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amhrosina · 1 year

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I Heard Love is Blind (Matt Murdock x f!Reader)

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A/N: Soooo sorry this took so long. I’ve taken the last week off from writing to travel for the holidays. As for this fic, I’m well aware that this isn’t how visual impairment typically works but being that I’m writing in a universe where superheroes exist, I’m asking y’all to suspend your beliefs for a few minutes. The end of this fic was just a little fun idea that I had as I was writing it. It's short and sweet (around 1.3k words). I hope y’all enjoy!

Request: Hello! So, the reader is becomes blind because of a disease or something... whatever... and she in hospital room with matt with her, then doctor comes and tells them she cannot be able to see ever again. She doesn't want to cry while matt is there because she thinks he can be offended or something, but she cannot help herself and matt tries to comfort her? What do you say?

Summary: Matt helps you sort through your feelings after you have an accident and lose your sight. You struggle with opening up to him fully because you don’t want to hurt him.

(Warnings: female!reader, references to (but no detail of) an accident, newly visually impaired reader, angst, soft!matty, protective!matty, references to a possible female daredevil towards the end)

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was an accident, really, but the overwhelming feeling of dread hadn’t left your system since you’d been hoisted into the ambulance that brought you to the hospital. Matt was right behind you, of course, arriving at the E.R. entrance at the same time you did, lurking in the corner of the hospital room as doctor after doctor examined you.

You couldn’t help but jump when a new set of hands began to poke and prod around your eyes. You couldn’t see them, hadn’t been able to see anything since the accident, and they didn’t announce themselves. Or maybe they did, and you weren’t listening. You didn’t know. The world around you had become a blur of noises, an overwhelming rush of sensory overload that you were too exhausted to try and figure out.

Your name had been murmured by countless doctors, but your ability to respond was muted by the pounding of your heart in your ears. A firm, warm hand rested on your shoulder, and Matt’s cologne wafted into your nose. The outside world once again became background noise as Matt lightly squeezed your shoulder. You had the sudden urge to giggle at how backwards this predicament was. Normally, it was you grounding him when the noise became too much to bear. Now, he was fulfilling your position – providing a distraction to focus on until everything – the world, it’s chaos – settled.

“No pupillary response.” One doctor muttered in a melancholy, but professional tone. The scribble of a pen on paper sent goosebumps down your spine.

When the words “possible permanent blindness” passed through hushed whispers around the room, you didn’t flinch, all too aware of the blind man you’d fallen in love with sensing your every move. Your lack of reaction was cause for concern from everyone in the room, most of all Matt, who hadn’t uttered a word since the accident.

“Can she have a second?” He murmured softly, ushering the nurses and doctors out of the room faster than should’ve been possible. He always did have a way of making people do what he wanted them to do, though you didn’t think he was aware of the effect he had on people. Not completely, at least.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in your ears, and you got the sense that every bad feeling you’d been ignoring since this began was about to force its way out of you. Matt’s sigh as he sat down next to you snapped you out of it, and you blinked away the tears that had begun forming.

It wasn’t fair to cry over this in front of him. You shouldn’t be mourning the loss of something he had lived without since he was a kid. Not in front of him, at least.

“You’re handling all this remarkably well. Better than I did.”

Matt didn’t say this with malice or malcontent. Rather, an astute observation on his part. Almost entirely lawyerly if you had to pinpoint his tone.

“You were nine, Matt, and we don’t know that it’s permanent.” You muttered, the first words you’d spoken since you’d lost the ability to see.

“Still.” You felt him shrug. You reached out your hand, feeling around the sheets until your fingers met the skin of his wrist. He didn’t miss a beat, intertwining his fingers with yours as soon as your skin met his. He lifted your hand, planting a small kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re allowed to be upset about this.” He mumbled against your hand. “I can feel the energy in you. Let it out, sweetheart.”

“Matty, I can’t just– It’s not fair to you that I– It wouldn’t be right.” You groaned, blinking back the fresh wave of tears trying to force their way out of your eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Even if it’s not permanent, this is still a big change for you. You’re allowed to mourn this.”

A few tears escaped as he spoke, and the only thing keeping you from furiously wiping them away was Matt’s hand, already there, softly stroking your cheek as you tried your hardest not to fall apart in his hands.

“What if it is?” You mumbled, sniffling.

“What if it’s what?” He asked, ghosting over your eyelids with his thumb.

“What if it’s permanent, Matty?” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Furious tears cascaded down your face, and you let out an ugly sob as you revealed the horrible thoughts you’d been trying so hard to hide.

Matt allowed you to sob into his chest, cradling you against him as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. His dress shirt, the one you loved so much, the one he wore to work today because you wanted to see him in it, was soaked with tears before he finally spoke.

“It’s not fair that you’re going through this, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could change it. But I know you can handle it, okay? You’re strong enough to do this, and you’ll have help. We’ll figure it out, baby.”

You nodded into his chest, unable to form a coherent sentence in response.

“Sweet girl,” Matt cooed, kissing your hair, “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me, ever, okay? I know it’s frustrating – trust me, I know better than anyone what you’re going through right now – but it does get easier. I promise.”

You wiped the tears from your face, careful to avoid your eyes. Goosebumps bristled on the back of your neck when the sound of a car horn loudly echoed in your ears. You couldn’t keep your hands from clamping over the sides of your head in response.

“The world is so loud, Matt. I don’t know how you handle it all the time.”

Matt lifted your hand to his face so you could feel the indents of his cheek as he smiled.

“You get used to the noises after a while. They become a sort of…white noise, I guess you could call it. Is the beeping of the heart monitor bothering you?”

“No, it’s the cars. This city is so loud.”

Matt stiffened, tightening his grip on your hand.

“What do you mean?” He asked, breathing into your palm.

Another loud honk blared in your head, and you couldn’t stop your body from cringing into a ball.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that.” You mumbled, shaking your head to try and rid the echo of the horns from your ears.

“No, I can hear it. How are you hearing it? We’re on the 18th floor.”

“What?”

It was your turn to stiffen. You didn’t quite understand the curiosity in Matt’s tone. You weren’t entirely sure you believed what he might be implying. You cocked your head to the side, mimicking the thing you’d seen Matt do a million times when he was trying to follow a specific noise, and focused your attention on Matt.

He was at least a foot away from you now, pacing across the floor. You couldn’t figure out how you knew he was pacing. You focused on the way his shoes tapped on the linoleum floor, the way his hands fiddled with his cane, tightening and untightening in a rhythmic dance, the way his heart was pounding in his chest, even though there was no possible way you could actually be hearing his heartbeat from this far away.

“Matty…” You murmured, lifting your hand from its place in your lap and reaching towards him.

“Yes, dove?” He asked, clearing his throat. He was closer to you now, and for the first time since your vision had gone, you weren’t surprised when his hand grasped yours. It was eerie, knowing where he was even though you couldn’t physically see him in front of you.

“What’s going on?” You asked, tightening your grip on his hand. He reached his other hand towards you, brushing his knuckles across your cheekbone in a soothing motion.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’re going to figure it out, okay?” You nodded, leaning your head into his hand. “Okay, Matty.”

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

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apartment 4d

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,621

summary: There’s nothing Bucky loves more than the widow down the hall and her son.

warnings: Tiny bit of angst and some cussing. Mostly fluff.

a/n: Thank you so much to @indyluckycharlie for commissioning this! I hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes was a simple man. He loved his family, Steve, his apartment, and you.

You, the pretty widow. You and your son, Eugene, lived in 4D, right down from where he lived in 4A. After your husband had died in the war, you’d been forced to move since you couldn’t afford the nice house you once had.

And maybe he’s sick. He’s gotta be, considering the fact that you had lost your husband in the same war that he’d been fighting in, that he’d lost his arm in and almost his sanity with it. He’s gotta be sick, right?

Because otherwise he wouldn’t dream of coming home to you and Eugene, of sweetly kissing your cheek. He wouldn’t want to teach Eugene how to tie his shoes and shave his face when the time came.

Speaking of.

A grin spread over his lips as he came up the stairs and saw you trying to unlock your front door while also holding your baby boy on one hip and your groceries in the other. Your son, clad in a cute little outfit that looked almost like a sailor’s uniform, whined as he tugged at your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed, wincing as you tried to not get upset. It had been a really rough day and him pulling your hair was just making it a little harder since you were trying to open the door. “Please don’t pull Mama’s hair.”

“Hey, you want some help?” Bucky called out from the top of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the rail.

His voice breaking the silence startled you, judging by the way that you jumped and dropped your keys. “Oh, uh… That’d be lovely. Thank you,” you said, giving him an exasperated smile as he came over and grabbed them from the ground.

“Here, let me help,” He said after opening the door. He grabbed some of your groceries, though he couldn’t take all of it since he’d left his experimental prosthetic at home. Howard was still tweaking the design since it hurt if he kept it on too long.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you managed to get inside and you set Eugene on the floor with a few of his toys. “Today has just been a nightmare. Eugene gets overwhelmed so easily and the supermarket was horrifically packed…” A snort. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You probably have things better to do than listening to me complain.”

But there was almost nothing that Bucky would love more than to listen to you complain about literally anything for the rest of his life. “No! No, don’t worry,” he insisted as he stepped towards you. “I don’t mind…”

Your eyes felt hot as you tried to fight tears, your cheeks flushed. “Sorry… I hate crying…” God. Here you were, crying in front of a man you hardly knew.

“You really don’t have to keep apologizing,” he insisted as he set the groceries he was holding on the kitchen counter.

The dark green countertop was a stark contrast to the white wood of the cabinets and a compliment to the soft green walls. It wasn’t light enough to be mint, but not dark enough to be forest. He could see the care that you clearly put into your home just from the kitchen, considering the fresh greenery that framed the circular window, a potted plant sitting on the sill.

Eugene was talking animatedly to his toys in the living room, completely unaware of their conversation in the kitchen.

Somehow, even with the nightmare you had claimed to be through, you still looked absolutely stunning. There was a stain from what he suspected might’ve been Eugene’s lunch on your chest, and the victory rolls in your curls were starting to fall. Your fiery red lipstick was a little smudged in the corner, and before he could even stop to think, he reached across the counter top and gently wiped it away.

“There,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible. There was a sparkle in the depths of your eyes that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever. A kiss at the corner of your lips.

And he didn’t deserve such sweet things. Not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t stain you red with his sin, put a traitor’s ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, your eyes locked on his.

And it was like he suddenly forgot his own argument.

He’d fall to his knees at the altar of your love and beg for forgiveness. He’d repent until he was repenting his own name and etching yours into his heart.

“Mama?”

And your son. He’d do everything he could to love him and show him what a real man was if you’d let him.

If you’d let him love the both of you.

“Yes, my love?” you asked as you scooped him up and placed him on the counter.

