “Take your time, Mark,” I said, savoring the sound of his name on my lips.
Amused by me, Mark chuckled and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Sora, you happened to hit me in the nose when I pulled you back,” he explained, emphasizing my name just as I had.
“I did?” I questioned, attempting to recall the sequence of events, but the adrenaline had blurred my memory. “I guess I did. Sorry…”
Stepping back a few paces, I looked around; the night had returned to its quiet state. It was still and silent, much like a few minutes before, but it felt eerie. There were no chirping crickets or bursts of aggressive wind—no wind at all, in fact. It's almost surprising there's still air.
“What, scared?” Mark observed my growing unease as my eyes darted around my surroundings.
Now back to him, I smiled and rolled my eyes playfully. “No, just lost myself for a bit.”
“Mhm, I do that too sometimes.”
A serene tranquility settled between us as we simply gazed at each other. “So, I... uh... should be going,” Mark gestured behind me, indicating the direction from which I had come.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. It's pretty late, so I should be heading back too.”
We both nodded but remained standing there a while longer, unashamedly allowing our eyes to wander over each other's figures. One observed every movement, every strand of hair, and every feature of the other. The other tried to memorize them, as clothing alone wouldn't suffice. So our eyes roamed every inch of each other's faces, carrying a sense of care and gentleness that neither could help but acknowledge.
I was the first to break the silence that had settled between us once more. “I'll head out first. Nice to meet you, Mark.”
Mark watched me closely, his eyes soft. “Nice to meet you too, Sora.”
#kpop fanfic#kpop ff#kpop au#kpop vampire au#haechan au#haechan fanfic#haechan#illumins#nct fanfic#nightdoveseries#mark fanfic#mark lee
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Girls Club | Chapter 1
Chapter 1 | Polaroid Pictures
Eleonora’s POV
Hi Nora!
France is great! I’ve had such a great time so far. The pastries we get each morning have got to be my favorite thing ever! I can’t wait to get home and get a room to myself again. though I didn’t think sharing with Hermione would be this bad. I think she’s mad that mum and dad want me to go to Diagon Alley with her when she goes to meet her friends.
Speaking of which! They’re going this Wednesday. I was thinking we could meet up with Rory and get our shopping done together! It would be great to catch up with you two before term starts. You should owl her about it! I can’t get an owl out here to send a letter. to do it myself.
I get home on Sunday so you can owl me after then. Can’t wait to see you!
xoxo Catherine!
Eleonora smiled as she read over the postcard from her friend. The front had a picture of an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. The side with the message had an extra piece of paper taped to it, to fit the long message. A piece of ribbon laid discarded on the desk in front of her, it had once held the letter together.
There was also a small polaroid picture attached to the postcard. The picture was of Catherine smiling wildly, her dark curly hair framed her face perfectly. She held a steaming cup of coffee, while sitting at a cafe in front of the Eiffel Tower. It was a regular muggle picture but Catherine’s happiness radiated from the picture.
A soft knock pulled Eleonora out of her thoughts and she turned her head towards the door.
“Eleonora?” a muffled voice from the other side said. “I’m making breakfast, some toast with scrambled eggs. Let me know soon if you’d like some,” the faint footsteps echoed through the hallway as the man left.
Eleonora stood over her desk, still looking over the picture of her friend. After a moment of deliberation the blonde girl grabbed the postcard and a quill before leaving for the kitchen. She walked out of her room and took a left down the hallway. She could hear shuffling around in the kitchen, as well as the radio playing some muggle news station.
“Goodmorning Remus,” Eleonora said when she entered the kitchen.
The kitchen wasn’t very large. Simple brown cabinets littered the right side of the room. Remus stood by the stove, preparing the scrambled eggs. The large window across from the entrance of the kitchen made the room feel slightly larger than it really was and at this time of day it was letting in plenty of sunlight. She walked past him towards the table in front of the window and placed her things down before joining Remus next to the stove.
“Good Morning Nora,” the older man smiled towards the girl. He took his eyes away from the scrambled eggs and glanced towards the blonde to see what she was rummaging for. “Are you looking for anything?”
“Yeah,” Eleonora mumbled. She pulled an inkwell out of the drawer and grabbed a few loose pieces of paper off the counter. “Found it!” she cheered and smiled towards Remus. She raised her findings in the air in victory and walked back towards the table. “I have to write Catherine back,” Eleonora explained once she took a seat.
Eleonora wrote out her response to Catherine. Remus walked around the kitchen, finishing up breakfast and setting a plate in front of the blonde and another plate in front of the seat across from her.
“There have been no sightings of escaped murderer Sirius Black,” a voice on the radio announced. Remus froze. Coffee pot in hand he stood there waiting for any other news.
Eleonora didn’t know much about the convict. She only knew that he was in fact an escaped prisoner from Azkaban and not from a muggle prison. She also knew that he had killed a bunch of muggles during the wizarding war. Remus didn’t answer any of her questions about Black.
Eleonora had a strong feeling that Remus did in fact know something. However he was never one to talk when it came to the events of the war. A pained expression would only cross his face and he’d say “There’s no point in dwelling on the past.” That frustrated her to no end. Especially when she asked about her family. Remus would promise that he’d tell her everything one day but that day never seemed to arrive.
The radio clipped out, drawing Eleonora’s attention back to the present. Remus went back to filling two mugs with coffee, making a point to fill one of them with mostly milk. He wasn’t very keen on Eleonora drinking coffee. He thought she wasn’t quite old enough.
“Is Catherine back from France yet?” Remus asked in an attempt to lighten the tension in the room.
“She gets home on Sunday,” Eleonora said and passed the picture of her friend to Remus. “We’re planning a shopping trip for Wednesday,” the blonde tapped the edge of the table, glancing towards Remus for a response. “We want to get our school supplies,” she added.
“Sounds like a fun time,” Remus smiled and took another bite of his eggs. “As long as you stay in Diagon Alley and get home at a reasonable time,” he added sternly, pointing a fork in her direction.
“Of course!” Eleonora responded cheerfully. Ever since the news of Sirius Black escaping Remus had been anxious about letting Eleonora out on her own. It had made Remus slightly more overprotective than usual. “I’ll be sure to be home before dark,” Eleonora reassured and took a sip of her coffee.
The two continued to eat their breakfast in silence. Only the clatter of utensils and a quill scratching on a piece of paper could be heard.
“I should be out for work,” Remus said as he took his last sip of coffee. “I’ll be home around six as always,” he added and placed his dishes in the sink.
With a wave of his wand the dishes began to clean themselves and soon enough they were also being dried off and put away in their respective places. Eleonora couldn’t help but stare at the casual use of magic. It made her excited about going back to school, and even more excited to turn seventeen in sixth year.
“I’ll just be home,” Eleonora groaned. “Writing my letters,” she waved a hand around at her predicament. “Maybe I’ll get around to finishing the Handmaid's tale,” she added.
“I’ll see you later,” Remus smiled and placed a kiss on top of her head before heading out of the kitchen to gather his things for work.
Remus had mentioned to Eleonora that he was looking for another job, yet again. He was still waiting for an interview. However the past couple months he had managed to keep a job at a muggle post office. Unfortunately his employer was starting to get frustrated with him for his frequent days off. In Eleonora’s opinion two or three days out of the month didn’t seem too bad but Remus only chuckled at this comment.
Eleonora took the remainder of the morning to finish her letter to Catherine, as well as the second one for Rory. Much to her annoyance she also had to wash her own dishes by hand. After drying the dishes she walked towards the kitchen window.
The window looked out into a small courtyard area. It was surrounded from both sides with buildings, only allowing access for those who lived in the buildings. The courtyard was empty, except for a few stray cats chasing each other. Eleonora opened the window to take a better look at the cats fighting on the ground floor.
“Chip!” Eleonora yelled out towards the cats. “Chip knock it off!” she yelled again, this time gaining one of the cats attention. The white cat took another swipe at the tabby cat before letting out a loud meow and making its way towards the second floor window. Soon enough the white cat made its way towards the windowsill beside Eleonora.
“There you are,” Eleonora said and gave the cat a little scratch behind his ear. Chip purred quietly and nuzzled his face further into the blonde’s palm.
Chip was a skinny white cat. The only markings he had were a brown spot around his eye and a brown strip around his tail. One of his ears was half missing. Eleonora wasn’t sure what had happened to him. She had been taking care of him for the past three years and during her fourth year she had even brought him to Hogwarts although she wasn’t quite sure what he was up to most of the time.
“Instead of getting into fights with the alley cats go and look for Erwin,” Eleonora nudged the cat. “Bring him back here, I have a letter for him,” she said. Chip nuzzled against her palm one more time and meows before leaving to look for the barn owl.
Eleonora quickly addressed each letter, preparing each one appropriately. When Erwin arrived back at the windowsill Eleonora scratched the top of his head and placed a sickle in the pouch around his leg, and attached the letter for Rory. Erwin was about to fly off but Chip couldn’t let him leave without trying to swipe at the owl.
“Chip!” Eleonora groaned, pulling the cat inside and closing the window behind the owl. “Why do you have to be like that,” she scolded and placed the cat back on the floor.
“Now I know Remus probably wouldn’t be too happy with me leaving unannounced,” Eleonora spoke to Chip and walked out to the living room. “However Catherine is still in France so I can’t owl her and I’ll be gone only an hour at most,” she added, a mischievous grin making its way onto her face. “You won’t tell him, right?” However all Chip could do is meow and watch as Eleonora walked out the front door.
~~~
A/N: This is the first chapter of a new story I have started. You can check it out on ao3 under the same title and author! Let me know if you want me to continue posting here as well!
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#george weasley#fred weasley#remus lupin#sirius black#ginny weasley#ron weasley#hermione granger#cedric diggory#ao3#ao3fanfiction#Harry Potter one shot#Fred Weasley fanfic#fred Weasley fan fiction#fred x female oc
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Learn to listen
Queen Mara is busy, and deeply entrenched with a variety of issues. Dealing with Variks is not one she cares about. But perhaps... This could become a learning experience for Petra?
(Literally just wanted to write Loche going a little feral and thats what I did. But also enjoy Mara chillin)
“Petra.” Queen Mara began, as she looked over documents she had been given today, “what do you think of Variks?”
“Variks, my queen? Why, that insolent creature should rot in the prison of elders for what he did!” Mara grimaced as she turned to Petra,
“Enough, do not speak of him as though he were nothing more than a bug. Speak of him with some respect, he held an incredible responsibility for a long time, and did his due diligence.”
“But, Queen Mara-”
“He- All of his people are intelligent beings Petra, and we’ve set the standard for them to be humiliated time and time again. They lost their whole planet, and we have lost much of our Reef… We are more alike than different now.” Mara watched as Petra held her next thought and nodded.
The current fact was that the Vanguard wanted Variks to live on earth within their Eliksni Quarter. Mithrax, the leader of the district, asked for the scribe on the basis of saving what history Variks still remembered. Zavala thought he had helped enough and this exile could continue on earth. But Mara knew very well that it was Loche most of all who simply wanted to have his lover closer to home. And truly Mara was so busy with every other problem her people were now facing, that she would have agreed to a compromise of keeping Variks under lock and key on earth. If only Loche hadn’t weaseled his way into the proceedings.
That too was unfair to say. Loche had been the main actor of the Vanguard’s will when it came to the Eramis incident. Loche had helped Mara a few times too even though the Warlock had never truly saw eye to eye with her. Loche had been a deciding factor in a variety of world ending issues and so had rightfully earned his place. Mara just didn’t like how angry he always seemed to be.
“Queen Mara,” Petra began again, “do you ask about Variks because of the talks you’re in with the Vanguard? We haven’t had one for Spider…”
“Spider got to earth before we could locate him. Variks is still on Europa. But I care for your opinion of him as I deliberate what to concede on.” Mara sighed again to herself. In all honesty, she really didn’t care anymore. What Variks had done was insignificant compared to quite literally everything else but Petra-
“I say we concede nothing. He can educate the House of Light from a cell.” Perhaps Mara could see if a guardian could change Petra’s mind. Instill a bit of patience in her.