The spell between you two hadn’t been broken, just… momentarily suspended. There was still the magic that came from a moment clinging to the air. The domesticity of it all was so apparent as your eyes met his for just a second.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” He asked, tripping and stumbling over his words like any toddler would.

A honey sweet smile spread over your lips as you looked up at him. “Well? Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” You asked.

And he did. He stayed for dinner. And then stayed for dinner the next night and the next.

Bucky stayed for dinner seventy-two times before you invited him to stay the night.

You two had shared a lot in the last few months. You’d completely fallen for him, somehow letting all your walls down.

The sheets softly rustled as you climbed into bed, your heart pounding. You’d made sure to wash them that same morning, wanting them to be fresh for when he came over.

Your nicest nightgown, a shift made of soft blue silk, slid against your skin as you peered up at him, watching as he slowly undid his shirt. The metal of his prosthetic gleamed in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. Warm orange light lit up his face and made him look like some sort of Donatello sculpture.

“Um… This isn’t too pretty, so I understand if you don’t wanna look,” he said, his hands visibly shaking.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, inhaling sharply when he let his shirt fall from his shoulders.

The left side of his chest was a spider web of pink scar tissue. It stretched halfway across his chest and almost down to the waist of his pants.

Bucky grimaced as he reached up with his flesh hand and undid his prosthetic, biting his lip to keep from crying out. It disconnected, and he carefully set it to the side. What was left of his arm was even more scarred up, though it had clearly been operated on to make it easier for the prosthetic to be attached. “I told you it’s not pretty,” Bucky grunted.

But you simply opened up the blankets for him to crawl in, watching as he toed off his shoes before letting his pants fall to the ground. “All of you is pretty, James,” you murmured as he climbed in beside you. Your hand found his cheek, your thumb running over the soft skin. He’d recently shaved and the stubble had yet to grow back.

“Not as pretty as you, darling,” He said as he wrapped his arm around you to pull you to his chest. His lips pressed to yours in a happy sigh, your foot running up his leg.

“James?”

“Mmhm?”

“I was thinking…”

He was still kissing you, though his lips had migrated from yours and were giving attention to your cheeks and your neck. “Yeah, baby doll? ‘Bout what?”

“Halloween is coming up…”

A kiss to your chest.

“Yeah…”

His hand sliding up your thigh.

“And I was thinking…”

His nose nudging against your collarbone.

“Mmm…”

His thigh moving between yours.

“What if you came trick-or-treating with Eugene and me?” You asked, flustered beyond belief. Bucky and you had started getting frisky a few weeks after you met—it wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin, after all—but he still managed to get you all worked up in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, his blue eyes wide. “Really? You’d want that?” He asked curiously. “But… But we haven’t told him that we’re… you know.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly as your fingers ran through his shortly cropped hair. “But… I want to tell him.” You kissed his forehead, your leg hooking over his waist. “My… My husband wasn’t a kind man. He didn’t hit me or anything like that, but… He wasn’t good. I didn’t know men could be good until you came along.” Tears pricked your eyes as you cupped his cheek, letting his head rest against your chest. “I want you. And I want Eugene to know what a good man is. I want him to be a good man like you.”

He nodded, sniffling as he nuzzled further into your neck. “I want you. And I want him. I wanna be your family. Your husband.”

“Let’s start with trick-or-treating.”

It was a few weeks until Halloween, but Bucky went all out. He got his mom, Winnifred, to make the three of you matching outfits, making you look like a scarecrow family.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said softly to the older woman as she helped you get Eugene into his costume.

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing,” she insisted quietly, taking a deep breath. “You know… They told me he was dead. I got a telegram telling me that my son was dead because he fell from a train.” Her blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, were already glassy with tears. “And then one day… He just wasn’t dead anymore. He was on my doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and one arm less than when he’d left.”

Your heart ached for her, for the mourning she had done and the grief that still clearly lingered in her heart. “I only got a telegram, too,” you said after a few minutes, letting her do your hair. “When they told me my husband died… I just got a telegram. And the last thing…” You coughed to clear your throat. “The last thing I said to him before he left was if he signed up to go fight in a war while leaving me at home pregnant, then he wouldn’t have a home to come back to.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Winnifred said kindly, her calloused fingers gently twisting your hair into an updo. She placed little pieces of hay here and there to match your costume. “And I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes drifted to the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Eugene on his lap as he read to him, already in his costume. “I’m lucky to have Bucky.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Winnifred said with a smile. “I hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in months… and then all of a sudden he’s coming over for Sunday dinner and talking about some girl he met that lives down the hall…” She took a step back, finishing up. “There. You’re all done and ready to go.”

It was rather chilly outside, but you weren’t really paying attention to the weather. Your heart was too warm from watching Bucky walk with Eugene, hand in hand as he helped him go to each house to get his candy. His sweet little, “Twick or tweat!” made you grin every time.

You didn’t get back to your apartment until almost ten at night, and it was way past his bedtime. Giving him a bath was an adventure as you both worked to get him all cleaned up in a mess of splashing water and bubbles. Eugene found it hilarious to try to get the both of you as wet as possible, his cheeks flushed with delight.

“Okay, buddy. Story time, okay?” Bucky said as he tucked him in, the both of you sitting on either side of him. “You get one book and then you gotta go to bed. It’s real late.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes starting to droop. Now that the rush had faded, he was quickly becoming more and more sleepy. You gave it about five minutes before he was out like a light.

“The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,” Bucky said softly. “There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white. He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.”

Your eyes were soft as you watched him, your fingers scratching your son’s scalp as he listened as intently as he could. What had you done to deserve Bucky? What God had you pleased so much that he deigned you worthy of his presence?

His voice was like deep velvet as he continued to read, smooth as molasses. And if you weren’t careful, you were sure to fall asleep just like your son was.

“One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!’ And

she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.” Bucky grinned down at Eugene as he saw his eyes start to flutter shut, continuing to read, “That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

“I think he’s asleep,” you whispered as you looked up at him, having snuggled down in the bed. The moonlight lit up the room, giving a halo-like glow to everything around the two of you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his arm sliding around both you and Eugene, bringing you two close as he continued to read.

You stayed awake for as long as you could, a faint smile on your lips.

"’Wasn't I Real before?’ asked the little Rabbit. ‘You were Real to the Boy,’ the Fairy said, ‘because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone…’”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n

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jimlingss · 3 years

Note

ooo exciting !!! jungkook + romance/fluff + "kiss me" + e2l

Anonymous said: Can I request a fluffy jungkook fic with a touch of angst. Any AU you want and maybe a friends to lovers? Feel free to decline :)

Anonymous said: a fluffy “oh! you’re jealous” prompt with Jungkook pls? any au is fine☺️

Anonymous said: jungkook, prompt list 1 - #27: “Are you blushing?” :> i hope you have a lovely holiday season!!

Anonymous said: Friends to lovers!! Or enemies to lovers pls!! I love that shit

This is the most ambitious crossover of requests since Avengers lol jk.

↳ Suspended, Seduced, Surprised!

1.9k || 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || E2L, Huddle For Warmth!AU (sort of)

It started off with Jungkook coming out of nowhere and nearly scaring the living daylights out of you.

He laughed — that noisy sound that makes his nose scrunch — and you rolled your eyes, turning back around in the line. When the ski lift chair arrived, he asked if he could come too. You told him to kindly fuck off, but in the next second, he slid next to you, smiling widely.

It was too late for him to get off. Not when your feet was already lifted off the ground.

You don’t know why he’s so adamant about bothering you. If Taehyung didn’t tell you at the last minute that Jungkook was coming along, you would’ve just not come on this trip and ruin your winter break like this.

“Why didn’t you go with Sana?”

The ski lift is ascending upwards at an incline, moving past the coniferous trees and those skiing down the mountain beneath you. Luckily, it wasn’t too sunny or snowy out. But the air was still sharp with frost that’s long made your cheeks numb. Every exhale past your parted lips creates a cloud of condensation.

Jungkook’s thick brow lifts and he pushes his ski goggles up onto his head, on top of his blue beanie like yours. His doe eyes look at you. “Why would I go with her?”

You shoot him an incredulous expression. You don’t know why he’s playing dumb. “I thought you were trying to get cozy with her.”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth slyly curls and he leans in. “Oh. You’re jealous.”

Instantly, your face contorts into a disgusted expression and a boyish laugh bubbles out of him.

“I would,” he says, “but she already has a boyfriend.”

“She does?”

Jungkook hums. “Some guy two years older than us, majoring in finance.”

Oh. You didn’t know that.

Suddenly it sinks in that you’re having an actual conversation with Jungkook. One where he’s being a cocky asshole only a tiny amount and you can actually bear through it. It almost feels like you’re….friends.

But right as the thought comes to mind, the ski lift chair halts and momentarily swings. You jolt, looking at the chair ahead of you that’s frozen as well before turning around. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Everyone is seemingly as confused as you are. “It looks like we’re stuck.”

You groan. “Oh shit.”

Five minutes later, Taehyung comes wandering underneath you. He stands by a tree on the sidelines and cups his gloved hands around his mouth. “Oh my god!” he screams at the top of his lungs. “I finally found you guys!”

“Taehyung!” You shout back at him. “What’s going on?!”

“Well, I was looking around for ages and Jimin wanted to give up since he thought you went down to the lodge and I told him no way—”

“Dude!” Jungkook shrieks and you wince at the sheer volume of his voice. “We get it!”

You remember why he grinds on your nerves so badly. Everything Jeon Jungkook does just irritates you. Including the fact that he was currently trying to burst your eardrums.

“Right! Sorry! They said it would be fixed in half an hour! Hang in there!” Taehyung fist pumps the air with a rectangular grin as if it’s enough to encourage the two of you and you sigh loudly.

“Whelp.” Jungkook settles back into his seat. “Looks like we won’t die.”

“Great.”

“Are you cold?”

You turn to the boy, surprised that he’s actually considerate enough to—

“We could always get naked, you know,” he adds, shattering the image of him that had curated in your mind for point two seconds and it flees as quickly as it came. “To converse heat.”

Your mouth opens, speechless. You shake your head. “Right when I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

Jungkook grins unabashedly. “I am being nice. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt like this with anyone else and if you ask me, I think it’s working too.” The bastard leans in and you lean backwards to keep more distance. He bats his pretty lashes. “Are you blushing?”

You deadpan, “It’s literally negative thirty degrees out.”

He laughs again.

The both of you get comfortable, laying your ski poles across your laps, and looking out at the snowy mountain landscape that’s all too peaceful. Or at least until you feel a poke through your puffed jacket.

You look down to find Jungkook handing you a heat pack from his pocket. “It’s not much but it might help.”

“....Thanks.”

Strangely, the guy doesn’t brag about how kind he is or how much you should appreciate the gesture. He simply starts to hum to kill time. It’s soothing. Kind of nice to listen to even.

You enjoy it until he abruptly stops and asks— “Why do you hate me so much?”

You look at him. “Seriously?”

Jungkook smiles and it’s somehow reminiscent of a rabbit. “What? Nothing like confronting people when they’re trapped in a spot with nowhere to run, right? Plus, this is a good opportunity to be reflective, don’t you think?”

You scoff, not sure where to begin. But there’s no reason why you should spare him from the truth of why you grew to have such a strong distaste for him. If he wants to know, you’ll happily let him know.

“How about for never calling me back after you slept with me? Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Jungkook’s head whirls over. The bomb’s been dropped.

You feel his stare on your profile. It goes deathly quiet.

It’s the biggest resentment you held against him, what made his cocky attitude even uglier to you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so angry. It wasn’t like he vowed anything would happen afterwards. Maybe he thought it was supposed to be a no-strings attachment thing. But it wasn’t like that for you.

Jungkook acted interested when you first met. He sweet-talked you. He led you to believe there would be something more. And when there wasn’t— well, the rest is history.

You wonder if Jungkook’s shriveling up and cringing for asking in the first place or if he’s remotely ashamed. You hope he is. It serves him right. The audacity he has to talk to you casually after ghosting you so brutally like that is insulting. You wonder how he’ll respond, if he’ll regret bringing the subject up, if he’ll try to conjure some kind of half ass apology—

“Because you never gave me your number.”

This time, your neck snaps towards him. Jungkook’s gaze is unwavering.

“You’re the one who ditched me,” he says. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“I wrote you a note. On a napkin on the dresser.”

The man, in the blue snowboard jacket and black ski pants, frowns. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. Do you think I would lie about this?”

“Then I never saw it.”

It’s easy for Jungkook to lie. One of his many talents is his pretty lips that has easy words rolling off his tongue like butter. But by his expression, the slight pout of his mouth, the furrow of his brows, you can tell he’s being genuine. There isn’t any facade, any flirtation.

“I would’ve remembered if I saw it cause that morning Taehyung woke me up and he never wakes up before me. But he was whining because of his allergies and needed me to run to the pharmacy—”

The pair of you go silent.

It dawns on you both.

Kim Taehyung.

Knowing Taehyung and his godforsaken allergies, he must’ve taken the napkin and sneezed right into it. He probably threw it in the trash or took it with him and crumpled it into his hand. God fucking dammit.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes rounded at the realization.

You shift uncomfortably. The possibilities of what-if storm your mind. What if Jungkook saw it, what if he texted you or called you afterwards like he promised. What if you didn’t meet again on accident through Taehyung but continued the communication yourselves. Could he be sitting here next to you as someone more in your life?

But you brush the thoughts away as it overwhelms you.

“That’s funny,” you pipe up, mustering some stiff laughter, breaking the silence. “At least we solved one mystery.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s cold.” You wrap your arms around you. “We should stop talking and conserve heat.”

Jungkook nods and the pair of you quiet down. But without conversation, time drags on slower.

You peek a look at him and instead of being deep in thought like you thought he’d be, Jeon Jungkook is looking around, blinking with his doe eyes, the black strands from his bangs nearly pricking into them. He’s completely nonchalant and you internally sigh to yourself.

You’re not sure what you were expecting.

Jungkook is Jungkook.

That note on the dresser probably wouldn’t have changed anything.

“Y/N.” He speaks up a minute later.

“What?”

“You know how we could keep warm?”

“What.”

“Kiss me.”

You could not roll your eyes harder.

An enormous grin spreads into Jungkook’s cheeks, irises twinkling from the snow’s refraction. The little shit has too much fun annoying you and he jumps at the chance to continue to egg you on, “Why? Too scared to? Think you might fall in love with me now that we cleared the air and you don’t hate me anymore?”

He bats his lashes exaggeratedly.

You scoff. “Yeah right. As if.”

“Then why not?”

Your head spins around to face him, momentarily taken aback at how he’s a few inches away but you conceal your expression just as quick. You don’t know why he’s so insistent on this terrible joke. “Why? Do you want me to kiss you?”

Jeon Jungkook’s grin taunts you.

You loll your head to the side, eyes narrowing into slits. “You think I won’t do it.”

“I’m just trying to improve the mood.” He sits back and shrugs, having too much fun watching your explosive reactions. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you. You’re a dog with all bark but no bite, Y/N. I know you too well.”

Your jaw clenches at the challenge. At his mocking tone. At the bastard’s audacity.

And just to prove him wrong, you grab Jungkook’s face in your hands and turn him towards you. In one breath, you aggressively slam your mouth against his. It almost hurts. Your teeth nearly clash. But you barely feel anything with your numb lips except for how chapped his lips are.

It’s a brief kiss, but enough to prove yourself.

You pull away with a cocked brow and small smirk, relishing in his wholly stunned expression.

At that same moment, the ski lift jolts and starts to move again. Someone behind you cheers.

“You don’t know me at all, Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur softly, seductively and with the smirk still plastered on your features. The unloading zone approaches, so you move the safety bar, stand up from the ski lift chair and glide away.

Jungkook’s delayed, but follows after you helplessly a second later. You turn around while you still have the chance and he stares at you, blinking owlishly.

“If you want to make me blush or get jealous, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than you have been, Jeon. You should probably work on your kissing skills too. Staying like a dead fish isn’t appealing to me.”

You glide away on your skis before he can get another word in. In the meanwhile, a grin slowly spreads into Jungkook’s cheeks and he decides to accept your challenge.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook reader insert #jungkook scenario #bts fluff #bts reader insert #Anonymous #Jimlings

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makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 287: Family Reunion

Previously on BnHA: The Tomura For One VS Deku And Pals clusterfuck reached new levels of clustfuckery as AFO possessed Tomura’s body and stabbed Kacchan and Endeavor. Shouto was all “good thing I leveled up offscreen so as to be able to fly around whilst carrying 400lbs worth of people”, and did just that and it was like, damn, son. Meanwhile Deku’s rage went Mach 100, and he kicked Tomura’s ass for almost two whole seconds, but in the process he apparently forgot that IF TOMURA TOUCHES HIM THAT IS VERY BAD, and so he stupidly let Tomura touch him and Tomura was all “GAME, SET.” Fortunately for Deku, his quirk plays by its own rules, and so the chapter ended with us cutting to the METAPHYSICAL OFA/AFO PARANORMAL DREAMSCAPE OF MYSTICAL BULLSHIT, where AFO!Vestige was all “lol Tomura y u mad”, and Nana!Vestige was all “SUP DEKU, YOU’RE JUST IN TIME, LOOKS LIKE IT’S ASSKICKING O’CLOCK.” I’m paraphrasing a bit, but that’s more or less the gist of it.

Today on BnHA: AFO is all “well if it isn’t Tomura’s grandmother who I murdered that one time”, and Deku is all “?”, and AFO is all “fucking vestiges, man, wild”, and Deku is all “??”, and AFO is all “ANYWAYS GETTIM TOMURA”, and OFA is all “NOT SO FAST”, and Deku is all “???”, and really, same. AFO then goes off on some wild tangent about how Deku is unworthy because he couldn’t protect everyone and needed help from OFA and got mad about his friends being stabbed, which is such a cold take it gave me hypothermia, but it ends up not mattering since Deku and Tomura both wake up seconds later with OFA still in the possession of its rightful owner, HOW ABOUT THAT. The chapter ends with the LoV approaching on Gigantomachia’s back with Dabi practically salivating at the mouth, and Toga trying to reignite an old fandom blood feud. Toga why would you do this to me. Toga.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSS

[CROWD LOSING THEIR MINDS] FINALLY THE NANA HAS COME BACK TO BNHA!! IF YA SMELLLLL WHAT THE NANA IS COOKIN!!!!! [RINGSIDE BELL CHIMING WILDLY] [LOUD AIRHORN NOISES]

“chapter 287: mistake” omg. yeah I’ll say you made a mistake, AFO. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THESE FLEETING LAST MOMENTS OF YOUR SHITTY EVIL LIFE

(ETA: so in all seriousness this must be referring to AFO’s belief that All Might/OFA made a mistake in choosing Deku, right? “I can’t believe you went and chose this shounen manga protagonist as your champion, what were you thinking.” I’ll just put this out there: however many comic books AFO read as a child, it clearly was not enough.)

wow Deku how slow are you

yes you’re inside OFA you dimbulb, did you think your clothes suddenly vanished out of the blue and the ghost of Nana just randomly appeared in the real world by some freak coincidence?? can you believe this kid. breaks his arms a measly 10-15 times in a row and all of a sudden he can’t think straight, get it together Deku

but also brb having a moment at the fact that his thoughts immediately run back to Kacchan, even with all of this nonsense going on and Nana about to lay the beatdown on AFO’s potato-lookin’ ass. forget that noise, all he wants to know is whether or not Kacchan is all right. fuckin’ geez. AM I OVERREACTING HERE A BIT. probably

(ETA: ALSO!! the way he just trails off!! “Kacchan is...” and then he can’t bring himself to complete the thought. oh my god my heart.)

HOLY SHIT

okay,

damn but this man sure knows how to ruffle my feathers. as eminently detestable as ever!!

could it be any clearer here that AFO is not on Tomura’s side?? for a moment I thought he had actually grabbed him by the back of the head in order to get him to look. but nope, he’s just resting his pointing hand on top of his head instead while he’s all “HEY TOMURA LOL IT’S THE GHOST OF YOUR DEAD PATHETIC GRANDMA”

for those keeping track at home, this would be the first time that Deku has heard this information -- that Tomura is Nana’s grandson -- and possibly the first time Vestige!Nana has heard it as well. Nana died when Kotarou was still a child, so for all we know the Vestige!Nana didn’t even know she had a grandson, lol. TODAY ON “MAKESTE RANTS AT LENGTH ABOUT THINGS THAT WILL PROBABLY BE ADDRESSED WITHIN THE NEXT THREE PANELS”, anyway moving on

lmao for the record I fucking LOLed at this giant question mark immediately bubbling up over Deku’s head

no idea what AFO is about to ramble on about now, haven’t read that far yet. but let the record show that Deku’s immediate reaction to hearing “BTW NANA IS YOUR ARCHNEMESIS’S GRANDMA LULZ” is everything I could have hoped for

(ETA: fandom nailed the shit out of this one with the confused Mr. Krabs meme lmao.)

okay so now AFO is monologuing at length about how he would sometimes have “riveting dreams” about the previous owners of all the quirks he stole. but once he gave the quirks away they stopped bothering him?? holy moly let me just take all the notes

okay so he’s saying that Vestiges are created whenever someone has their quirk stolen by AFO. but if they then disappear when he gives the quirks away, does that also mean that whoever receives the quirks also gets the original owner’s Vestige bundled in every time?? that would be wild okay hold up let me read the rest of this

so he’s saying that the Vestiges are actually the “consciousnesses” of the original quirk owners, which have become embedded in their dna or something. SOUNDS INCREDIBLY DUBIOUS TO ME LOL but on the other hand this is a world where children can be born with airplane heads, so my disbelief can hardly afford to pick and choose what it’s gonna be suspended at! anyways though, how does he know he’s the only one who was able to converse with them? did you conduct detailed six-month follow-up interviews with everyone you gave quirks to or what

and if it really is the case that this ability was formerly exclusive to him, isn’t that more evidence than ever that OFA and AFO are actually THE EXACT SAME QUIRK oh whoops am I getting ahead of myself again, sorry

MEANWHILE TOMURA IS ALL, “GRANDMA?”