The next talk Mara had was an informal one. Zavala, Mithrax, and Loche were all milling about. Mithrax and Loche spoke to each other in Eliksni as Zavala every now and then interjected in english. Petra whispered back to Mara,
“My queen, why did you want me here?”
“I thought you would enjoy being present for this. Given that Variks was under your command when he left the prison.” Petra flushed. Mara hadn’t meant anything by the comment, but clearly she had to look back at the reports and read between a few lines now,
“Well, how about we begin some discussion?” The guardians and Kell nodded.
Talk was slow. Zavala didn’t want Variks to be a prisoner in any way, Mithrax was inclined to agree with Zavala and Mara didn’t wants Variks to feel as though he’d gotten away from her wrath (Though she had a feeling the scribe would object to that sentiment.). Most shocking was how silent Loche had been. The exo had barely said a word throughout the entire conversation and it was beginning to distract Mara. Enough that when Zavala tentatively brought up how pointless it would be to make an example of Variks, Petra butted in instead,
“Pointless? Queen Mara could be seen as forgetful, and besides that embarrassment should be the last she has to suffer because of the traitorous-” Mara saw where this was going,
“No-good-”
“Petra, enough-”
“Back stabbing, vulturous, Fallen!” No sooner did the words leave the Wrath’s mouth did the room turn icy. Mithrax straightened his back and grumbled, Zavala stared incredulously and Loche? Loche’s eyes flickered red as he glared at Petra. Arc crackled off him and crystals of darkness crept up his arms. Petra paused as she stared back at Loche, and Mara hoped that her Wrath would remember the God-slayer in front of her,
“You’re just biased because of your relationship with Variks and Mithrax, Loche. They chose to run back to Skolas.” Unfortunately she did not. Bolts of arc surged off Loche as Zavala held his shoulder,
“As if you were any different! You hang off of Mara’s every word, and the second she came back, suddenly Petra Venj was no leader! Simply used and pushed around by bumbling guardians, pulled too thin! She couldn’t even fathom how anyone wouldn’t want to stay in a prison for the rest of their life!” No longer was there any trace of purple light on Loche, red seeped through his eyes and mouth as he strained against Zavala. Mithrax grabbed the guardians other shoulder, his voice was grave, but calm,
“I ask that you rethink your opinions of Eliksni, Petra Venj. We are a fractured people, torn between old tradition and a new way of life. The houses are a last hope of stability for us and Variks-”
“Variks chose to betray Mara, and Uldren died because of it!” Loche hissed,
“Uldren died because he was just as obsessed as you are. So don’t you go giving me a reason to defy orders. Petra.” His voice dripped with venom and suddenly Petra seemed all at once to understand what she had antagonized. Her eyes widened as she stared back at Loche, and the hurt manifested its way onto her face. Mara finally decided to step in,
“I believe that is enough.” She placed a firm hand on Petra’s chest and the woman looked so suddenly ashamed,
“I- I am sorry queen Mara. I forget myself.” Loche breathed heavily as his gaze stayed locked on. He was more like a machine in this moment than ever before. Straining against Zavala and Mithrax who’s firm resistance against him was all that stood between the guardian and threatened Petra with her very life. Mara hummed regaining control of the room,
“I believe we’ve all talked quite enough today. But from what I’ve heard I believe I’ll have a proposal by the time we hold our next official meeting, one where Variks can defend his own name.” Loche’s eyes flickered, and Mithrax perked up.
“Perhaps he can remain in a rather large and comfortable cell,” Zavala opened his mouth to interrupt, but Mara continued,
“like the entirety of your Eliksni quarter? He would not be allowed to leave unless incredibly necessary of course…” Loche all at once stood up straight. The crystal on his arms fizzled away as his arc dulled back into its regular pulses. Zavala nodded, as he released his grip on Loche,
“I think that can be arranged… Thank you for the suggestion.”
Hours later, Mara was looking through reports about what was left of the Reef when Petra walked up to her. She still seemed shaken by the revelation,
“So Loche was the one to-”
“He was.” Mara wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive the killing of her brother completely. But she was pragmatic enough to know when such an action was needed. It would always hurt her to know she’d made her brother that way. Petra couldn’t find any words, so Mara helped,
“You mourn the loss of love you never got to realize. Loche mourns the love that he is fighting not to lose.” Petra sat finally and she nodded,
“I… I acted rashly today. I have gravely offended you.” Mara smiled,
“And what did you learn in doing so?”
“My Queen? I- I do not know.”
“I think you learned that there is more to a creature than their misdeeds. Variks was always loyal, and truthfully, I believe he still is even though he left the prison. Loche is more than the stoic guardian you have always known. I think, Petra, you’ve learned to have patience with people. Know them fully before you push them too far.” Petra smiled and bowed her head,
“Thank you Queen Mara.”
“Of course, but don’t ever let it happen again. Or I will let Loche have his way with you. I have never seen him that angry, and I’m curious what that much Light poured into a person can do.” Petra shuddered as she stood and bowed,
“Yes, Queen Mara. I’ll be off now, some… Cosairs have business to discuss with me.”
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Former Angels employee sentenced in Tyler Skaggs death, disparaging remarks revealed in court
New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/former-angels-employee-sentenced-in-tyler-skaggs-death-disparaging-remarks-revealed-in-court/
Former Angels employee sentenced in Tyler Skaggs death, disparaging remarks revealed in court
Eric Kay, the former Los Angeles Angels communications director who was found guilty of providing drugs that killed pitcher Tyler Skaggs in 2019, was sentenced to 22 years in prison on Tuesday.
Kay had been facing a minimum of 20 years, but he reportedly received an additional two years after apparently making derogatory remarks about Skaggs in jailhouse phone calls.
Prosecutors presented jailhouse phone calls and emails as evidence in the sentencing hearing on Tuesday, according to the Justice Department.
“I hope people realize what a piece of s— he is,” Kay said in a phone call with his mother, according to the DOJ, “Well, he’s dead, so f— him.”
Kay ridiculed Skaggs’ family as well, calling them “white trash” and “dumb.”
“All they see are dollar signs,” he said. “They may get more money with him dead than he was playing because he sucked.”
District Judge Terry Means did not want to give Kay what he felt was an “excessive” minimum, but the phone call showed a “refusal to accept responsibility and even be remorseful for something you caused,” according to the Washington Post.
Carli Skaggs, Tyler’s widow, placed blame on Kay for her husband’s death.
“I feel strongly that those who risk the lives of others with killer drugs need to be held accountable,” she said. “If anything good can come of Tyler’s death and this trial, it will be preventing someone else’s wife from receiving the call I did.”
PADRES’ JOE MUSGROVE UNDERSTANDS METS’ DECISION TO CALL FOR SUBSTANCE CHECK: ‘THEY’RE DESPERATE’
Skaggs died on July 1, 2019, from a drug overdose as fentanyl and oxycodone were found in his system, but Skaggs was not the only major leaguer to receive drugs from Kay.
Matt Harvey, C.J. Cron, Mike Morin and Cam Bedrosian also said in court that they were provided drugs by the former Angels employee.
Kay was found guilty back in February after the jury deliberated for just 90 minutes.
MLB and the MLBPA agreed in December of that year to start regularly testing players for opioids and cocaine. No violations have been found.
Skaggs was 27 when he was found in a hotel room in Southlake, Texas, before the Angels were set to play the Texas Rangers.
Read the full article here
0 notes
Text
while it is of very big significance to me personally, and possibly to many other fans, that leigh as the author/executive producer addressed the stunt double issue (she also tried to be as respectful and considerate as she could), we should not forget her saying many did not want her to speak up, and that she repeatedly pointed out she was not speaking in any official capacity. the last point highlights exactly what the pocs want and need – a formal acknowledgment and actual changes in the future, and we are not done with this issue until netflix officials own up to their mistakes and commit to improvements.
#shadow and bone#shadow and bone netflix#grishaverse#leigh bardugo#if its true (which i personally believe it is) that leigh herself didn’t know about the situation#it is also not her place to be held responsible for what others did deliberately and without informing her#we are yet to hear from the production team/eric/sab executives#who seemingly just wanna shift all of the attention at leigh and do nothing
157 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can your write a longer version of the Romanov (Romanoff) teacher x fem reader and/or with Carol Danvers or Yelena Belova? (I know she is her sister but they aren’t really)
And I’ll buy you two cups of coffee. Or if u do All three characters, (not at once but maybe eventually in another story), I’ll buy u 4 cups 🥰
F-four cups?? Bdosskdskssosjs I'm on it!!
2.8k words
Warnings: teacher!Natasha X student!reader, teacher!Carol X student!reader, unhealthy power dynamic, dub-con (not really?? Putting it to be safe) age gap (R is 18), smoking, being caned, praise, degrading, strap on sex, oral on strap on, gagging and overstimulation
[ masterlist ]
Buy me a coffee ☕
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Your head fell back against the brick wall as you exhaled heavily and let the thick smoke escape your parched mouth. You stared up at the clouds amongst the perfectly blue sky and made out various shapes the clouds displayed, each telling their own story. You smiled when you spotted a laughing dragon.
"Y/n." Came a snappy voice that pulled you from your daydreaming. You recognised the voice instantly and clenched your teeth together as you dropped your joint to the floor and stepped on it.
"Yes, Miss Romanoff?" You rolled your eyes and glared at the teacher approaching you.
"You know smoking is not permitted on these grounds. Neither are the those." The redhead stated as she eyed the the packet in your pocket and held her hand out for it. You begrudgingly handed it over.
"Detention. 7 o'clock. Do not be late." She warned before heading back towards the old building. You continued to glare daggers into her back as you watched her leave, those damn hips swaying with every step.
You would be the first to admit your teacher was hot. With all those curves and a look to kill, yes you were attracted to her. But there was a lot of teachers at the school that were easy on the eyes. The difference with Natasha was she seemed spent on making your life at that school a living hell.
It felt like she was always out to get you, giving you detentions left and right and shouting at you for seemingly nothing. So being attracted to her while she played the role of the your own personal guardian devil wasn't easy. Plus: it was beyond frustrating being horny at a boarding school.
The day dragged by after that. Every time you looked up at the clock on a classroom wall it had barely changed. You just wanted the day to be over with.
Finally, 7 o'clock came and you dragged yourself to Natasha's classroom a few minutes late. You would be lying if you said you hadn't deliberately been late to piss her off. Not to mention you had made it quite the habit with your teacher. You were a sucker for tradition.
"I do hope that one day you'll learn the importance of being punctual." Natasha said from her desk where she didn't look up from marking.
"I guess today just isn't that day." You said as you slouched down in your seat in the back row.
You frowned as you noticed a workbook wasn't placed on your desk already. That was usually all your detentions consisted of, you doing more work. You looked up and saw Natasha watching you darkly. You struggled to hold her gaze for more than a couple seconds.
"On the contrary, y/n. I think today is exactly that day." She said with a small smile you didn't trust at all. You rarely saw her smile. Brief, forced ones towards her colleagues was all you thought she was capable of. But the one she gave you, it was hiding something.
"Come here." She said suddenly and you found yourself getting to your feet rather hastily.
You made your way down the room and stood infront of your teachers desk with some nerves. While you had never strived to piss off any teachers, their threats never seemed to scare you because you knew there was nothing they could really do. It never got any worse than a series of tedious detentions. But you found yourself not wanting to test your teacher that evening.
Natasha stood up from her chair and put the papers to the side before walking around the desk and past you. You didn't look back to see what she was doing but you could hear her open the door to her supply room. There was one in every room in the generously sized school. All stocked with books and alike, but you had never seen the inside of Miss Romanoff's supply room, it was always too dim.
Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she made her way back to you. You still didn't dare turn around, maybe if you had Natasha wouldn't have pushed your back down with alarming force that had your front pressed against her table in less than a second.
You gave a startled cry in alarm and went to get back up but Natasha's hand stayed firmly between your shoulder blades and forced you to stay flat against the desk.
"Miss!" You called but she didn't respond. Instead, her other hand wandered up the back of your left thigh. Her touch was light as a feather and it brought out an involuntary shudder from you despite the screaming in your head.