“WHY AM I HERE, WELL LET ME TELL YOU A STORY, GRANDSON. YOU SEE THAT MAN GROWING OUT OF YOUR RIBCAGE THERE? WELL IT’S JUST THE FUNNIEST THING, ACTUALLY”

WAIT SO IS HE SAYING THEY’RE SOULS OR NOT??

this makes it sound like they won’t ever get to rest, which sure sounds like a soul thing to me. well whatever, soul, consciousness, I guess it’s just semantics at the end of the day

anyways though, so this asshole is finally done talking (I’m sure that won’t last), so now we can finally have the heartwarming reunion we’ve all been waiting for

sigh

-- actually, no, not “sigh”!! you know what!! because Tomura says “whatever the reason”, but that’s only because he doesn’t actually have a fucking clue about the reason. like, I don’t know if the knowledge that AFO killed Nana would be enough to give him pause, but if he knew the whole story and knew that AFO was behind not only Nana’s death, but the rest of his family’s deaths as well... now that would be a whole different thing

anyway. but at least it’s becoming clearer now why AFO spent all that time raising Tomura up as his heir and brainwashing him even though he seems to have been planning this body takeover the whole time. it’s all because he loves making people miserable! yaaaaay

btw HAS NANA HAD THE EXACT SAME MOLE ON HER CHIN AS TOMURA THIS ENTIRE TIME WTF. am I just the least observant person who ever lived lmao

lol wtf

ground: [randomly starts exploding]

Deku: “ONE FOR ALL IS BEING ERODED!!!” LOL IS THAT WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE, OKAY THEN. I’ll take your word for it

y’all I cannot fucking get over this “AFO growing out of Tomura’s hip socket like a fucked-up ventriloquist dummy” shit though

you do realize that absolutely no one can take you seriously right now, right?? it’s important to me that you know this

WHAT’S THIS NOW

seems like SOMEONE has had it up to here with a certain SOMEONE ELSE’S bullshit lmaooo bye Felicia

I SAID GOOD DAY!!

you guys why is he not dying!!

-- OH DAMN

love how Deku is just lying there like “YOU KNOW THOSE DAYS WHERE YOU’RE LIKE, THIS MIGHT AS WELL HAPPEN.” poor Deku

(ETA: where in god’s name is OFA Prime standing. why are my thoughts fully consumed by this lmao.)

are Nana and OFA Prime even doing anything?? why are they sticking their arms out like that. wait hold up is this all a big metaphor for the back-and-forth going on between Tomura trying to steal OFA and OFA being all “actually no you can’t, please enter your password and click on all the boxes with bicycles in them to prove you’re a human first”?

OH SNAP OFA PRIME SAID NO THANKS

“SORRY BRO WE’VE ALREADY MADE OURSELVES AT HOME HERE”

I have only just noticed that metaphysical!Deku has the same scars as actual!Deku. and yet his arms are not currently broken! that doesn’t really seem consistent to me but whatever!! maybe he saved right before the boss battle, that would be smart of him

anyway, that’s great and all that OFA Prime is here helping out, but I really wanted to see Nana fight AFO in a one on one though so I’m a bit disappointed. also why is it only the two of them?? where are Banjou and the others. of all the times to be sleeping on the job

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THIS MAN

WOULD YOU STOP. WOULD YOU JUST QUIT IT ALREADY

oh shit hold up

doesn’t this confirm that the reason he wanted to transfer his power to Tomura is because he believed it would make him strong enough to finally take OFA because of Quirk Singularity? jesus christ. and here he was so sure of himself. but it turns out he doesn’t actually know shit! you can’t just fucking take OFA like that ya dingdong that’s not how it works

(ETA: SO, A THOUGHT -- is there any sort of subtle hinting here in the way that he words this? “if your strength is combined with mine”, as opposed to “if my strength is combined with yours”? no idea if the admittedly-so-small-as-to-be-almost-inconsequential distinction between those two sentences exists in the original Japanese or not, but I find it very interesting that the English wording implies that he’s the one adding Tomura’s strength to his own, rather than vice versa.)

now he’s insulting Deku!!

excuse me sir WHO ASKED YOU anyway. and never mind that being consumed by an, AND I QUOTE, “unquenchable” rage is your protege’s whole THING, and that he also needed your help to avoid being burned to a crisp a short while ago. where do you get off I swear

(ETA: also just want to point out that in the panel before this one he says that he’s been “watching through Tomura”, which pretty much confirms that his consciousness or whatever is alive inside of him all the time. Tomura is definitely not getting rid of this guy any time soon.)

WOW

first he calls Kacchan useless, then he calls Deku a simpleton, and don’t even get me started with Nana. just, you guys. this man is just... a very, very rude man

NOW OFA IS ALL “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT MAKES HIM SUCH A GOOD PROTAGNIST YOU BUTTMUNCH” AND OMG PREACH

“DESPITE HIS COMMON SENSE” sdfkllk my man he already has one brother roasting him, take it easy guy

AHH WHAT

IS THIS BACK IN THE REAL WORLD

YEP

hahaha nice try Tomura

so Deku’s all “I didn’t lose my power! BUT” and I assume the “but” is the part where his arms are still broken and shit, and meanwhile Tomura’s body is almost healed up now finally

they’re both wiped out and now AFO is again petitioning Tomura to let him take over goddammit

“you won’t lose your mind” yep, he sure won’t! scout’s honor!! pinky swear!!

meanwhile Deku is getting fucking desperate flkjl;k my baby. and Machia is going to show up any second now too, probably. what else can fucking go wrong at this point

oh shit I shouldn’t have asked

get ready to rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrruuuumble, probably

OH MY GOD

WELL AT LEAST SOMEONE HERE IS HAVING A GOOD TIME. jesus

so as soon as he heard Endeavor was there he got all, “TIME FOR THE BIG REVEAL”, is that right? WELL JOKE’S ON YOU TOUYA, YOUR DAD DOESN’T SEEM ALL THAT CONSCIOUS AT THE MOMENT, SO THAT’S GOING TO DRAIN A LOT OF THE TENSION FROM THE SCENE WHEN YOU GO ALL REVERSE DARTH VADER ON HIM AND HE’S ALL “ZZZZZZZZ”

meanwhile Toga is having unsettlingly quiet angst

jesus christ Toga this is all we need right now

“WAS JIN-KUN NOT A PERSON” sdkfjlk Horikoshi I swear. please have mercy on this fandom. this is the debate that refuses to die!!

but seriously ffs, the issue isn’t that Jin deserved to die, it’s that the countless people whom Jin would have either directly or indirectly killed didn’t deserve to die either. people don’t only become people when you attach names and faces to them! we all loved Jin because we’d gotten to know him, but that doesn’t mean his life was inherently worth more than the lives of all the people he would have killed. sometimes there’s just no good answer

like, it’s just crazy to me that because the heroes are all “we want to protect everyone!” but then aren’t always able to do so because that’s literally impossible, whereas the villains are all “we don’t care about anyone other than the select few people that we actually like!”, the villains somehow wind up getting the better PR. it just so happens that it’s infinitely easier to be loyal to the interests of a few people as opposed to ALL THE PEOPLE. like, no shit, it’s easier to stick to your moral code when you barely have a moral code. and so the villains can kill thousands and no one bats an eye, but if a hero fails to save even one person they’re hypocritical moral failures. like what the hell

BUT ANYWAY, sorry to go off on a tangent there lol, it’s not really a big deal. I’m just preemptively trying to stave off more discourse about it lol but who am I even kidding

anyways lol, but of course they won’t kill you unless they have no choice, Toga. but when it comes to catch-22 situations, it’s a bit much to infer that the heroes don’t consider the villains people just because they opt for the choice that spares more innocent lives. I sure as hell don’t want my babies out here killing people, but to say that they can’t no matter what or else they’re no different from the villains is just...

anyway so the chapter has now just ENDED, just like that!! on a shot of Ochako’s face!

I SENSE ANOTHER THROWDOWN COMING. and it had better not be a total letdown like the last one! NANA BARELY DID ANYTHING HORIKOSHI, WHAT THE FUCK. I started out with such high hopes lol

but I will settle for Toga VS Ochako, and Deku VS Tomura: The Sequel: Shouto’s Revenge! SPEAKING OF HEROES WHO HAVE NO QUALMS ABOUT MURDERING PEOPLE lmao

#bnha 287 #shigaraki tomura #all for one #shimura nana #midoriya izuku #one for all #lil bro when are you gonna get yourself a proper name so I can tag you #himiko toga #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #ofa the first

512 notes · View notes

haztory · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards.

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer.

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable.

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief.

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer.

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better.

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost.

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you.

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted.

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here.

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence.

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other.

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his.

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself.

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch.

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal.

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you.

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all.

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #my writing #adri your love for blond men is showing #nanami kento x you

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champagne-bucky · 4 years

Text

Rebel,Rebel

Summary: Peter doesn’t like a disobedient girl.

Warnings: Dark! Peter Parker (18+) x female reader, non-con/dub-con, knife play, face fucking, begging, humiliation kink, squirting, smut, fondling, hand job, anal play

Notes: Hehe, sooo this challenge is very very late and I’m very very sorry. I’d like to apologize to @mariessecretfantasies for being soooo late. Anyways I hope you enjoy this one!!

“WHAT YOU DID WAS INCREDIBLY STUPID. I CANNOT PUT INTO WORDS HOW CARELESS AND CHILDISH YOUR ACTIONS WERE! I SHOULD HAVE YOU SUSPENDED, NO-“

You tried your hardest to stop the growing smirk on your face as Fury yelled at you. You may or may not have almost killed yourself and others while executing a life or death mission. The key work here was almost.

Being a new recruit was no walk in the park. Other agents were constantly belittling your actions and questioning your position with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, you showed them though. With every mission and every time you trained, you made sure to go above and beyond and prove every single one of those people wrong. As a result, a lot of agents became jealous and would do anything they could to ruin your credibility. Which brings you to Fury still yelling in your face.

It’s not like you were completely reckless, you made sure to carefully calculate everything you did so that you wouldn’t risk putting anyone in actual danger. Yes, that mission was technically very poorly executed, but it’s not your fault. Truthfully, the original plan would have cost people their lives if it wasn’t thanks to your quick thinking that saved everyone.

The only reason you were being yelled at instead of praised was because your incompetent teammates didn’t want to question the mission captain and think of a new plan. You were a hero, but those stubborn asses would never admit it.

“You really have me backed into a corner here, Agent,” Fury sighed as he rubbed his face.

“My desk is filled with complaints about your negligence to the team. Even your mission captain wants you suspended indefinitely,” you huffed.

“The only reason everyone complains about me is because they can’t be me. Everything they do, I do it ten times better than they could ever dream of. Even the lousy mission captain couldn’t think of a more brilliant plan than mine. You all should be thanking me really,” Fury raised his brows.

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, you should be thanking me because I’m the only competent one here willing to risk it all to save innocent people. Sorry you only hired people that were too afraid to get their hands dirty, what a sad sad team we have here,” Fury looked as if he wanted to chew your head off more, but for the sake of his already high blood pressure and an impending migraine, he decided against it.

“You know what I’m willing to do for you, Agent,” it didn’t take Fury long to come up with a plan.

“What, Nicholas,” you loved poking at his nerves. The vain in his forehead looked as if it were about to burst.

“I’m going to assign you to our Avengers program,” you gasped internally. The Avenger program? Does that mean-

“Don’t get it twisted. This program does not mean you’ll become an Avenger. This is a shadow program. You’ll be able to go on mission with your Avenger, go to their meetings, press conferences, you get the point,” you scoffed.

“And you’re doing all this for what?” Fury rolled his eyes.

“You may be able to get away with a lot of shit as an agent, but the Avengers are on a whole other level. One slip up and you're done. This program is gonna teach you just how we do things here at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury leaned over the desk to be eye level with you.

You thought about giving him more attitude, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Even though Fury wasn’t saying it, he was pretty much saying that this program could mean a spot on the Avengers, right? Finally, you were all that hard work was giving you the recognition you deserve.

“Alright, Fury, I’ll join your little program. So, who do I get. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Agent Romanoff, someone who matches my intelligence and skill set?” You leaned back in your chair with a smug smirk. Fury matched yours.

“I believe a shadow program is well below their pay grade. I was thinking of assigning you to someone who was a little like yourself. I think Peter Parker would be the perfect match for you,” your eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Peter Parker? Him? Oh, Nick, you gotta be kidding me? He doesn’t even go on real missions! He just helps old ladies cross the street, scares punk teens from shoplifting, he’s not even a real Avenger!”

“Mr. Parker is way more qualified than being a neighborhood watchmen, Agent. He’s on the team because he is one of the best. You can learn a thing or two from him. He, very much like yourself, was a big rule breaker too, still is if you ask me. The only reason we haven’t kicked him off yet is because Tony Stark has a soft spot for the kid.”

You tried to argue your way out of being with Peter, but Fury insisted or you would be met with suspension. You grumbled and trudged your way out of his office. Fury mentioned before you left that Peter would be in contact with you shortly. You slammed the door before he got his last words out.

“And don’t forget, follow the rules or be faced with the consequences,” you mocked his words under your breath as you stormed back to the agent’s wing of the compound.

Peter couldn’t believe the phone call he had just gotten from Fury. More importantly he couldn’t believe who was going to be shadowing him. After all this time being in the Avengers program, no one ever wanted to pick him, but you, his crush, well his heart was just bursting at its seams.

“What’s gotten you all smiley, Spidey,” Sam took a seat next to him on the couch.

“N-Nothing, I just got off the phone with Director Fury, he says someone requested me for the shadow program,” Sam laughed.

“And that’s what’s making you get all blushing and giddy? Gee, you not getting enough attention at home?” Peter rolled his eyes at Sam.

“No, it’s, it’s just this girl that I’ve liked for some time. Apparently she wanted me to be her guide.”

“Who is she?” Once Peter said your name, Sam’s eyes lit up in fear.

“Aww no man, you don’t want to be messing around with her,” Peter’s face fell.

“Why not?”

“Well, rumor has it she’s kind of a rebel.”

“Kind of?”

“From what I hear from other agents, she’s always breaking protocol, almost always putting people in danger, risking lives, not a good look if you ask me. Come to think of it, why didn’t Fury deny her application?”

“Maybe he thinks I can be a good influence on her,” Peter smiled and nudged Sam’s arm.

“Pfft, when pigs fly,” Sam got up and walked away leaving Peter to write out an informative email to you.

“Just be careful with her is all I’m saying, kid.”

Peter ignored him as he pulled up his email and began to write to you.

Your alarm was blaring way too early in the morning for your liking. Peter insisted on starting everyday at 6 a.m. because “crime always starts early”, or something stupid like that. You two had only been with each other for a week and it was pure torture for you.

Peter on the other hand indulged in the time he got to spend with you. So far, Sam was being proven wrong about your rebel status. He always made sure you were to follow the book no matter how defiant the look in your eyes was becoming. Maybe you only followed the rules because of him, he’d like to think.

“Peterrrrrrr,” you whined.

“Whattttt,” he mimicked with a laugh.

“This shit is taking too long. Can’t we just-“

“Nope,” Peter interrupted.

“But-“

“Nada.”

“Peter-“

“I believe the correct word we are looking for is no,” you wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Peter there is an easier way to do this,” you tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“You mean there’s the wrong way to do this. I was given my instructions and now we will follow them, AS PLANNED OUT. If you don’t like how the Avengers run things, then maybe you should rethink your status in the program,” Peter stated as he kept his eyes locked on the bank.

This is what it’s been like for the entire week. You were starting to get agitated beyond belief by Peter’s smugness. What a cruel joke Fury decided to play on you. First, he makes Peter your partner, the most useless of all the Avengers when it came to missions and crime fighting. Next, his unwillingness to go off book for one measly second. If Peter could’ve known how much time he’d be saving by just bending the rules a little, he might be able to take on more serious tasks, unlike this stupid bank robbery tipoff he received earlier today.

Nevermind the other laundry list of reasons why you can’t stand Peter Parker and his dopey grin. Right now, you are thinking of good reasons why it would be impossible to get away with the murder of the most annoying person to ever walk the planet, in your opinion. While you were doing your own plotting, Peter was trying to keep his focus on the potential robbery and not the woman of his dreams next to him

The robbers made their move around 4 a.m. After countless hours of hearing Peter ramble on about Star Wars, chemistry, and his web fluid stuff you were thankful to end the night with some action. Peter made sure to take the lead while you were waiting at the back of the bank for a back up call. A stupid strategy, but supposedly Peter knew what was best and refused to go against orders.

Peter surprised the robbers by swinging himself down from the ceiling. There were four men trying to attack him and Peter fought every single one off without taking a breath. However, as things were going seemingly well they took a turn for the worst when one robber pulled out his gun and started to shoot. Peter faltered his steps and quickly dodged a bullet headed straight for his knee. During all this time you were watching from a small window, he still refused to call you for back up.

“Parker, you need my help, tap me in,” you said through your earpiece.

“No, no, uhh, I got it, thanks,” Peter responded quickly while dodging another bullet, this time to his shoulder.

“Parker, you're failing out there,” there was no response from Peter as he kept trying to tame the situation.

You huffed and decided to get to work. You really didn’t want to screw up your chances with this program, but you were left no choice. The line between Peter’s incompetence and stubbornness finally frayed and you just about had to butt in.

“I’m saving his life, I’m not breaking the rules… right?”

Peter was now tackled to the ground by two of the robbers. The one with the gun was reloading his bullets and the other was taking the money out of the machine. Somewhere along the line, they seemed to have damaged a part of his suit and he was bleeding out. That weakness alone was enough for the robbers to use all their strength and hold him down,

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spider-Man,” Peter started to freak out. Was it too late to call you?

“Hey boss, why don’t we see who’s under the mask,” one of the men holding him down said.

The “boss” agreed and began to walk his way towards Peter. He started to hyperventilate at the thought of not only his life ending, but his identity would be exposed.

The robber started to put his hands on the material of his mask, but not before he halted his actions and fell to the ground. Peter was stunned as were the rest of the men, but not for long.

“Hey, who’s that,” one man said as you came down from the ceiling where Peter had entered.

You have your few weapons at the ready and no time to waste. It had already been a long day and you were angry and exhausted. It took no time for you to wipe out the robbers and alert authorities of what went down. The men were hurt badly, but they should be okay, maybe.

Sirens were becoming louder as you quickly grabbed Peter and hauled him out of the back door and into the car. You whipped off his mask and started to check him for any injuries. When you went to touch a bruise on his face, he swatted your hand away.

“What did I tell you?” He said angrily.

“Peter I-“

“I said I would call you for backup and you defied me,” he pressed a button on his suit and it disappeared to his normal clothes.

“Peter you were choking out there! If I would’ve waited for your call you probably would’ve been dead by then! I saved your life, the least you could say is thank you,” you rolled your eyes and slumped back into your seat.

“Thank you? Y/N you blatantly went against my orders and did your own thing. Do you not have any respect for me?”

Your jaw dropped as Peter spoke those words. You cannot believe how irrational this boy was behaving. He was in trouble and you offered to help him.

“You know what Peter? No, no I don’t respect you. You were close to dying and I came in and saved your helpless ass. I have never met somebody so dimmwhitted, so stubborn, so incompetent, so STUPID, and so so SO annoying as you, Peter Parker. Come to think of it? How are you even an Avenger? Aren’t they supposed to have more than the one brain cell you seem to possess? Do they just let anybody be an Avenger or do we all have to suck up to Tony Stark just to get a spot on the team?”

“Get out,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“What? Can’t handle the criticism?” You laughed as Peter slammed his hand on the center console, creating a dent.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” you were surprised at Peter’s tone of voice.

“Get out, get out of this car before you make me do something I’ll regret,” your eyes went wide as you got out of the car and started to run home.

Peter cried that night after he kicked you out of the car. Nobody, not even Mr. Stark talked to him the way you had. The girl he fantasized about each night had called him stupid, annoying, and possibly more hateful words in the English language synonymous to the ones she had said in the car.

Peter needed to take the weekend to himself to process everything. His heart was crushed and his emotions were conflicted. Even after all those terrible words, he still had some feelings for you. How could someone so perfect for him be so cruel to him at the same time?

He avoided everyone at the compound for the weekend. Usually he’d spend the few days there to work on some new tech with Mr. Stark or train with Bucky and Sam, but you lived there too and he couldn’t face you at the moment.

Peter was also screening calls from Fury. At the end of every mission with you, Fury would demand a status report. Peter would always have positive things to say about you, but this time he wouldn’t even know what to tell Fury.

After a movie with MJ and Ned to clear his head, Peter walked back home to the small apartment he shared with his Aunt May. He felt a little better after seeing some friends, but his heart still had a pang in it from your words. Was he really as annoying as you said he was?

Peter didn’t dwell on his thoughts for long before he felt himself getting pulled off the sidewalk and into a sleek black car. He tried to fight off whoever pulled him in, but he stopped struggling once he heard the ring of his cell phone.