Natasha then hiked your skirt up over your hips. You stayed silent at the act. In shock more than anything else. Perhaps part of you wanted to know what she was planning.
What you didn't expect was to feel a sharp sting across your ass and a cracking sound echo across the room. You cried out again and tried to get off the desk but your teacher was too strong.
"What the fuck was that?" You demanded as your ass continued to sting furiously.
"I thought some old school punishment would fit you better, y/n. Nothing else quite seems to suffice." She explained and brought the cane back down on your thinly covered ass. You jerked forwards and gripped on to the edge of the desk firmly as another cry was ripped from your throat.
She hummed in consideration for a moment, most likely pausing for an extra second just to taunt you, before dipping her fingers under the waist band of your panties and pulled them down your legs. You whimpered quietly and pressed your thighs tightly together, not wanting your teacher to see any possible and surprising signs of what her actions were doing to you.
When your panties were at your feet you breathing became more shallow and you awaited the next strike in fear.
"I think ten strikes will suffice." She declared and your eyes widened. "But let's not forget I also have to teach you the importance of punctuality. How many minutes late were you, y/n? Seven?"
"Please." Spilled from your lips. You weren't sure you could handle seventeen strikes from the devil crafted stick in you teacher's hand.
"You can take it, darling. After all," She started as she leant forward to whisper in your ear, "Daddy knows best." You shivered from her words and tried to ignore the way they seemed to travel through your body.
A harsh strike came down suddenly and you cried out pathetically and gripped on to the desk like a lifeline. The cane in harsh, random strikes after that, each one as unpredictable as the last and all of them hurting more.
Tears sprung to your eyes and yet every hit added to your arousal that filled you with shame. You were sure Natasha noticed it because every time you pressed your thighs together she kicked your legs apart again, surely seeing your wetness as she did so.
"That's it, sweetheart, it's done." Natasha cooed as she ran her cold hand over your throbbing ass. "You took it so well." You flinched from the contact but luckily she didn't linger too long on the broken skin, instead letting her hand drop further down.
You couldn't help the breathy whine that escaped your lips. "Perhaps too well." Natasha mused as her slender fingers glided over your glistening folds. You leaned back into her touch and was partly surprised that she let you, consequently slipping the tips of her fingers through your folds.
You whined louder at the teasing contact but Natasha withdrew her hands and instead smacked your pussy hard. You lurched forward and moaned at the impact.
"Come here." Natasha said but didn't give you much chance to respond because she gripped the back of your shirt and hauled you through the room. You stumbled the whole way but didn't dare question your teacher. She pushed you into the storage room, much to your confusion, until you stumbled into what felt like a table and the dim light flickered on.
Your breath caught in your throat as you caught sight of all the packed shelves around the room. There were more sex toys in the surprisingly small room than you could even process with more range than you could ever beging to fantasise about.
You admired as many as you could in the time Natasha stripped herself of her clothing and stepped infront of you to pick out a dildo to attatch to the harness she wore. Her eyes raked over the large collection and landed on one of the biggest with a confident smirk on her face. She grabbed the toy and some lube and stepped behind you again where she attatched the toy and prepared it with the lube before tangling her hand in your hair to hold you against the oak table.
"You like my collection, sweetheart?" Natasha asked as she ran the strap through your folds. You hummed vaguely, too caught up in the thought of her using the toy on you.
"Answer me, slut." Natasha said lowly and thrust the strap in.
You moaned loudly as your teacher pushed more of the inches in and you squirmed beneath her. She gave another harsh thrust and burried the rest of the strap in to your pussy.
"Well?" She asked teasingly as she withdrew the toy only to slam it back forwards harshly.
"Yes!" You cried out as you squeezed your eyes shut.
"Yes what?" She tested.
"Yes, daddy!" You moaned in bliss and desperation.
"Fuck, this pussy's so tight." Natasha smirked above you, no doubt knowing the slight buzz of pain you were feeling at the stretch of her toy. You moaned in response as she continued to thrust the toy in at a merciless pace.
You were so lost in the overwhelming pleasure Natasha was giving you you were unaware if anything that wasn't her or the toy. Even the cold surface of the table pressed so harshly against you had slipped from your mind. So it was no surprise you didn't hear the heavy footsteps entering the room.
"Evening, Danvers." Natasha greeted and your eyes snapped open. You tried to look back at who ever Natasha was talking to but she gripped your hair tighter and held your head down against the desk making you whimper.
"You finally did it, huh." Came the voice from behind you that you definitely recognised. "And I thought you were chicken shit." She mused.
You whimpered when you felt a hand snake down to your clit and rub the neglected spot slowly. But it was gone barely a second after it came.
"Wait your fucking turn, Danvers." Natasha spat at the blonde but you whined desperately.
"Please, daddy!" You begged, missing the contact instantly.
"I think the little whore wants me more." Carol chuckled and Natasha snapped her hips particularly hard at her words.
"Oh but she's going to cum all for me now, aren't you, y/n?"
"Please, please!" You begged more as Natasha's pace increased and you moaned more frantically, still trying to get a look at the blonde.
"Fucking cum." She demanded and at that, you lost all control. You clenched around the fake cock and trembled on the table as the brutal waves if your orgasm washed over you again and again.
But to your distraught, Natasha pulled the strap out as you came and effectively ruined the full effects of your high. You whimpered again at the loss but your legs felt too numb to fully do anything about it.
"Don't be so ungrateful." Natasha warned as she slapped your pussy making you jump slightly.
Carol stood infront of you as she started to unbuckle her belt and freed the strap she had been packing underneath.
"You're gonna use that slutty mouth to get my cock ready for your pussy now, Princess." Carol explained as she tapped the head against your cheek. You happily obliged and opened your mouth for the strap that Carol wasted no time in easing in.
She held your head in place where Natasha had let go and pushed the strap against your gag reflex. You coughed around the toy but the blonde shushed you as she kept pushing forward in a thoughtful silence, admiring the tears that sprung to your eyes.
"You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth." Carol muttered as she withdrew the strap slightly only to snap her hips forwards to effectively fuck your mouth. "You want it in your slutty hole now?" She asked with faux sweetness.
"She'll take whatever you give her." Natasha mused. You looked up and saw her in a dark red chair against the wall facing you, her eyes glued to your form.
Carol slipped the strap from your mouth when she deemed you had done a good enough job. It glistened in the dim light and disappeared from sight when your other teacher strolled back behind you.
You locked eyes with your red headed teacher as you felt Carol's presence behind you. Natasha pulled something from the cabinet besides her that you instantly registered as your amateur cigarette and the little tobacco that was still in the bag. She chuckled at the rookie joint you had made yourself but you didn't have much chance to feel any embarrassment or annoyance because the woman behind you gripped onto your hips tightly and pushed the entirety of the toy in in one thrust forward.
You moan was bordering on a scream at the action. Carol set about a merciless pace that rivalled your other teacher's and had you trembling instantly. You gripped on to the edge of the table tightly and babbled incoherently about how good it felt and pathetic pleas not to stop, all of which Carol had no issue aiding. She pounded the strap into you and revelled in your pleasured cries all while you tried desperately to hold eye contact with Natasha.
The red head was looking through her cabinet again until you brought out a box of Humidor cigars that probably cost more than a year at your school. Your cheap tobacco had been thrown to the side as she lit the expensive cigar all while smirking at you and your limited responses to her.
She brought it up to your lips with a knowing smile but you had no energy or ability to make an annoyed comment about how unfair the teacher student hierarchy was because Carol's pace seemed to increase.
"Don't stop!" You managed to cry out to the blonde. You clenched around the strap desperately as your breathing increased and.you could feel your high approaching at a fast rate.
"Cum, slut." The blonde ordered and with that, you fell apart again. You bucked back against the strap as Carol fucked your through your orgasm and kept going. You were becoming sensitive from the intense pleasure you had been feeling and all of a sudden it became too much.
You thought Carol stopped when she pulled out, but she swiftly flipped you on to your front and sunk the strap back in. Your head threw back as you moaned lowly and instinctively wrapped your legs around your teacher's waist to help you handle her deep thrusts.
"I want to see you cum this time." Carol said as she eyed you greedily.
You felt a pair of soft lips meet your exposed neck and turned your head away more to give Natasha's wandering lips further access. Her hands crept up under your shirt and massaged the soft skin contained by your bra. She pinched your nipples as she sucked and lightly nipped at your neck, all while the blonde continued to fuck you into your next orgasm.
You gasped before giving a long moan in relief as your third orgasm washed over your body. You trembled in the women's gripped as they guided you through your high that had you seeing stars.
Your head fell back against the table with a light thud as you tried to steady your breathing.
"Fuck." Carol smirked as she combed her hair back away from her face and grinned down at your body arrogantly. "We're going to have to do that again." She sighed as she pulled the strap out slowly making you whine.
"You want that baby? You want to be our secret slut?" Natasha muttered into your ear and bit down gently. You groaned and nodded your head in response.
"Please." You whispered, your voice going hoarse.
"That's a good girl." Natasha praised as her hand wandered down your body again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Taglist: @caroldanvers2 @marvelwomenslut @marvelwomen-simp @likefirenrain @grxvitye @emilyprentisslittlewhore @lostandsearching @toastisawesome13
Join a taglist
#carol danvers#captain marvel#brie larson#captain marvel x reader#captain marvel imagines#carol danvers imagines#carol danvers x reader#marvel#captain marvel smut#carol danvers smut#natasha romanoff imagines#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff#carol danvers x natasha romanoff
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Kinktober Day 29: Interrogation, Bondage, Vibrators
“Coming in for the kinktober request! If it's still available lol. Levi is strapped to a chair by a Marley reader and interrogated, but it's not just any chair. Levi is sat with a vibrating dildo inside of him and has another little vibe egg strapped on his tip. And reader has the remote. Every time Levi doesn't answer the level goes up. Soon he's purposely stubborn and reader has long forgotten her goal. No information is gained, only a lover. LMAO I know it's weird, hope you're doing well!”
Word count: 3700
Tags: levi x reader, smut, canonverse, bondage, vibrators, power play, stockholm syndrome, dom!reader
while writing this, i listened to this and this
Remember! Levi hates art theft.
It was not his first bout with torture.
In fact, it was ironic - how his very induction into the Scout Regiment came via that same method. Grabbed by his hair, pushed to his knees, his cheek became close acquaintances with the pavement and its puddles. And that was just the start.
Breaking bones, throwing slaps, and strapping others to chairs. Levi had interrogated others more times than he could count, had undergone it himself a handful of memorable occasions. It had been part of his underground upbringing, of his enlistment, of his entire life. And if not for that, then karma was bound to catch up to him. Levi scoffed to himself, he should have seen this coming.
It was not his first bout with torture, but Paradis did not have devices like these.
Nor did their participants don these outfits. Not aprons, not rubber gloves, but latex and thigh-highs for the room’s officer. No bag over his head, no blindfold over his eyes, but instead, a plethora of rope tied all around his body that was otherwise stripped naked. Ankles bound to the chair’s legs. Wrists adhered to its arms. Back bent just the right way to accommodate its special features. Legs spread just wide enough to give you the view of it.
A small round apparatus fastened at the front, externally, at his tip. Behind him, beneath him, a much larger instrument nudged within. Belts particularly set - foremost, they prevented the movements that would allow him to induce his own orgasm, but were also carefully loosened to mislead him into thinking that he could. That extra inch of leeway would incite a futile struggle, one that would hurt himself and aid you in wearing him out faster.
In addition, those leather loops had a welcome side effect: how they accentuated features that were invisible when you first saw him shrouded underneath that opaque green cape. Without his uniform, with your expert bondage, and at his thighs, torso, groin, his figure was made even more defined than the black spandex suggested. Acute divots inside his upper thighs. The symmetry of his abdomen, pair after pair of muscles, rippling with deep breaths. Erection of a size much healthier than his height suggested. Low light of the room cast harsh shadows on his skin, suspenseful sweat painted glimmers everywhere else.
Ah, enough admiring. Pinching the inside of your palm, you grounded yourself. Time to get to work. But first, “You consent to this, Captain Levi?”