“So, it does work,” Fury ended the call and scowled at Peter. “Any reason you haven’t been answering me?”

Peter took a deep gulp as he figured out what he was supposed to say. “Director Fury, I-”

“She finally cracked you,” he simply stated as Peter nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t know what to say because I’m afraid of how you’d react.”

“And what did she say?” Fury questioned.

When Peter told him the whole story from the robbery to her hateful words in the car, Fury just about had blown a fuse.

“SHE WHAT?” Fury expected the absolute worst from you, he’ll admit that, but blatantly insulting her superior crossed a huge line for him.

“Director Fury, I have it all-”

“No, Parker, I’m in the driver’s seat now. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Fury called for the driver of his car to take off.

“Fury, please, just let me handle this,” it took a lot of convincing, but Fury came to an agreement with Peter.

“If you don’t get rid of her attitude and I find out that she continues to talk to you the way that she did, I’m terminating her position with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury had no time for further discussion as he basically pushed Peter out of the car and sped out of Queens.

Oh, Peter was going to do all he could to make her obey him. It didn’t matter how he was going to train her, but when the time is right he’ll make his dreams come true. Peter was going to make his fantasies come true.

After about a week of no Peter Parker, the Avenger was back and surprisingly better than ever. He made no mention of the car incident and you didn’t want to bring it up either. In fact, Peter seemed to be his happy, normal self while the two of you trained together for an upcoming mission. He was cracking the same jokes and still rambling your ears off about the usual stuff. It shocked you to say the least, he held no ill will for you because of that night. Maybe he finally wised up and was starting to see things your way.

It seems as if lately Peter has become more lax with you. He didn’t get mad when you were just a little late for training sessions or when you would begin your back talk with him. It was as if Peter changed overnight into a completely chill person. Not that you minded at all, you would definitely be taking advantage of his easy going personality.

However, you did notice something in his eyes that you never seen before. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was almost like whenever you too got a little rough during training, he would enjoy it and try to push the limit. Maybe it was all a test to see how far your strength could go? Whatever it was, it kept you curious. Peter was acting different, but not too far off from his normal self.

“We have a mission tonight at the docks. Be ready at 10 and we can take turns being watch,” was all Peter said to you before he left the gym to go off with Mr. Stark.

You weren’t used to going on a mission so late. Peter always wanted to arrive at missions early just in case he was being fooled by a criminal. Of course, he always ended up being wrong and everything would happen later at night than in broad daylight (you tried telling him that and he simply waved you off).

You quickly rushed back to your room, slamming the door and triple checking that the locks were in place. The events from tonight’s mission left you speechless, shocked, horrified. Never in your life had you gotten out of a car and booked it to your room so fast. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, New York’s favorite defender, had done an unspeakable act.

It started out like always, just sitting in the car hiding out. Peter wasn’t talking as much so you decided you wouldn’t make conversation either. It was only until the criminals came to the docks where it all went downhill.

Peter told you the same thing he always had, he’ll call you if backup is needed. Of course, Peter found himself in hot water yet again and you decided to intervene. Only this time, you were met with more than just yelling and a kick out of the car.

“You didn’t listen,” the tone in Peter’s voice changed.

“Peter, c’mon now you were in trouble,” you began to speak, but he quickly cut you off.

“You didn’t listen, and now you’re gonna have to be punished,” Peter had a dangerous look in his eyes that scared you.

“Peter, if you’re gonna throw me out again I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. You know I don’t get why you have to be so stubborn all the damn time, if you just-,” as you were going to open the door, you heard the lock click.

“You didn’t listen, you need to be punished,” Peter began to lean closer to you as you pulled harder on the door.

“Peter, PETER,” you screamed as he put his hand on the front zipper of your top.

“Take this off,” you stayed still, “NOW!”

You rushed to take your top off and avoided the tears forming in your eyes. You fumbled with the zipper towards the bottom and Peter groaned impatiently. He grabbed the top and tore it off of you only leaving you in a bra.

You tried to look away from him and cover yourself in the process, but Peter wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed you by the chin with one hand as the other made its way to your chest. You tried to fight his intentions, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Stop moving. I’ll make this worse for you,” he grabbed your chin harder and you stopped trying to move.

He dipped his fingers into one of the cups and began to fondle your chest. Once Peter found your nipple, he circled it with the tip of his thumb. Peter was moaning as soon as it hardened. He never took his eyes off of you.

“Take off the bra,” Peter gave you a look that dared you to defy him. You quickly got rid of the bra and he took it and threw it in the back seat.

Peter was in awe, you were as beautiful as he imagined. Your bare chest and the tears in your eyes made him hard as a rock. He took his hand off your chin and began to palm himself through his suit.

Peter made his suit retract back into his regular clothing. He took your hands and placed them over the palm of his jeans. He pressed your hands down as you bit back a terrified whimper.

“Why don’t you help me out, yeah?” It wasn’t a suggestion judging by the look in his eyes.

You pulled down his zipper and didn’t go any further than that. Peter chuckled at you and brought your hand into the inside of his boxers. You couldn’t form any type of sounds as he made you hand travel through his patch of hair and up his cock. Peter was impressive, but there was no room for a pleasantly shocked emotion.

“Now take him out and finish what you started,” Peter pulled down his boxers and fully exposed himself to you.

You started off slow with a shaky rhythm. Who could ever be confident and cool in a situation like yours? Peter didn’t seem to like what you were doing and put his hand on top of yours. He guided you up and down his cock and took it off once he gave you a pace.

“Don’t be shy, go faster,” you picked up the pace as you saw Peter swipe some precum off his tip and shoved his finger into your mouth.

He didn’t even have to say anything to get you to start licking his fingers. You closed your eyes and Peter didn’t seem to stop you. The faster this was over with the faster you could finally be home.

After a fast few pumps, he was ready to come undone. He slowed you down and then demanded you picked up the pace. You were told to open your eyes and look at him, but you would close them again after a short few seconds. When he finally did cum, he brought your body close to his cock and let it all spill out on your chest. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and baffled that Spider-Man would take advantage of someone like you.

You opened your eyes once you heard the beep of a phone. Peter had his phone out and was taking a video of the whole thing. He took an additional few pictures and stashed his phone away in case you tried to grab it.

“You might want to clean yourself up, won’t take long to get back home,” Peter tucked himself away and started the car.

When you arrived at the compound you darted out of the car before he could say or do anything further to you. If he wanted to talk he would have to call you now.

You shed yourself of your clothes and began to scrub your body down. No matter how hot the water and how hard you scrubbed, the feeling of Peter on you will forever remain. You took a few showers once you thought the scent and act of Peter had washed off of you. When you left your bathroom it was well past 2 a.m.

Making sure the doors were locked for the hundredth time that night, you finally settled down into bed. You tossed and turned for the next hour until you heard your phone buzz. Not thinking anything of it, you picked it up to see who could be texting you so late at night. Your heart dropped once you saw the messages.

One after another Peter was sending you the videos and pictures that he had taken. Each one made your stomach turn more and more. He was mocking you.

Don’t ever disobey me again or I’ll send these out to everyone.

It took a lot to impress Nick Fury after everything he’s seen and been through. Alien invasions, aliens, cat aliens, raccoon aliens… a lot of aliens. However, nothing could’ve impressed him more than reading your progress report from Peter this morning. It took all of Fury not to frame the report and send emails to all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the news of this miracle.

It’s true, over the past weeks you’ve been ever so obedient to Peter. You didn’t move unless he told you to move, didn’t speak until given permission to, he had you right where he wanted you and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you thought of telling someone of his mannerisms towards you he would hold out his phone and get the file containing all those pictures ready in a “Send All” email.

Fortunately, Peter never touched you like that night again. True to his word, you would only be treated that way if you ever went against him again. Needless to say, you were walking on something sharper than egg shells. He would tease you spook you relentlessly, even going as far as locking the car door just to see you jump.

Even late at night he would spam your phone with obscene text messages just to taunt you. Sometimes he would send you photos of himself and when he asked for some in return, you had no choice but to give in. Day by day, this man was messing with you and you had no way of outing him.

Peter would be hot on your trail if he saw you making your way to Fury’s office. He would stop you before you could even get to his office corridor. Peter couldn’t have this getting out, his credibility would be ruined and Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers would see to it.

He wasn’t happy about what he did, but he didn’t feel a lot of guilt either. What he did that night in the car set something diabolical off in him. It felt good to take what he wanted right there and then. Peter couldn't help but be a little prideful about what he did. He even hinted to Sam a few times that something might’ve happened between you and him.

While he was gloating you were scheming your way into telling Fury what happened. You can’t go anywhere near the man without Peter right beside you, and you can’t call Fury because he never seems to answer his phone. In fact, Fury has been out of the office more and more lately, perhaps keeping up with the other Avengers or being involved with more aliens.

Regardless of what it was, the next time you saw Fury in person you would say something.

You finished off your makeup and were now putting on the expensive dress your fellow agents coaxed you into buying for the party tonight. The material was tight and it was a little hard to breathe, but you’d get through it. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and nerves as you checked your hair one more time before heading off to the gala.

Every year, the Stark x S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was held to promote and spread awareness for local and international charities across the globe. You never had an interest in going before, but this year you were bugged by the other agents to go and Peter had expressed his interest in your presence at the party. If you didn’t show you were afraid of what he might pull in your absence.

The hotel was extravagant, from the way it was decorated to the mass amounts of people in their expensive suits and elegant gowns. You scanned the room for Peter, but saw no sign of him. He was either taking photos with the Avengers or watching you from afar, and you wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

While you didn’t see him you got to work finding Fury. You went through the humongous crowd of people just to see if you could catch a glimpse of him, you even started to ask around, but no one seemed to know where he could be. It felt like forever and you were beginning to lose hope that you would never find him. If anything was going to happen it had to be tonight.

A tap on your shoulder stopped you in your hectic search. You knew who it was just by the clear of his throat. You faced Peter with a nervous smile on your face as opposed to the devilish one on his.

“I‘ve been looking for you all night,” Peter drank in your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You squirmed under his gaze while he lingered a little too long for your liking. When he was finally done ogling you, you saw the lust in his eyes grow. You gulped as he extended his hand.

“Dance with me?” The band started to play a slow song.

You looked at his hand and then up to his eyes which dared you to say now. Reluctantly, you grabbed his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Immediately, a few wandering eyes were on yours and Peter’s figure as he led the first dance.

“You know I’ve been thinking. Since you’ve been so perfect lately, I was going to recommend you to Stark for a spot on the Avengers,” your skin formed bumps as he spun you around.

“Could you imagine that? My obedient little angel fighting alongside me. Ugh, could there be anything more perfect?”

You were about to speak, but the music had stopped and all attention was directed to the stage. Up walks Fury and Tony Stark, Fury was first to take the podium and began his long speech about the gala and what supporting these charities means to him and everyone here tonight. You kept your eyes on him the entire time and ignored the words Peter was trying to whisper in your ear. You only started listening to him when he squeezed your waist hard causing you to yelp.