Pure mockery dripped off his title. Here in Marley, that honorific carried no authority - not only did it do him no good, but it was part of the reason he was subjected to this special treatment in the first place. Any old spy from Paradis would have gotten the same sentencing as those misbehaved Eldians: sent back to their homeland, just a little bigger this time. However, for the second-highest ranking soldier in the corps, the intel he undoubtedly carried, and such a pretty face - what a waste that would be.
His answer did not come swiftly - none of them would for as long as he held his intentions. Levi kept his attention deliberately towards the floor, utilizing precious seconds to summon the right response. Maybe you thought that this would be hell for him, but how wrong you had been about that. An erection already sprung, his insides already burning, you mistook his symptoms as involuntary and inevitable whether he was enjoying himself or not. But the truth was, he wanted this in the worst damn way, but if his captor knew that, he had a feeling you would take it away from him.
A silver stare downward: taking in your expertly knotted ties, surveying the cut-offs of his circulation, they were just background to his true concerns. How to answer? How to answer? Have your way with me? Too compliant. I have a choice? Maybe you would stop.
Darting glances stilled as he likewise settled upon a reply. His expression snapped up to the one above him in both physical position as well as that of power. Steel gaze shone underneath his bangs, still wisped in whiplash. Teeth clenched, he growled through them, “Do your worst. I dare you.”
In a rare twist, it was him who took your breath away. Brows knit, a twitch in your lip, you narrowed your gaze in a close read. There were undeniable signs of vulnerability: the rattled rise and fall of his chest, the pink peaks of his pecs, the throb of his member yearning. But despite his physiological state, his composure remained calm and collected. Irritating how unintimidated he was - deliberately meeting your eye contact, a cock of his brow accompanying. At the very least, Levi implored you to understand: he meant every word. And if you fell further into his trap, you would question whether or not you truly had the upper hand. For a moment, he had you convinced: maybe your tactics would fail, maybe you would get nothing out of him.
But that was before he knew about the remote in your hand. Come to think of it, how could he have? In terms of technology, his nation was a hundred years behind yours. It was the first time you ever felt a tinge of sympathy for your adversary. His flawless instinct, abilities unparalleled, if only he had lived in Marley, maybe he really could have been something. A partner of yours, even. On your first day of training, it had been harshly instilled - never give mind to those devils, for if you do, they will have already landed a seat on your shoulder, forever misguiding your decisions. It was dangerous to feel anything for him, but at the same time, your train of thought regained the confidence he threatened to take - the one you would need to conduct the session. Because certainly, he had never experienced stimulation like the kind you were about to give him now. Poor stupid thing probably didn’t even know what vibration was. With an eager smirk and a crank of your dial, you gave him his first introduction.
That initial second was always the sweetest to see. A sensation he had never experienced before was impossible to prepare for, his reaction likewise impossible to hide. Levi Ackerman was always careful with his words, parsing over them in his mind before he said them aloud. In turning on those toys, in making his thoughts spill freely past his lips, you had triggered two firsts at once.
The widening of his eyes, squeezed shut shortly after. An old habit, gritting his teeth, contending to reserve himself. That worked for a split second. “Wh-Wha…!��� That telltale jolt, a steep arch in his posture, throwing his head back, Levi screamed towards the sky, “hah’ahh!!”
Clearly struggling, but you showed no sympathy. A coy tilt of your head, “Hmm? Sorry…” you danced your thumb back a little, a silent demand of his response, “can’t understand you.”
A fast stir at his most sensitive spot, faster than he could keep up with. Reaching depths he never knew he had, at the area untrained, everything felt new. Levi shook his head, his look perplexed, struggling to identify this feeling. Faltering movements of his diaphragm were predictive tells to the rhythm of his words so inconsistently spaced, “The - The fuck…” a broken exhale, “is this!?”
You had him hovering around level 3, but decided to give him just a taste of what you had to offer - what he was in for. 7 presses in succession brought him temporarily up to 10. “You asked for the worst, didn’t you?”
It was then he learned a hard lesson, one you had mastered in this role, how the worst often brought the best. This was one of those times.
What the - !? Shocked by more than just these foreign devices, shocked by his own body’s reaction to them. The familiar rise of his floodgates, the spiked honey that raced past them, flooding every capillary. There was no doubt of what was about to come, given the hundreds of times he had experienced it before - but he could not wrap his head around the timing. Only a few minutes!? Faster than any time he had gotten off, even at his own hand. Already!? But, the most he managed was the first syllable, “Ah - Ahh - !?” Pitiful.
Sharp bucks of his hips were stamped by your bondage - not killing them, but compressing them. Offset from his usual pace: more repetitions squeezed into a smaller window. Wavelengths of his orgasm made to match those of your electronics: a humanly impossible frequency. An entirely new high, one he did not know he was capable of, Levi cursed himself and his body, “Ngh..! Fuck!” Pitch and pleasure cascading, “F’Fuck me…!!”
Fingers seized a white-knuckle grip on the wood grain. Toes cut to curl against the cold gray concrete. Both of your jaws had fallen: you never would have predicted he would cum so fast, from the first damn crank, but just when you thought you had seen it all - not only how fast he climaxed, but how hard. Every violent thrash in his seat and tall streak of his seed, each startling choke and guttural gasp for air, his condition gave you a secondhand effect: feeling your own arousal start to stir as witness to this breathtaking scene. Thankful that his eyes had rolled back, he missed your flash of shock as you took in his strung-out state. It had been strictly imprinted in boot camp: never let them see your waver. Even just an inch, your prisoner would take it and run with it. Before he could, you sprinted back in control.
A silent throat clear, maternal tone revived, “Oh, Levi…” you cooed, “that was only level 10,” waving the remote in front of his face, tauntingly, “and this goes up to 20.”
But he could not hear you at that point. Ringing in his ears, drowning in his own cries. You had not blindfolded him, but you may as well have. Fluttering lashes granted him only slivers of awareness - strobe lights and blaring music sourced by himself - all else around him lost.
Opposite to him, you remained well aware of it all. Coming up on 30 seconds, you glanced down to your stopwatch. Still going, huh? His figure still trembling, his passion still expelling. Such a long release suggested that it had been a long time since the last. All pent up, it must have been a while for him. For some reason, that had you satisfied. Licking your lips as you stared at his sex, still pulsing, painting himself in his own cream.
What a mess you’ve made… You knew one would happen, but not before the interrogation. Once again, he had you oddly lost. How to proceed? The expert dominant within you, though, chastised your perplexity: Idiot, what difference does it make? You heard him: do your worst!
The snark that landed you this job made an enthused reappearance: “I’ve heard rumors about you, Levi… many rumors.” You alluded, “But perhaps the cutest,” riding crop sat beneath his chin, beckoning his gaze towards yours, he fixated on the evil in your eyes, “you’re a bit of a neat freak, aren’t you?”
No reply sans his labored respiration. Not one for nonresponse, you brought things up a notch. The remote powered back on, brought back to the level at which this all started. Simultaneous, gloved hand wrapped tight around his member, stroking him a handful of times, manipulating his spill all around - up and down. Through your leather, you felt his blistering heat, his continued surge, only encouraging more malice to your spread, “This must be agony for you, huh?”
A slow shake of his head, Levi continued to face the floor, expression hidden by his locks of convenient length. A face that twitched between spent and a smirk, if only you could have seen it, you might have read his mind: quite the opposite.
Instead, you persisted with teasing, “We haven’t even gotten to the questions yet!” In your condemnation, Levi detected a confusing blend of critique alongside enthusiasm. Further complicated by a lighthearted jeer, “If this is the best Paradis has to offer… well,” you tapped your chin, pretending to care, “how do I say this lightly?”
Stiff soles of your shoes made clacks on the concrete, approaching the man seated before you. A crass crescendo made from his post-coital breaths and your sauntering steps - both increasingly loud to the other. Hands on your hips, you bent at the waist, bringing your lips so cruelly to his ear, “You are fucked.”
Your neck so close to his teeth, vital jugular dangerously near his sharp canines, your supervisor would have scolded you for letting your guard down, but you had a good enough read on him. The insane blush across his face, his violent tremble from head to toe, his cock smothered in his own cum and already rising again. Levi was far too weak to do anything. Although, if you had a perfect read on him, you would have realized: not only was he too incapacitated to pull such a move, but he did not even want to.
Running his fingers through his hair, turned slick with his sweat, you tousled a bit. Palm pressed to his head, you leveraged yourself down to his level. Eyes sharklike, they sensed his rushing blood, took note of the tears brimming. “This is going to be a long day for you, darling.”
// // //
The first one. The second one. A few more after that. Of the times he had cum, of how long this had been going on, Levi had lost track long ago. Even for you, the professional, it was getting harder and harder to tell. The spasms you saw in his first orgasm, his diminishing state made them appear chronic. A flinch here, a flex there, who was to say if it was the start of another, the end of one, or a plateau between them? Low groans and heightened gasps, just off the brink or right in the throes? His pleasure was no longer a single song, but an ongoing symphony.
One you interrupted time and time again with sadistic inquiry, “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know.” Tucking his stray strands behind his ear, petting him, praising him, “Not sure if you’re aware, but you’re kind of a big concern here in Marley.”
After a series of inhales and exhales, Levi languished through a rare rebuttal, “... Is that so?” Total disinterest plagued his tone, but not for the reason you figured. Not a diplomatic tactic, but rather, apathetic towards the interrogation itself, too drunk on dopamine to care about anything else - even if it meant the damnation of his nation.
“Oh yeah,” a particular sigh of yours sent a spark through his shaft - he longed to hear it again, “you’ve got the higher-ups looking over their shoulders.” Your thumb stroked his cheek, lingering cum from your handjob before made for a crude fingerpainting: a white heart shape on red skin canvas. Admiring your art, you took a step back and chuckled, “If only they could see you now… I guess they’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Levi’s lips parted in a stammer, lap twitched when you raised your voice, “Oh! Or maybe…” Past the blur in his eyes, he caught an enlightened glimmer in yours, “have you ancient islanders ever heard of a photograph?”
A flashbulb memory. Shiganshina. The injection. The basement. The drawer, its hidden base, those books. Though his first encounter was only a couple of years ago, he had heard of a photograph indeed.
Never would have ended up here otherwise.
Never would have brought me to you.
An infatuation ran warm within him. Tainting his heart, clouding his mind. As you moved his appendages this way and that way, manipulated your model into just the right pose, and snapped a picture bright and loud, your flash blinded him just like his developing crush. He did not interpret it as humiliation - even though that was your intention. Instead, he savored the smile that tugged your lips when you looked at him, the tiny dance you did when the polaroid printed, and how you tucked it soundly in your breast pocket. Levi took special note of that - the idea that the picture would not be on your superior’s desk tomorrow, but rather, kept forever safe in your bedside table, whipped out not for the sake of evidence but for your own personal memory in intimate self-loving times. Maybe if he was a good boy, he could even get a copy for himself.
More than that, even. He could see it. He could see it! Even as you eyed him like prey, even as you degraded him to nothing, he felt himself slipping further and further into the syndrome. Perhaps it was not his status that landed him in the chamber with you, but in a bizarre twist, your true love for him - a love grown requited. After all this, you would bring him to your bedroom, house him secretly until you two could hatch an escape plan together: Marley, Paradis, wherever. Get married, have babies, and brush off the ‘how did you two first meet?’
Smiling to yourself, how obvious it was - the mindfuck that had come over your prisoner. To keep his secrets would be much harder now. A glee in your stomach, excitement in your arms, ready to reap your reward.
Pacing back and forth, turning on your heel, your attention stayed soundly on him, “Humanity’s strongest, 90-some titan kills… turns out, he’s small, puny, pathetic…” tongue slithered on the last adjective. Rubbing his bare shoulder, tickling the crook of his neck, you spoke over his hiss, “Tell me, Levi… how could that be?”
No answer, but not silent either. Harsh panting. Jagged sighs. Low curses under his uneven breath. Again, you incremented your remote - the oscillations stronger, the thrusts deeper, all of it faster. Levi’s throat ran raw with shrieks, his joints trembling under pressure, hardly quelled by another round of bliss - one that almost hurt at this point. A stuttering, cumming, hot mess. Deceptively, shockingly easy - the total obliteration of the soldier you had once feared so greatly.