“I said, why don’t we go back to my room when this is all over, huh?” You froze when he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Peter, don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” He hummed in disagreement with you and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nonsense, I don’t even know why I asked, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter anyways,” the fucker laughed.

Your body was shaking and your face was turning red in anger. Peter was going to hold you down forever. There was no way you could ever escape someone as evil as him. Peter had a hold on you for as long as he wanted. You only had one chance to escape it seems and Fury had to be your ticket out.

Before you could form a response Fury handed over the mic to Tony. Fury stepped off the stage and you kept your eyes on him for the entire time. He was making his way out of the gala and you needed to be fast in order to catch him. Peter seemed too distracted by what Tony was saying so you loosened yourself out of his grip and stood beside him. Peter only glared at you for doing that, but you didn’t care, tonight would be the night you take down Peter Parker.

Slowly, you slinked away into the crowd as a round of applause sounded off for whatever Tony was saying. Peter didn’t seem to notice you leave and that’s when you took off. People were giving you disgusted looks as you began to run out of the ballroom and chase Fury.

You almost lost him in the elevators, but you took the steps and ran once you saw what floor he was heading to. You shucked off your heels and ran up the many steps to catch him. When you got to his floor, you pushed the stairwell door open and ran after him.

“Director F-,” you face planted.

Your ankles were tangled by some sort of slim rope and they wouldn’t come undone. Fury’s footsteps faded and new ones approached your struggling body. A pair of expensive shoes stopped right by your head as the body leaned down. You came eye to eye with an angry Peter Parker.

“Rebel, rebel,” he shook his head and hauled you up. You were beating on his back the entire time as tears formed in your eyes. The rope-like material was his webs which kept you trapped.

He went back in the stairwell and carried you up a few more flights until he came to his floor. The hallways were empty as everyone was still at the party. You tried to yell, but it only got you a harsh slap on your ass.

Peter stopped in front of his door and opened it. The second he closed it he threw you on the middle of the bed. He made his way to his suitcase and took out a pocket knife. You were screaming uncontrollably and he began to cut the webs loose. You knew better than to fight with a man with a knife, let alone Spider-Man with a knife.

“Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress,” Peter noticed the small tear towards the end of your gown and tore up the rest. “Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,” he looked at your makeup stained face. He put his thumb near your lips and began to smudge lipstick around your face.

“Rebel, rebel, what are we going to do about you?” Peter took off the rest of your dress. The only thing you were in was a lace thong. Peter licked his lips and began to trace the knife down your breast.

You were shaking, afraid that he might dig the knife deeper into your skin. Afraid that he was so mad at you he would go as far as to kill you. You started to whimper as Peter looked up. The smirk on his face grew wider and wider.

“Beg for me not to hurt you. Beg like the good little angel you are,” you were so close to not giving in, but Peter dug the tip of the blade into your skin just enough to pinch it.

“Please Peter, please, please don’t hurt me Peter,” he hummed in a way to tell you that he wasn’t convinced by the performance.

“Please Peter, I’ll do anything to please you. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Please Peter, I’m so sorry for being bad,” you were hysterical as he moved the knife further down your body. When he reached your center he chuckled and threw the knife to the other side of the room. He roughly grabbed you by your scalp and made you come face to face with him.

“Anything?” You shook your head in agreement. “Alright, I wanna fuck that naughty mouth.”

Peter pulled off his suit pants and became complete bare from the waist down. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. He didn’t give you any time to get used to his size as he put all of himself in your mouth. He grabbed you scalp rougher this time and pushed your head up and down. Tears formed in your eyes again as you were forced to take him down your throat. He was a moaning and groaning mess until his thrust started to falter. Peter quickly pulled out watching in awe and the trail of saliva connected from your mouth to his cock.

Peter quickly sat you up and ripped off your underwear in the process. He started to rub his fingers along your folds where he found that you were wet. He smirked and chuckled as he continued rubbing up and down to make you become slicker than before. You tried biting back your moans, but Peter would only press down harder on your clit which caused you to cry out.

“See, I’m not so bad, princess. I could be good to you if you’re good to me,” he removed his fingers and pushed you down on the mattress.

“Peter, please,” you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or urge you on.

“I know honey, I know. Just lay down and let me make you feel good,” Peter rid himself of the rest of his clothes and slotted himself between your legs.

His tip began to enter you and the rest of his length painfully stretched you out. You squirmed a little, but Peter reassured you it would feel better soon. Sure, he wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since the last guy and you were a bit tight.

“Oh, angel, you really do feel like heaven,” he started to thrust a little faster.

Pretty soon, Peter was getting really rough with his thrust and making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Peter got carried away and didn’t realize how fast he was going on you. You felt an orgasm building and were trying to communicate that to Peter but couldn’t form the words. Peter felt you tighten around him just a little too hard and he took that as the signal to pull out. After all, he did want to see his crush cum, for him and only him.

You felt the rush of your orgasm after Peter pulled out. When you looked up at him, his chest was covered in the slick sheen of sweat mixed with your arousal.

“Holy shit, you squirted. That’s got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter went back inside you and hoisted himself on his knees and making you face to face with him. “I wanna see that again, and again, and a hundred more times.

He didn’t slow down no matter how many times you tried to beg and plead. Peter ripped out orgasm after orgasm from you and it only coaxed him to go harder and faster. Your bodies were covered in each other’s sweat and you were beginning to get a little tired. However, your eyes quickly shook away their tiredness when you felt fingers prodding your other hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” and as Peter continued his thrusting, he pushed one finger into your tight muscle and pounded into you harder.

“Aww fuck this feels so good,” Peter cried out one last time and finally came inside you.

You both collapsed onto the bed still connected to each other. Tears formed in your eyes once the shock wore off. He had finally gotten what he wanted from you.

Only a week went by when you had finally heard from Fury again. This time, he wanted to speak with you privately in his office. Your time with the Avengers program was up and he wanted to give his final thoughts.

“Well Agent, I am shocked to be saying this, but I am thoroughly impressed by your behavior with Peter. A little rough in the beginning, but I’m glad to see you both worked through your differences,” you wanted to scoff, but you wouldn't put a damper on Fury’s mood.

After that night in the hotel, the sex became a regular thing. Peter would demand and you were forced to give in. His punishments were still ongoing as he was still mad at you for trying to snitch on him to Fury, but now that the program has ended you and Peter Parker wouldn’t be seeing each other at all.

“And because of your improving behavior I’ve decided to push through your request,” you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Request?”

“You know, your request to join the Avengers team officially. Parker has been raving about your skills and training that we decided to recommend you for a spot on the team. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Stark for a few interviews and sessions, but seeing as Peter has talked so fondly of you there is no doubt in my mind you wouldn't be offered the spot.”

You stayed frozen in your seat as Fury went on and on about you. You only left when he dismissed you, reminding you that Tony Stark would be contacting you soon.

When you shut the door behind you, you began to freak out. Peter was planning on keeping you as his. At this point, there would be no way out unless you either die, face embarrassment and let the video get leaked, or wait around until Peter gets bored. Knowing Peter and his fatal attraction to you none of those could happen.

On your way back to your room, you heard the familiar footsteps you’ve grown too disgusted to know. You turned around to face the man who would be running you entire life for who knows how long. Just as you were about to speak he opened his mouth first.

“Rebel, rebel, there you are.”

#Dark Avengers #dark peter parker #dark spider man #dark marvel #dark!Avengers #Dark Fic #marvel smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #maries500challenge #peter parker image #peter parker oneshot

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mrslackles · 3 years

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what do you think are gg's biggest flaws?

Ooh, Anon! It’s like you’re in my head.

I’m busy making a video (that will probably never see the light of day) about this -- my distance from the show has really helped with some super objective clarity -- so I’ll use my notes from that to help me answer.

I’ll preface this by saying what I was most shocked by after putting down all the points was that Rio isn’t even mentioned until really far down??

Anyway, let's get into it.

These are Good Girls' greatest flaws in my opinion (and relative to season 1 -- while I think it had its flaws too, the list is far smaller and I think that's a separate post)

1. It didn't stick to its guns

What set this show apart from others in the 'Everyday person does crime (poorly)' genre was its comedic lightness, strong friendship element, relatability and emphasis on girl power.

a) By season 2, the lightness was already slowly disappearing to make way for season 3's darkness. (Quite literally; this show said sunlight scenes for WHO.) It also stopped being as fun. Remember how it genuinely used to be fun? I mean let's not forget The Best Scene Ever where Ruby shoots Big Mike by accident and we all laughed our asses off. (Compare and contrast to a similar-in-tone-and-context scene -- or even the whole episode -- like Boomer popping up behind them as Rio's package in season 3.) I think season 3 had some great lines and laughs, but in general, the fun element was completely missing for me.

b) As was the friendship. We already know Annie and Ruby basically became Beth's backup dancers in season 2, but at least then they still seemed to have some type of agency. In season 3, they rarely question Beth's (truly questionable) decisions, don't talk to her about shit like why she's still with her horrible husband and have very few true friendship moments as they did in season 1.

c) Which made it less relatable, but what also contributed was the major plot holes (it's less easy to relate when you're constantly having to remind yourself to suspend your disbelief). And, to be honest, their stupid actions. Just the most common-sense things weren't followed, like not taking your children to a crack den or not putting a hit out on a gang leader. It's frustrating watching a TV show -- where characters are supposed to learn things, have arcs and improve over time -- and feeling like you have more logical sense than all the main characters in every scene. (WHO would think a hitman was going to use a sniper rifle on people in broad daylight on the side of the road???)

d) You don't have to look any further than the title or the stans who shout "THE SHOW IS ABOUT THE GIRLS" -- or, hell, the first 10 seconds of the show where Sara is literally talking about the glass ceiling -- to know that the main characters being women is very important to the show. If not formally feminist, it was at least supposed to be empowering or feel like "girl power" (a term I hate, but we won't get into that now).

And I think it did it pretty well in season 1 -- it actually played on my favourite theme of the show, which is the world's perception of these women being what ultimately allows them to get away with so much. (Rife with opportunities for commentary about white privilege, but also a genius way to upend patriarchal beliefs.) But more and more it seemed like the show was asking you to accept empowerment as simply "these things are being done by women, yay".

And, well.

2. Its marketing

I'll keep this one short because I think we all know how messed up this situation is. Basically they're selling a show (every week!) that they're not making while ignoring all feedback on every social media platform. Which brings us to...

3. The marriage of Death

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times -- Beth's character development starts with getting rid of Dean. Her growth is stunted by him on multiple fronts and it's frustrating to viewers since she's constantly put forth as the main character. Not to mention how the audience, separately from Beth, was originally conditioned to see Dean as the scum of the earth (think of scenes like him crashing his car because he was perving on a woman jogging) so keeping them together is really... a choice. To actively root for this marriage (which seems like what the show wants, at least for the protracted moment) means either thinking Dean is a great person (which, as I said, we've only seen the opposite of) or believing he's all Beth deserves. Which leads me to...