You crossed your arms and studied him. In preparation for this appointment, you had been warned countless times: He’s not like the others. He has a special power! Him and that gloomy brat - look out for them both! It was why you pulled out all the stops for him: the silicone egg that vibrated, the six-inch dildo that thrusted, and twice as many belts as you normally would have. So fucked-out, in the tallest trial he had ever faced, but he had yet to raise a finger. You had not seen any signs of that mythical ability. No attempt to break free from your bondage, not even the grotesque threats and filthy insults he was so quick to toss around. The definition of his muscle, the casualties attached to his name, a tinge of panic in your chest as you realized that just a few extra pieces of leather would not have been a match. Surely, if he wanted to - he could have broken free, right?
Fingernail traced the lines of his body - no doubt about it, such solid muscle would have been more than capable of escape - bicep to wrist, clavicle from end to end, down his sternum and along the underside of his pecs. “You’re an Ackerman, aren’t you?”
Steel eyes slowly looked up to you, a deity he deemed unworthy to be in the presence of. Levi Ackerman, at your service.
“Someone with your looks, your endurance…” A quick slap of his nipple drew a screech both alarmed and alarming. Stinging nerves, he relied on his screams to release their tension, and with that voice, you felt your veins run cold. To witness a man so renowned become undone with panic - even though Levi was your enemy, even though you alone were responsible for causing that feeling - the effect was contagious. If even he was scared, you were in deep trouble.
Both your breaths were irregular now, endlessly echoing off of the cell’s stone walls. You could only hope that his own mewls drowned it out, that his other senses sang loudly enough to distract him from your tells. A deep swallow was an attempt to bury your arousal, quickly replaced by more ridicule, “you must be popular with the ladies.”
Levi blinked harshly, as if something was caught in his eye. Cutie. In actuality, it was the thought of competition: all of them nothing compared to you. Though, he was not sure he could handle another press of your buttons - literal or figurative, “I was…” fingers wrapped beneath the arms of the chair, clutching tight, embarrassed, “popular enough…”
Unable to identify it in that moment, in later reflection, you would recognize it as jealousy. A sourness to your tone, your growls sent shivers down his spine, “Bet you have someone back home, huh?”
Certainly, that question had nothing to do with Marley, but both of you were blind to that now. Too caught up in the scene - caught up in each other. The warrior and the scout had unknowingly put international relations at the bottom of the pile, the relationship between you two the only thing that mattered.
Drinking up his arousal, all for you, envy dripped off your tone, “They’d probably be a little upset, don’t you think?”
About the nature of your inquiries, about the interrogation itself, about his allegiance, Levi gave it all up, heaving, “I wouldn’t… give a shit… if they were.”
Of his body, of his abilities, no one else knew him better, though you were approaching a close second. Blurriness at the edge of his vision, consciousness threatening to fade, Levi acknowledged that his time and energy were running out. The last he had to offer, Levi spent it for you. One final eye contact made - once again hoping you would understand: he meant every word.
In his gaze, pure submission. Tongue flopped over his lips, saliva pooling between your boots, offering himself to you. At the silent proposal, you felt your heart flutter. For the first time all night, he had summoned a version of you that was pure of ill intentions. Your heart jumped to your throat, to have the renowned Levi Ackerman devote himself to you, it was too good to be true. You had to double-check, “What’s that supposed to mea-?”
Three rapid knocks on the door. “Hey!!” Hand clamped down on the handle, you saw it bend in your peripheral vision, “What’s going on in there?!”
"Fuck," you whispered, just hot enough to make Levi tick again. As you ran from him, he rolled his head back over the rim of the chair - fixating on his exhales visible. Fading from white to gray, gray to clear, in the cold dark room. A stupor he found himself in - mind wandering - was the room always this cold? Or was it your fleeing that shifted the aura from a fire to ice?
“C’Come back, baby...” Levi shivered in his seat, teeth chattering. Ready to pass out, lost without you. “I’m c’cold...”
All of your instinct yearned to turn around and go back to him - but if you did, you had a feeling a fate far worse than the chills would have found you both. Three large strides from his chair to the door. Opening and slamming the iron panel shut behind you. For a moment, you were recalled a faraway feeling: a hand in the cookie jar, coloring on the walls, flying too close to the midnight sun.
“You’ve been in there all evening…” your officer towered over you, making you shake in your stance, a brief taste of your own medicine, “got anything good yet?”
Yes.
Too good.
A look back to your criminal, you saw him sound asleep upright in the chair. So effortlessly passed out, no signs of discomfort, you wondered if he often slept like that? Implored to know more about him.
You cleared your throat, threw up a hasty salute, “I think he has more to offer, I’d like to see him tomorrow.”
In his dreams, in your mind: Please.
// Kinktober Year 2 Masterlist //
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#levi ackerman x you#levi#levi ackerman#levi smut#levi ackerman smut#specials#kinktober year 2#anlian writes#my writing#alias's#spice rack
269 notes
·
View notes
Note
You read every gojohime fic???? That's amazing!!! What are your favourites?
hello anonie! i guess i can say i’ve read at least a good 80% of all the fics, at least. probably. most likely because the fic tag at the start of the year was tiny and now the community’s grown so much there’s almost 600 of them. that’s insane to me. like hello?
i have a lotta fics that come to mind, that i should honestly make a master post on because i love them all. so here are a few many that came to mind immediately as i typed this up.
gojohime fic recommendations!
multichapter
limitations by ohmytheon
“Parenthood chooses you," her mother used to tell her, but Utahime never understood that saying more than the moment she realized she was pregnant with Gojo Satoru's child. They were never meant to be something serious - never meant to be more than they were - and yet they both suddenly find themselves in a world that doesn't care about their desires - and that brings them closer in a way that no one else can understand. It won't be easy and it won't be kind to either of them, but it appears as if the universe has other plans for them
no one is what they were before by ohmytheon
The world broke when Gojo Satoru turned on jujutsu society. It's not the hopeful place it was before, but Utahime has never been one to give up. Until she's placed in a dangerous position directly in his path, and she finds herself trapped in a web that doesn't seem intent on ever letting her go.
and touch me like you never by ohmytheon
In public, Gojo is a special grade bastard, especially to Utahime, and has been all their lives. He knows exactly what insults to throw and what buttons to push to drive her up a wall. In private, however, he's got quite a few other things to tell and show her, which only makes things more confusing. It would be easier if she could avoid him entirely, but for some reason, he won't let her go entirely.
gravity by aerfei
This is Utahime, fierce and indomitable, and this is Satoru, who despite holding the world’s regard, still craves something that Utahime has had all her life. Coming together is sometimes an act of desperation, and sometimes a deliberate choice. Or: An Iori Utahime character study, through the lens of her relationship with Gojo Satoru, starting from the beginning and ending at the Goodwill Event arc. Manga spoilers and (at least 95%) canon-compliant through (at least) chapter 135.
count every single leaf in autumn by florieneofthesea
“I told my family we’re dating.” Utahime’s hand hovers over the door. “What?!” (or: Gojo tells his family that he's dating Utahime to get them off his back, so of course they invite her to the dreaded family dinner™)
favourite colour by otherthingsonhold
At 28, Satoru Gojo's responsibilities only start to multiply. With his clan looking to him to lead the family, and the balance of the universe in his hands, Gojo isn't thinking of much else. But when his mother brings something to his attention, the only thing Gojo can do is follow through. But how is Utahime Iori part of all of this?
gojo catoru by ashittywriter
Utahime is tasked to catsit a suspiciously large Persian dollface cat with pristine white hair, the most boop-able nose, and to top it off the cutest cerulean eyes. Too bad the cat also happens to be her idiotic colleague Gojo Satoru.
at the tail-end of spring by florieneofthesea
Utahime doesn't expect to remember her ex's number off by heart but it comes in handy when she's a little less than sober outside a club in a city she's not familiar with and her battery on three percent. She just wishes things turned out differently for them. (Or, post-break up exploration where outer forces refuse to let them have their happy ending.)
a second chance by onewordmore
In another world, it wasn't Geto who sneered down at humanity, regarding them to be worthless monkeys that deserved to die. In another world, it wasn't Geto who openly defied the Jujutsu Council and brought down terror and fear to all. In another world, it wasn't just Amanai Riko who died that day, amidst the cheers and delighted cries of the insane. And Utahime was going to learn, first hand, the consequences of her own death.
from you to me by onewordmore
A drabble series regarding Gojo and Utahime. From fluff to smut to angst to love. This is going to have it all.
oneshots
oceansize by aerfei
The marriage is arranged by their families, small clans both, with all their hopes and traditions laid gently upon the shoulders of their only heirs -- and yet, this distance is impassable.
under the cover of darkness by ohmytheon
It takes a little alcohol, early morning hours, and a game of truth or dare for Gojo and Utahime to admit some difficult truths to each other.
risk/reward by ohmytheon
No punishment had ever been more effective in making Gojo do his actual job than receiving praise from his secretary - or more grueling than when Utahime withheld it.
like a good roommate by ohmytheon
Utahime has a problem: her bed wasn't delivered to the new apartment. Her ridiculous roommate, Gojo, has a solution - but he's kind of panicking on the inside.
aware of us by halspur
“We did alright, didn’t we?” Gojo put his phone down after taking several dozen photos of Tsumiki walking across the stage, his eyes soft. “I mean, we were just kids, too.”
love song by halspur
“Because you’re weak.” Gojo said, muffled into the thin skin of her throat. “I can’t leave you alone.”
tear you apart by halspur
“I don’t want to be mean to you,” Utahime’s cheek was pressed into his spine, her voice muffled. “I like you.”
cuddles are for clean boyfriends by just_trying_my_best_everyday
Utahime finds Gojo Satoru sitting right behind the door, blindfold hanging on his neck, completely soaked in blood and petting her cat with both hands. And he stinks.
honey by florieneofthesea
Gojo Satoru experiences love a decade before he fully realises it.
roots by florieneofthesea
At the start of winter, Utahime starts to cough up blood. She thinks maybe its just the lingering damage from her last mission, but the coughing persists and it starts to scratch her throat, and itch at her lungs and when she finally makes the trip to Tokyo to ask Shoko for her help, she doesn't even get the first word out. Shoko welcomes her at the entrance to Tokyo Metropolitan Technical School and Utahime hacks up a single, pale blue petal, smattered with blood. She stares down at the flora on the ground and wonders if she's been cursed. Utahime looks up, and Shoko's eyes are wide.
to have and to hold by ashittywriter
“M’sorry," Gojo said his voice slurring at the end. "But please go away, I have a girlfriend." Utahime blinked in confusion. What the fuck?
souvenir by PrettyKittyLuvsU
“Aha!” Gojo tugged something out of his pocket, his long fingers curled around it as he held his hand behind his back. His other hand waved before him, a cheeky grin splitting his lips. “Ora, ora! Hold out your hand.” Utahime stared flatly. “Ora, ora!” Gojo persisted, continuing to wave his hand as he grinned. “Hold out your hand already!” Utahime scowled at the hand swaying infront of her face. She had half a mind to slap the man instead, but her students were closely watching. Even Gojo’s students, the second years mainly—for Sukuna’s vessel was apologizing profusely as the brown haired girl continued kicking him while the quiet one made no effort to stop her— looked in fascination at whatever ridiculous souvenir Gojo wanted to hand her. Utahime slowly lifted her arm, already planning on throwing the thing back in Gojo’s annoying face. Gojo gets Utahime a very special kind of souvenir. Set during the start of the Goodwill arc.
dayum this exposes me huh? i do be reading a lot but what can i say i love to see it. all these fics are amazing, to the writers y’all are doing fantastically like my goodness you be really putting ya girl in a loop with some of these fics with your plot-lines and doing it flawlessly. can’t thank them enough for them, their hard work and time!
be sure to show the writers some love and support with comments, bookmarks and fight that dayum kudos button when it smiles at you because lemme leave more—
i think they’d really really appreciate it when they hear the bing and be sure to check out all of their stories including the ones in the pairing tag! happy readings 😙✨
#there’s so much more. i gotta make a master post but yeah send your love to the writers#they’re amazing and deserve all the love and support#🤍💫✨#gojohime#fic rec#anon#asks#replies#nitatalks
415 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok so, foxes have like an annual mating season (January-March) so like, what if C!Fundy was experiencing the effects of this. Now let’s pair this with a bunny hybrid reader for irony. Maybe Fundy and reader have been good friends for a while, but there’s always been good chemistry and it’s had a bit of romantic/sexual tension One day reader finds Fundy all desperate in his room, and decides to help him out and when she offers and says she’s ok with it he’s on top of her hint of breeding kink?
Oooo you my dear anon are my first fundy ask! Be prepared it's a little long...
There is humour in the fact that you a bunny are friends with a fox, but none more so than now when you had been missing your fellow hybrid and gone to off to find where he had crawled off to, not even Quackity had know where he was when you visited Las Navadas he may or may not have asked you to bring him back when you did find him, citing important business and nothing more.
Sure you had days like this in the past hunting down Fundy and trying to spend time with him, but this seemed different like they had deliberately gone off the radar and didn't want to be found, but much like they had a tendency to borrow items you had a certain curiosity in you, albeit tempered with fear... Your rabbit sides fight or flight response is hard to tamp down.
The one place you always check last is his house, mainly because he is rarely there nowadays and also because the last time you were here the ghost of his father pulled your tail by accident, or so he claimed, and you would rather avoid that now with him no longer being a ghost and all (He stares like you would expect his son too, like something hungry).
Surprisingly the door is unlocked when you go to knock, your attempts making the door open and reveal the mostly bare front room of Fundy's home, mind you there are a few pillows and such strewn about as if someone or something had gotten inside, ignoring the shudder that runs through you lets you press on calling softly for your friend hoping they were home and weren't at the same time.
Reaching his bedroom lets you hear something like a growl, it's muffled and mixed with something else your mind wants to say pain but the smell you pick up on is telling you it is anything but. Now you are faced with a problem, you know this smell or well you know a version of it, Fundy was in season and clearly going through the effects alone but were you willing to help him? You were but what if he didn't want your help, the sheer potential for embarrassment was almost overwhelming.
When you do finally come to an agreement within yourself and open the door before you, the sight you are greeted by is new and enticing, on his bed stripped of his usual jacket and hat lies your friend, chest heaving and one of his hands buried in his open pants, wrist flicking violently as he tries to chase his peak.
You watch as his face twitches before you speak up, a shaky call of his name all you get out before he is looking at you, snapping into a sitting position and staring at you with wide eyes. His panting hadn't stopped and there was clearly something coating the hand that had been down his pants as he grips the bed, demanding you leave that it is not a good time for you to be here, that you should come back in a month and the two of you can hang out then.
Only when you step further into the room, your own nose twitching at the sheer density of the smell the room held, he flinches only relaxing for a moment before looking at you in shock, after all, you had just told him you would be willing to help and that, yes you knew what you were getting into and yes you were 100% okay with it all, shushing him the moment he started to try and query or pick holes in your resolve.
"Shhh it's okay Fundy, I want to help and besides I... Well, I would be a very dumb bunny if I didn't say I wasn't somewhat scared by sleeping with a fox-like you, but that's the thing it's you. And thoughts of you maaaay have helped me through my season last year, so why shouldn't I be able to help you with yours now..."
The offer is sealed with what was meant to be a quick kiss but was swiftly made into more, as you pull away only to be grabbed and dragged into a deeper one. One filled with teeth and tongue as clawed hands pull you into their lap, pressing you down onto him as you finally get to feel just how hard Fundy was this whole time, moaning into the kiss when the hands on your hips grind you down into him.
When the kiss ends, you're swiftly moved from where you were perched on his lap, now under your dear fox and squirming as his mouth works to paint your neck in as many marks as he can. His hands roaming from your hips one moving upwards coming to card through your hair and tease against the base of your ears loving the gasp that is pulled from you when the sensitive area is toyed with, and the other moving to pull whatever bottoms kept him from slipping his fingers into you.
"God, look at you, here I thought I was the one in season but fuck your this wet, haven't even gotten to the good bits and you're soaking my hand. Gonna feel so good wrapped around me, fuck you full and make sure you can't leave afterwards, maybe you'll take and we'll have our own little one. God, you'd look so good like that, let everyone know who got you that way..."
288 notes
·
View notes
Note
i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao
What Does the Fox Say - ao3
“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”
Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.
Her schedule was packed!
“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”
“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”
How unreliable. Men.
She sighed.
“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”
She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.
“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”
She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?
“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”
Her hands stilled.
“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”
She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.
“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”
The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.
Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.
“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”
“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”
She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.
“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”
“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”
“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”
“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”
“But – Nie-gongzi –”
Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.
“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”
She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.
“– can’t you do something?”
“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”
Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”
He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.
It was awful.
She couldn’t bear it.
“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”
“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”
The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).
“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”
“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”
“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”
-
When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.
That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.
Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.
Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.
No one ever found out what happened.
-
Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.
It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.
The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.
Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?
“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”
Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.
Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”
Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.
“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”
Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.
The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.
Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.
Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.
In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.
Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.
A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.
Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.
He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.
They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…
Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.
It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.
She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.
And next to her…
The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…
Jin Guangyao swallowed.
He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.
And oh, what advantages it had…!
“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.
“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”
“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”
His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”
Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.
Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”
Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?
“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.
“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”
She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.
It was that type of smile.
You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?
“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”
Her smile widened.
“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”
262 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'll Come Back for You (Bucky Barnes imagine)
REQUEST: ANON - something where he is in winter soldier mode and protecting the scientist (y/n) where she is the only one who can sort of calm him down after a mission
ANON - winter soldier!bucky being protective over his scientist who’s forced to be take care of his health and she’s being kept there against his will too
ANON - Bucky Barnes request about how both reader and Bucky are each other support systems? It could be like a headcanon, how would the reader comfort him while how he comforts her so forth and so on
WORDS: 3506
A/N: So I don't know if I was inspired or if I just wrote too much, but I'm not sure this story's good. Anyway, feedback is really appreciated and I hope you'll like it :) (also don't forget to tell me if you want to be on my taglist ^^)
“What happened this time ?”
Her voice was only a whisper in the quiet room. The broken man silently sat on the examination table while she stuck a needle in his functioning arm. He didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch. This masquerade had started the moment she had set foot inside Hydra secret base. They had brought her against her will to take care of their most valuable soldier. It was always the same dance, rehearsed a million times since she had met him. After each mission, each murder, he’d come to her. She’d fix his physical wounds, take care of his arm and let him go.
More than often, she found herself feeling sorry for him. She knew what Hydra was doing to him, she’d heard the screams echoing in the distance. It would keep ringing in her ears for hours. Sometimes, the simple thought of picturing what he was going through was enough to bring her to tears. No one deserved to suffer this way.
The Winter Soldier was a cruel man, an assassin. She had seen him in action, had even been attacked the first time they were introduced. But despite being the necessary tool to take care of their valuable killer, she liked him. This wasn’t a place anyone could handle, not even him. And while she was aware of the danger Hydra represented, he was a different story. The man he once was had been trapped in a small corner of his mind, disconnected. His hands were his own, but his actions were dictated by an army that had invaded his head long ago. He was a machine turned on and off at will by the power of ten simple words.
“I was stabbed” Was his only answer. He didn’t give any detail, simply raised his shirt so she could inspect the injury.
“Do you feel any pain ?”
He blankly stared at an invisible point on the wall, avoiding looking at her. He was aware anyone could be listening.
“Soldier ?” She called him, stopping her movement and waiting for his response.
“I don’t feel anything” His voice was emotionless and a chill ran down her spine when he spoke. He was detached, impassive, a statue unaware he was capable of sentiment.
She cleared her throat, trying to stay focused on her task. She cleaned the wound, took his vitals, wrote down the conclusion of her examination and prepared what she needed to sew him up.
When she was about to administer the anesthetic, he suddenly grabbed her wrist. She caught her breath, frightened, but made no movement. For the first time that day, he turned his head to look at her. Whatever she saw in his eyes was enough to ease the tension in her shoulders and she relaxed.
“It’s okay” She whispered, a kind smile on her face. “This is propofol”
She knew he would recognize the name. She had spent countless hours explaining everything she was doing to him in detail so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable or scared. He was a super soldier that required extreme measures of treatment.
“No drugs,” He told her.
“You might regret that decision once I start to put the stitches in”
“I need to stay conscious,” He explicated, almost begging her. “Please”
She didn’t argue, only glanced at a camera behind her recording their interaction.
“Alright” She conceded. “I’ll switch to saline”
He nodded, grateful she wasn’t pushing. She turned her back carefully so her table was no longer in the camera’s field of view and he watched her emptying the needle and filling it with a harmless mixture of water and sodium chloride. Nothing that would put him to sleep.
“Have you ever been to Greece ?” She asked him out of the blue. He stared at her curiously. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting. It has the longest coastline in Europe, with so many islands between the blue Aegean Sea to the east, the Mediterranean Sea to the south, and the Ionian Sea to the west. Can you imagine how beautiful it must be ?”
She kept talking for a while about the country, the books she had read and the films she had seen about it. His eyes stayed on her the whole time, his head tilted to the side, wondering why she was telling him all this. Not that he minded, he loved listening to her. She had the power to calm him down. He was constantly on high alert, ready to fight whomever he was told to kill, prepared to endure whatever torture they had prepared, but this room and the woman inside were his only small moments of peace. Her voice was the music he desperately needed to sooth his soul.
“Why are you telling me this ?” He wondered out loud.
She smirked. “To take your mind somewhere else than here. Seems like it worked”
He glanced at his stomach and realized the stitches were already there. Too engrossed in her story, he hadn’t noticed or felt anything.
“How…”
“Funny how magical words can turn out to be, isn’t it ?”
She could swear she saw the flicker of an emotion on his face looking back between his wound and the woman, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
“Thank you, doc”
She hesitated a moment before gently taking his hand on her own.
“Be careful” She muttered. “There’s only so much I can fix”
“I will” He promised. “Are they … are they treating you right ?”
She shrugged. “If threatening to kill me is what you consider right, then I guess I’m a real princess in a castle”
He ran a jerky hand through his hair and seemed to be looking for the right words to say but never spoke.
“Can I ask …” She began, curiosity getting the best out of her. “What is your real name ?”
When his gaze fell on her, all she saw was pure panic. Her question, as simple as it may have been, had surprised him. He didn’t remember, didn’t even question anyone, because it hadn’t mattered. He didn’t need to be more than a ghost to be able to kill.
“I’m sorry” She apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to…”
“I don’t know” He admitted.
She gulped and looked away. His eyes held too much confusion and despair. Coming face to face with the enormity that was this man’s fate was sometimes undeniably heartbreaking.
“Can I call you Winter, then ?” She suggested.
He seemed to ponder for a while before offering her a small smile. “Yes, yes I’d like that”
It hurt to see a glimpse of happiness on his face for something as simple as a name and the woman didn’t realize that what she had just given him was the shred of an identity. A tiny piece he would hold onto. He was living inside a nightmare he had no idea he was trapped into, and if she dared to help, she would pay it with her life. So all she had the power to do was give him a name. Make him feel alive again.
The next time she saw him was only a couple of days after, carried by two agents, head hanging low and barely conscious. His clothes were stained in blood and his metal arm seemed dislocated.
“Patch him up” One of the men coldly ordered. They dropped the injured soldier on the ground like he was nothing more than an object, not even human.
She rushed to his side, checking his pupils first with a flashlight to rule out any intracranial damage to his brain. She did the same on his chest with a stethoscope, searching for any potential life threatening injury. When she moved to his shoulder to inspect the metal bones, he regained consciousness. Maybe it was the sight of yet another scientist above him or the touch of her fingers on his skin, but the man was quick to react and got on his feet in no time. His human hand wrapped around her neck tightly and he pushed her body with force against a wall, choking her. She tried to speak, but the action had been so sudden and violent that she was unable to move a muscle. He was in a trance, eyes filled with hatred that she knew was not directed toward her. Whatever he was picturing in his mind had awakened the assassin. She was the threat and he was in a game of survival.
She whispered his name several times but it was only after a minute, when she was on the verge of passing out, that he seemed to realize what he was doing. He stared at her with wide open eyes and released her from his grip. Her body fell on the floor before she started coughing, struggling to catch her breath.
“I’m…” He tried to speak, looking down at his hands in horror.
“Water” She managed to whisper.
He brought the woman a bottle and tried to help her on her feet. When he reached for her, she involuntarily flinched. A pure reflex. She didn’t miss the sadness on his face as he recoiled from her.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know. It’s alright”
“I could’ve killed you” He said it more to himself than to her.
“But you didn’t” She laid a hand on her chest, taking a deep breath to try and calm her heart rate. “What happened ?”
“You touched me,” He explained.
“I touch you all the time” When he smirked, she realized the double meaning behind what she had just said. “Hm … why would it be any different today ?” She immediately changed the subject.
“Usually, when I’m unconscious I can … sense them around me. Working on me. And I can’t move but I still feel the pain”
Once again she was at a loss of words against the heaviness that was the burden of his life.
“Are you sure you’re alright ?” He repeated almost in a childish voice.
“I’ll get over it, don’t worry” She tried to reassure him. It didn’t seem to work. He took a temptative step, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. He moved his hand toward her neck, deliberately going as slow as he could. His eyes stayed on hers, watching out for any sign of fear. “What are you doing ?” She said in a breath, a different kind of shiver rolling down her spine.
“I need to make sure I didn’t hurt you” The sincerity and concern she heard in his voice were unsettling. She stared back in disbelief, but didn’t move. This was the closest they had ever been and it almost felt unreal for both of them. Too good to be true, especially in a place of nightmare like this.
He tilted her head to the back, still looking at her, and softly brushed his thumb over her skin. A bruise was already starting to appear. She saw the change in his eyes, the regret and sadness when he lowered his gaze. He kept inspecting her from all angles possible, making her chuckle in the process.
“Are you done, doctor ?” She joked.
He tried not to smile but miserably failed. “Almost. Haven’t found a diagnosis yet”
This time she laughed.
“C’mon, I’m not the real patient here. I need to take a look at you” She glanced at his metal arm, still dislocated. He was avoiding using it and she had noticed.
He sighed but didn’t remove his hand from her neck. Instead, his thumb slowly reached her cheek and he gently stroked her skin.
“I wish I could get you out of here” He whispered. “You don’t deserve any of this”
“Neither do you”
He clenched his jaw and plastered a tight smile, refusing to acknowledge what she had just said. He lowered his arm and sat on the examination table without saying anything.
“I’m gonna … hm … I’m gonna need to cut your shirt open” She gulped, trying to keep her cheeks from getting any warmer.
The man smirked and grabbed a pair of scissors nearby that he handed to her. She took it but didn’t dare to look at him, too uncomfortable by the situation. As she cut his shirt higher and higher, her hands started to shake. He could see her shifting her weight from side to side and desperately avoiding any eye contact. She was embarrassed and he was enjoying every second of it.
When finally she had taken it carefully off his body, she huffed in frustration. There was no denying that he had beyond toned muscle structure, verged into defined and well built curves.
“Is it… is it alright if I touch you ?” She allowed herself to take a glance at him, and rolled her eyes when she saw the smirk on his face.
“More than alright, doc” He teased her.
The moment her hands came in contact with his skin, he involuntarily flexed his muscles. She took a sharp breath, trying not to lose focus when she cleaned his wounds. She looked up at him to make sure he wasn’t in any pain, only to realize he was already staring. What should have been a quick glance turned into something more, a moment that lasted a little too long. When he leaned in toward her, she suddenly seemed to notice the lack of space between them. She cleared her throat and took a step back.
“Quit flirting, Winter” She reprimanded him with a playful grin.
He laughed. It was the first time she heard that sound and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her mouth. He looked so carefree and alive, so human. She was finally meeting the man behind the assassin, and he troubled her even more than the silent killer.
“I kinda like to see you flustered, doc”
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her obvious nervousness.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” She pursed her lips to keep from smiling.
“Sure you don’t” He sniggered.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna need to put that shoulder into place”
Instead of talking, he grabbed her hips and considerably shortened the distance she had put between them. Her eyes widened from both the sudden gesture and the feeling of his fingers on her body.
“Go right ahead, doc”
She leaned in toward him to have a better access to the injury, ignoring the unexpected shudder. She was practically over him, a hand on his shoulder, the other on his broad back. If he felt any pain when she pushed the bones back into place, he didn’t show.
“All good ?” He muttered, heavily breathing. She was about to ask if he was okay but the words stayed stuck when she realized how close their faces were. He wasn’t hurt, no, he was perturbed by her presence. He could smell her perfume and see the hair raising on her neck. Whatever he was feeling, she felt it too.
“Do I make you nervous, soldier ?” She said, a smile building on her full lips.
“You have no idea, doctor”
She turned to face him. They locked eyes and, for a moment, none of them moved. The atmosphere instantly changed when he bit his lips. He bent closer and closer, and this time she didn’t push back. When finally he kissed her, she froze in place. He was about to draw back when she grabbed his neck, deepening the kiss. A sensation she couldn’t comprehend took over her whole body. He didn’t rush, took his sweet time lingering his lips over hers. She could swore her knees would have given out if he wasn’t holding her in place. Her chest was fluttering and she lost all sense of time. He pulled back from the lack of oxygen, but not before caressing her mouth one last time.
“Too much?” He inquired quietly.
She shook her head, laughing. “No. Just enough”
“I’ve been dreaming of doing that for a while” He admitted.
“Quite the change of attitude. I could’ve sworn you wanted me dead only ten minutes ago” She joked.
He pouted, not particularly happy she was reminding him of his previous outburst.
“You’re all set up, Winter” She announced after one last look over his chest. “No major damage”
“Have you checked my heart ?” He joked with a smirk. “I think it’s beating a little fast”
She coughed to try and hide her laugh.
“I’m afraid that’s not fixable” She started to write her report, ignoring his lingering gaze on her. Her brain was still fuzzy from the kiss they shared. “Unless I stay away, which would probably ease your … discomfort”
“Who said anything about discomfort ? That’s a kind of pain I’d rather enjoy”
She raised an eyebrow, not missing the way her own heart palpitated.
“Don’t play with fire, soldier”
He smirked. “Between us, I’m trying to delay the moment I’ll have to go through that door again”
This time she lost all joy and raised her head from what she was writing on her report to look at him.
“You’re strong enough to leave this place, you know”
“Leave where ?” He asked.
“Somewhere you’ll find who you really are”
“Does that somewhere include you ? ‘Cause you should know I won’t go without you”
She walked up to him and took his hands.
“Save yourself while you still can, Winter” She sadly replied.
“What about you ?”
“I’m just … collateral damage” She exhaled.
He gently pressed his forehead to hers.
“I promise I’ll come back for you after that last mission”
“I’ll hold you onto that”
He planted a soft kiss on her lips, making her forget once again where they were and what their reality was.
“I’ll take you to Greece” He whispered. “Just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be great ?”
“It’s a date” She grinned, making him laugh.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll get out of here” He swore. “And I’ll take you dancing under the stars of Mykonos”
He didn’t know then that he would never have the occasion to keep that promise. They would have more moments, stolen from the chaos of this place, but nothing more. Weeks later, he would hear rumors about treason and compromising positions. He would understand too late they meant her. She was his weak point, and the Winter Soldier couldn’t have any weaknesses. She was disposable, he was an assassin with superpowers. All the recordings they had proved he no longer could be operational so long as she was still breathing.
“Buck, you alright ?” A voice suddenly spoke in the agonizing silence.
He turned around to his friend, brushing the tears he didn’t realize had started to fall. Standing in the empty room, he couldn’t move away from the dried patch of blood on the floor.
“Yeah, I just need a minute” He shook his head, trying to make the painful memories disappear.
The man behind him began to inspect the place, searching through scattered papers around a desk.
“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N” He read.
Bucky closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. The simple sound of her name was enough to widen the open wound inside his chest. He sat on the examination table one last time, without her. Forgetting he wasn’t alone, he let himself wander into his most precious memories. He remembered the taste of her lips, the smell of her perfume and the touch of her skin. Every detail engraved in his head forever.
“Did you know her ?” The person asked.
“Yeah”
The man stopped what he was doing and observed the former assassin for a solid minute. He looked heartbroken.
“Bad memories ?” He inquired.
“Not in this room” Bucky sadly smiled.
“What happened ?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Steve”
The Captain hesitated for a moment but didn’t push. He was aware his friend was still healing and whatever the place was, it was part of his pain.
“Is she dead ?” He only questioned.
He gulped and tilted his head backward to keep the tears at bay. “They took her away from me” His voice cracked when he spoke. He was not able to stop the violent sob that escaped his mouth. He wanted to say so much more but the lump in his throat was far too heavy.
“I was too late,” He whispered. “I promised I’d come back for her but I was … too …”
His shoulders started to shake as tears ran down his bloodshot eyes. Steve rapidly closed the distance between them and hugged his friend, letting him express his sadness. They stayed there until he was calm enough to take a deep breath.
“You ready ?” The Captain inquired.
The broken soldier silently nodded.
“Where to now ?” Steve asked him. “You’re free to go anywhere you'd like”
“Greece. I have a date in Greece”
Taglist below the cut
@partypoisonsblog - @tylard-blog1
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes fanfiction#the winter solider x reader#the winter soldier imagine#the winter soldier imagines#the winter soldier fanfiction#winter soldier#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier imagine#winter soldier imagines#winter soldier fanfiction#tfatws#fatws
844 notes
·
View notes
Text
JC’s deeply rooted resentment of WWX, JFM’s parenting, and the inevitability of the falling out of the ‘Yunmeng bros’.
In discussion of the breakdown of JC and WWX’s relationship, their falling out is often regarded as a mutual failing on both sides to properly communicate and maintain their relationship. I’m making the case here that their falling out was a foregone conclusion from the start, and in no part due to the actions of Wei Wuxian.
This is because YZY has instilled in JC the idea that JFM dislikes him, something he believes before WWX arrives in Lotus Pier, JC already feels inferior, thus as soon as potential competition for JFM’s attention comes along in the form of WWX, JC resents him, believes JFM prefers him, and looks for reasons to justify this.
Summarising their very first interactions - from chapter 71 - WWX arrives at LP, sees JC with his puppies and is so terrified that he refuses to come down from JFM’s arms the entire day. The second day, JFM gives JC’s puppies away.
Now, I would like to think that no one seriously believes that this is an act of favouritism, but I have seen this case being made so I just want to make clear that WWX is obviously traumatised by his previous interactions with dogs. After trying for a whole day to comfort WWX, with no success, JFM does not exactly have any other choice than to give the puppies away, WWX cannot be expected to live in constant terror in the place that is supposed to be his home.
Consequently, ‘This angered Jiang Cheng so much that he threw a big tantrum. No matter how much Jiang FengMian comforted him gently, telling him that they should ‘be good friends’, he refused to talk to Wei WuXian.’
JC’s reaction is fairly understandable for an 8 year old. JFM comforts JC, and does not treat him callously or dismiss him, however it takes several days until JC will even talk to WWX.
When JC does start to warm up to him, JFM thinks it’d be a good idea for them to have a sleepover, JC is on the ‘verge of agreeing’ to this, which JFM is overjoyed by - so much so that he picks WWX up.
This is not an example of favouritism, JFM doesn't repeatedly give affection to WWX and not JC, he holds him twice - the first instance being purely because WWX was too terrified to leave his arms, the second being this one. These are the only two times where JFM is described as being affectionate towards WWX, JC is still in the lead on this count. But JC interprets this as JFM preferring WWX.
This results in the JC shutting WWX out at night.
At that time, Wei WuXian didn’t know what Jiang Cheng was mad about at all. After a pause, he replied, “I didn’t steal anything. It’s Uncle Jiang who told me to sleep with you.”
Hearing that he was still bringing up his father, almost as if he was purposely showing off, Jiang Cheng’s eyes reddened as he yelled, “Go away! If I see you again, I’ll call a bunch of dogs to bite you!”
This is the important part - JC sees WWX in the worst possible light, and rarely thinks of WWX as a person outside of how he directly impacts JC - he concludes that WWX is purposefully antagonising him, this is a trend that continues well into adulthood.
Then, when WWX flees LP after JC threatens him with dogs, JYL tells JC to find people to help search for him. However,
‘If any other disciple or servant learned about this and told Jiang FengMian, after Jiang FengMian knew how he threw Wei WuXian’s sheets out and made him hurt his leg, Jiang FengMian would definitely dislike him even more. This was also why he only dared chase after them alone and didn’t get anyone else.’
JC has obviously behaved wrongly here, and JFM would be right to scold him for it, but JC interprets this as JFM disliking him. We haven’t seen anything to suggest that JFM actually dislikes JC, he always treats him quite gently, actually. But JC is already at the conclusion that JFM dislikes him, and twists events to suit this - if his dad scolds him for misbehaving, it’s because he dislikes him. This pattern repeats after the Xuanwu Cave arc too.
This is because Madam Yu has ingrained into him the idea that JFM dislikes him, because he’s her son. This has nothing to do with WWX - because both her and JC already believe that JFM dislikes JC prior to WWX’s arrival - she only sees him as additional fuel to use.
The only other person who mentions JFM supposedly treating WWX better than JC is JZX. I’m sure it's a coincidence that he’s the son of YZY’s best friend.
‘“Doesn’t he treat you better than treating his own child or something?”’
Note the ‘or something’, - JZX doesn’t seem to know this with certainty - he’s repeating what others have said, despite having visited Lotus Pier several times (as stated in ch.69), JZX hasn’t seen evidence for himself that JFM prefers WWX.
‘“Maybe I should’ve let you hit him, while I stand aside and watch. This way, Uncle Jiang might not need to come. Oh well, I really couldn’t hold back!”’
We know that WWX doesn’t see JFM as favouring him - so what does he mean by this? Well, LQR has had it out for WWX from the moment they met, and has already sent a letter to JFM complaining of his behaviour - at this point WWX doesn’t know that this results in them breaking the JZX/JYL engagement either, so he’s probably purely thinking that LQR summoned JFM to CR to discuss WWX’s repeated offenses. JC hasn’t done anything to invoke LQR’s ire (or rather, he’s gotten away with everything he has done), so WWX thinks that if JC fought JZX, it would not have been treated so seriously, compared to WWX, who has repeatedly misbehaved.
Contrary to fanon interpretation, WWX is not oblivious to other people’s feelings, he’s very empathetic, and additionally understands JC very well. He doesn’t see how JC is feeling here, because JC’s feelings are just so illogical...
‘Although it was only Wei WuXian’s casual words, he held mixed feelings, because he knew that this wasn’t a lie.
Jiang FengMian had never hurried to another sect in one day for anything related to him, no matter if the issue was good or bad, large or small.
Never.’
Once again, JC’s at the conclusion that JFM dislikes him, he twists events to support this. He’s looking at this scenario very strangely - JFM didn’t rush to CR because he likes WWX, he was called there by LQR, to discuss JYL’s engagement with JZX. Secondly, we’re never given any examples of scenarios where JC does anything to warrant JFM rushing over. As far as we know, they never even stay with other sects. Knowing JC’s personality, his dislike of doing anything to rock the boat, it’s extremely unlikely that he’s ever done anything to warrant JFM rushing over like this. Moreover, it’s a bizarre thing to be jealous of, WWX is in trouble, he’s not on the receiving end of positive attention from JFM.
JC’s flawed reasoning is once again illustrated after the Xuanwu Cave arc...
‘Jiang Cheng’s expression was complicated after he had finished listening.’
This is Jiang Cheng’s reaction after WWX credits LWJ with killing the tortoise of slaughter - this is before JFM congratulates him. Before JFM says anything, JC is purely resentful about WWX having done something heroic, more so, resentful that WWX is willingly to let LWJ take most of the credit - he’s annoyed about this, most likely feeling that WWX is rubbing in his face that he doesn’t need the recognition that JC so desperately craves.
‘Jiang FengMian nodded and said, “You did well.”
Killing a giant 400-year-old beast at only 17 was way beyond what one would call ‘doing well.’’
JFM knows about JC’s… issues, he knows how he’ll react to WWX’s receiving recognition, he likely purposefully downplays his praise to avoid upsetting him. (Who’s really being favouritised? Lol)
But, even to this, JC reacts badly, he lashes out at WWX, once more interpreting him in the worst possible way.
‘Jiang Cheng hissed, “Too fucking bad, then. You shouldn’t have been so damn stubborn and you shouldn’t have cared so damn much about such a trivial thing. If you’d never moved in the first place –”’
JC’s response is to basically tell him the entire incident was his fault. Which is objectively not true - WWX only gets involved in the conflict after it has already started, and then he acts deliberately to try to end it, rather than impulsively fighting. He also starts to say that WWX should have left their allies - LWJ and JZX - to die. This is where JFM cuts him off, and tells him it’s not appropriate to say such things - he’s not scolding him harshly, JC is not being unfairly treated here, he’s done wrong, and JFM is trying to teach him why, you know, parenting. But JC, and YZY, take this to mean JFM dislikes JC.
JFM tries to teach JC about the Jiang sect’s motto once more - this is of course, not just about the motto, but about the values that JFM wants to instill in him, as a parent.
This is where Madam Yu arrives.
“Yes, he doesn’t understand, but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands?!”
Of course, what she says is nonsensical, it does matter to JFM that JC understands the motto, that’s why he’s trying to teach him. If he did not care, he would have given in already.
This is further supported...
‘Jiang Cheng’s appearance and temperament all resembled his mother’s. Jiang FengMian guided him from childhood, but no matter how much he tried, he still couldn’t change his son’s nature. As such, it always seemed like he disliked his son.’
JFM has never been dismissive of JC just because he’s YZY’s son, he’s always tried to teach him, but JC always had his mother’s nature - YZY’s nature being harsh, standoffish, foul tempered, with no care for others - Note that is says it ‘seems’ like he dislikes his son, solely because he’s trying to teach him to be a better person. He has good reason for doing so - as a kid, JC never had friends, he doesn’t seem to as an adult either, he only has Jin Ling, whom he pushes away with his foul temper. JFM was just trying to raise JC to being an even-tempered person, capable of functioning in society, which is kind of what parents are supposed to do. But once more, this is taken as dislike.
Note that during JC’s outburst, every single thing JC claims about what JFM thinks of him, he’s parroting what YZY has said, none of these points have any actual evidence.
The next point to consider is how JC blames WWX for the fall of LP, despite it objectively not being his fault - JC knows this too.
‘In his heart, Jiang Cheng knew clearly that back in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter at Dusk-Creek Mountain, even if Wei WuXian hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, the Wen Sect would have found some reason to come over sooner or later’
Even if WWX’s actions did prompt the Wens to act sooner than they otherwise might have - coming sooner or later would have made no difference at all because YZY outright stated she had no intention of preparing for an attack, even after WWX suggests they should, and JFM was still going to the Wens asking for their swords back - they were still uselessly trying to suck up to the Wens, thinking it would save them.
Despite knowing deep down that WWX was not to blame - he still uses it to fuel his resentment of WWX, because the resentment was there from the beginning, the only uncertainty is the means he uses to justify it.
During the ancestral hall confrontation - he uses this excuse again.
‘Jiang Cheng responded contemptuously, “You really are forgetful. What’s called a shameful person? Let me remind you. Just because you decided to be a hero and save this Second Young Master Lan, the entire Lotus Pier including my father and mother was buried. If this wasn’t enough, after the first time, you still want a second time, even wanting to save Wen-dogs and implicating my sister and her husband, how noble of you. Even nobler, you are so magnanimous to bring these two to Lotus Pier. Allowing the Wen-dog to stand at the front of my gates and letting Second Young Master Lan offer joss sticks, purely trying to antagonize me.’
Obviously, WWX did none of these things to antagonise JC, in fact he was going through a complex emotional journey of realising that he has feelings for LWJ, and that LWJ probably has feelings for him too, he doesn’t go to the ancestral shrine to mess around - he’s ‘introducing’ LWJ to JFM, YZY, and JYL, because he’s thinking about marrying him.
The problem is, JC never really sees WWX as a person, WWX has always been more of a concept - someone to compare himself to, the reason his father doesn’t like him, the reason his mother uses to berate him. It doesn’t occur to JC that WWX is a person outside of what he is to JC, and he is therefore incapable of empathising with what WWX might be feeling right now, instead the only possible conclusion is that he’s antagonising JC.
He follows the same line of thinking when WWX defects with the Wens. JC knows what he and WWX owe them, in fact JC owes them, far, far more than what WWX does - it was his parents whose bodies Wen Ning retrieved, and it was him who WN had to rescue from LP. But JC thinks, he can get away with not paying this debt, so why should he? JC is selfish, he doesn’t understand why WWX would want to help others when he doesn’t have to, so JC concludes, this is WWX showing off, ‘playing the hero’.
Because from the moment they met, JC has never tried to know WWX for who he is, whatever WWX does, JC interprets in a negative light - when WWX tries to get LWJ’s attention, (despite it being painstakingly obvious that WWX has a crush on him) JC concludes that WWX is messing around foolishly, without reason (parroting the untrue things YZY says about WWX always seeking trouble). When WWX wants to help people, he’s playing the hero, one upping JC. JC only ever thinks of WWX in relation to himself - when WWX disappears for three months, JC’s immediate complaint is that WWX kept him waiting, that he’s put JC out by making him search for him. You could argue that JC was just worried about WWX, and not able to express it - and on some level that’s true. But there’s a very intentional contrast between how LWJ and JC react to WWX’s return - LWJ is worried about WWX, about how his cultivation method is affecting him, moreover, WWX is very clearly not himself. JC, however, does not care for that - he only sees WWX, and modao, as a tool for killing Wens.
It takes almost nothing for JGS to manipulate JC into turning against WWX in ch.73 - he readily believes every negative thing JGS says about WWX, despite being called out directly for lying by LWJ. JGS talks as if he is a servant who has forgotten his place, unlike JYL, JC does not defend him. He refuses to speak up for him - he claims that no one will - yet LWJ and MianMian did. JC didn’t turn on WWX because it was impossible for him to speak up - he was living proof that WQ and WN did not support the Wen sect in the war, he drops him the moment he can because he’s resented him from the beginning.
Another interesting tidbit about JC just fundamentally not understanding who WWX is as a person, is that he only blames LWJ for the Xuanwu Cave incident - not JZX, despite him behaving no differently to how LWJ does. This is probably because he realises WWX’s fixation on LWJ, and supposes that this is the reason that WWX got involved in the conflict. But of course, WWX would have done something whether it was solely JZX, or just a random person.
Taking all this into account, it seems almost inevitable that WWX and JC would fall out eventually, because JC was, from the start, looking for reasons to dislike WWX, he turns against him at the first opportunity he got. For the ‘Yunmeng bros’ to have a healthy relationship, JC would simply have to fix his entire personality.
JC is unable to see WWX as a person, right up until the very end of the novel - when he recalls how he impulsively put himself at risk in order to save WWX. Finally, for the first time, JC is able to understand why WWX stood up for others in Xuanwu Cave, why he helped the Wens, because JC did the same thing, put himself on the line for WWX, probably the only time JC has ever acted so selflessly. And this is why he lets him go, he lets go of the things he blamed WWX for. For the first time, he is able to empathise with WWX, he understands that WWX was never ‘playing the hero’, seeking praise or recognition, he understands that WWX helps people purely because he feels in the moment that it’s the right thing to do. This is what enables him to finally let go of WWX.
I’m always a bit baffled when people claim mxtx never gave JC a happy ending, because this is his happy ending - him being able to realise that WWX never wronged him - when he finally lets go of this, he can live freely.
823 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
innerwildside
Untitled
lyonauction
Alex Lyon & Son
anwellman
无标题
hotcamsplays
Hot cams plays
chuang1977
無標題