4. Beth's (socio)path(y)

Is sociopath a 'good' word? Probably not. Have I seen dozens upon dozens of posts talking about whether Beth is one? Yes. And I see it from a huge variety of people -- from viewers who just binged the show last weekend to those who've been watching for years, the question keeps coming up. And I entirely blame the writing of the show that, by the way, I don't believe is deliberately creating Beth to get this reaction. I think she's written (and, to an extent, acted) in a way that is much too aloof and I'm not convinced it's meant to come off as cold and unfeeling as it does. Everything else leads me to believe that the audience is supposed to root for Beth, but it's just so difficult.

Beth does a lot of messed up shit that requires dialogue to sympathise with her and the inner workings of her mind, but in the later seasons Beth rarely gets to express herself verbally. And every time she does get to speak about her emotions, the dialogue is a pick-your-own-adventure between "She's in so much denial", "This person feels no emotions" and "I'll go find an analysis/fic later to explain this" (scenes like "Nothing" or "I was just bored"). Compare and contrast with some of the great scenes in season 1 where she emotes, like her paralysing shock after they first rob the store or admitting she enjoys crime, or (one of my favourites!) the one in the park where she's mimicking the other mothers beside her.

5. Brio

I said in the beginning that I was shocked Rio doesn't get mentioned until this point and that's because I've always felt like he was an integral part of the show. When people say the show is about the girls, they're truncating -- the show is about the girls getting into crime. That crime is represented by Rio over and over again -- they never bring in another criminal at his level (which is another one of its flaws, but that's also a different post); Rio is it.

And though I stand by Rio's importance, the truth is that Brio isn't as essential to the show, by which I mean that if all of the above were done well, it wouldn't be as sorely missed. In lieu of riveting plot, a fun friendship, character development and empowerment, most viewers have glommed onto Brio like a lifeboat (or ship, heh).

Unfortunately it's also what the show has most stubbornly refused to develop significantly.

It's honestly a toss-up for why I feel Brio is a flaw: is the flaw that they got together? That they never got together well enough? That the writing keeps bringing in these 'chemistry-filled' scenes that are ultimately filled with air?

I don't know. Maybe all of them; maybe just one, depending on the day.

6. Its criticism falls flat without intersectionality

This is a big one because Good Girls is *trying* to do something very clever. As mentioned previously, my favourite theme of the show is how the women's apparent innocence/vulnerability in the eyes of society is their biggest strength. The show plays with this and other interesting themes with varying levels of success, but ultimately they all fall a little flat when they don't feel intersectional.

When Ruby gets sidelined. When Turner, who sees and all but calls out by name Beth's privilege, is portrayed as the villain. When Rio is told he's gonna "pop a cap" in his young child's "ass". When the racist grandma becomes a sympathetic character whom we must later grieve. (And she really didn't have to be racist, now that I think about it? It was just that one line for laughs and that was it.) When, despite the real-world implications, Dean can loudly announce in a store that he's buying a gun to kill someone with and the show just glides past it. When Ruby has to grovel for forgiveness from Beth for trying to protect her husband and family from the system, with no acknowledgement from Beth about how their realities are different. When Rhea gets booted off the show as soon as she's done serving Beth's plot. When Rio gets treated like a prostitute for absolutely no reason. (Oh, and is accused of raping Beth and is literally spoken of as an animal and starts only existing in zero dim lighting as a one-dimensional stereotype... the list goes on.)

7. PR/The actors

I'll risk my life here to sprinkle this in because I do think it's a massive problem. The Manny/Christina of it all is just the tip of the iceberg (although wtf Good Girls? There's nothing you could do to get these two into an interview together??). The main actors do the bare minimum to promote the show and it's weird. I also think it's the height of unprofessionalism to keep characters on the show against the wishes of the majority of the audience just because you enjoy their actors (Boomer confirmed; Dean highly suspected). While, on the flip side of the coin, limiting a character's screentime because you aren't best buddies with them. Having less and less Rio when he's such a fan favourite is dumb; as is not including him in any series marketing material. It feels personal and that isn't how a TV show should be run.

8. The entire hair and wardrobe department needs a stern talking-to

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herotome · 3 years

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With all the horror-movie based prompts, does anyone in the cast like horror movies? Anyone the sort to put on a horror movie late at night alone and then regret it?

From the prompt: Get Out, The Purge - Warden The Exorcist - Jade Night of the Living Dead - Mia

get out: what’s the most uncomfortable situation you’ve ever been in?

(He starts tallying with his fingers)

Warden: That high school reunion I went to once, any conversation with or about my parents, reporters asking me about my personal life, total strangers yelling or hitting on me from across the street, that one time someone asked me to autograph his foot...

Warden: Oh. The worst was when I was at a conference, and someone who worked there handed me a tissue when I was about to sneeze. Then she took it out of my hand and stuffed it back in her purse.

Warden: .... Maybe she didn't work there, actually.

the exorcist: what are your thoughts on religion? do you follow one?

Jade: Religion...?

Jade: I don't think of it much. I think it's gotten watered down with every generation in my family. Although... my mother's belief fully broke when my father died. Maybe I'm still a little more devout than her?

night of the living dead: if you could, would you bring people back from the dead? who?

(Mia glances very uncomfortably toward Jade.)

And now back to that first bit because I had to answer a little out of order --

Jade watches horror movies late at night and doesn't regret it.

Griffin will watch them with her, but is kinda mad about the selection and low-key bitching about it the whole time. Doesn't regret it per se, just likes to complain. Puts on The Bachelor afterwards.

Dart will watch horror movies sometimes because he does enjoy them but will regret it, the duality of man. He finds himself weirdly thankful that he sleeps during the day, but looks over his shoulder a little more often while working at night. Prefers have Griffin's complaining in the background, but will watch alone once in a blue moon.

Mia will glance over sometimes but doesn't pay enough attention to get spooked. If she gets uncomfortable or anticipates a jump scare she will just get up and go to do something else. If anyone teases her about it she gets really upset and pouts by herself in her room.

Warden is bad at team building and doesn't participate in movie nights but would laugh at inopportune moments if he did; he can never quite suspend his disbelief.

Warden has answered the purge already here.

🔪Full List of Horror Asks🔪

#RO: mia #RO: jade #RO: warden #herotome ask #mia was fully prepared to bring back a random celebrity or historical figure lol

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wyslyyzr · 3 years

Note

HOW DID I MISS THE FIRST LISS MEME ROFLMAO do it. I dare you. I double dog dare you.

◈ for a first kiss between our muses. | @sebastianshaw

through the motions of life, erik has always tried to be decisive. it is a change from the quivering and persecuted child he was, but even then, max had ground nails into knives, and on more than one occasion, decided he would die to kill his oppressors, thwarted only by misstep. he prides himself on his strengths, but there is one distinct category he's had a tumultuous time with: interpersonal relationships. they were often elusive at worst, and complicated at best; his methods were disavowed but he was loved, or he was not loved and was feared, or he was precisely asocial to the point of withdrawal. it was always a struggle, and erik's loneliness was silent, tucked away beneath his breast bone with the rest of his pain he had no desire to aerate.

he doesn't particularly like sebastian shaw, but he tolerates him as demanded or requested by those around him that he respects more, which allows for a subsistence of social dynamic he wished he could simply scorch to nothingness. shaw is oppressively annoying, but erik suspects even if he could train himself to offer minimal reactions, shaw might not retract--his interest ran a bit deeper than mere needling, though erik could not quite deduce what it was that interested shaw. his strength or convictions? maybe, but it was difficult to imagine sebastian approved of how he used them--he'd almost made that clear already. erik simply pretends that isn't there, that he can exist in relative peace, though he feels sebastian's eyes on him rather consistently.

this is a quiet moment, one erik relishes, even if it's beside someone like sebastian shaw. he offers ambivalent reactions, responses, a neutrality meant not to reveal his hand or thoughts, but it would be a lie to claim he didn't enjoy this, at least; the sprawling scenic view of high risen paths and low valleys of clear water, the refracting light from the falling sun, the subtle breeze that tickled his throat and forearms and hands, that lazily tangled in his hair.

when shaw gestures, albeit vaguely, to the ink stretched across his bare forearm, erik's brow sets in clear annoyance, a sharpness narrowing his eyes. sebastian lifts a finger to tut, oh, please, erik, i am not mocking you. he watches shaw fold a leg over the knee, expecting a verbal display of stupidity, or at least, something that would evoke a tremor of rage, but to his surprise, it doesn't come.

shaw mumbles in a way that seems deliberate, like he was sharing exactly what he meant to, a storybook that eliminated any opportunity for vulnerability--like if he said what he meant in an exact tone, it couldn't possibly sound like something that was about him, something that made him less than impervious and grandiose. when he speaks, its of his father, of an impoverished childhood, though the details are deliberately obscured. perhaps a brusque and narrow comparison to what erik endured, but perhaps not done maliciously.

this once, at least.

the bars of tendon in erik's wrist flex as his fingers spider about the rim of his offered glass of champagne, and the taste is fragrantly sweet. he'd observed the bottle had been appropriately stamped with a kosher seal, and wondered if that had been intentional, too, or if shaw had deferred to his misconstrued idea of what exactly kosher meant. that was fine by erik, either way; he hadn't had a good glass of wine or champagne since passover. see, i am not quite the privileged lout you seem to think i am, erik.

erik rolls his eyes, though a bud of amusement burrows into the side of his cheek, pressing a soft line beside his lip. ' oh, believe you me, shaw, i still think that of you. ' he stands from his seat, the sunlight touching his white clothes in such a way that it made erik look otherworldly, illuminating his pale hair, his draped shawl, the tight fit of his long legs. ' i'm unsure what your motivation is for sharing such knowledge with me, ' erik begins, opening his hand in offering to take shaw's emptied cup, ' as it would be out of character to think of you doing anything without an ulterior motive, ' he raises his brows at shaw, though the gesture is almost playful, ' but.. regardless, i appreciate that it was shared. ' shaw rolls his hand on the ball joint of his wrist, flicking his fingers in a dismissive manner. i have servants for that. so erik drops his hand, and shaw rises from his seat in tandem, electing to take erik's emptied glass himself. erik watches him set the pair aside on a small, cherry-oak polished end table that bore nothing else but what looked to be a cigar box. take it as a display of good faith.

' you do nothing in good faith. '

quite untrue, and such an unyielding accusation. you think so low of me. ' is that so? give me an example of your good faith. ' when shaw staggers to an idle, searching for something that would appease magneto, erik almost laughs in his face. ' i did not think so. ' shaw reaches for his arm before he can retreat from the balcony, his hold unkind enough to make erik jerk in response, but he relaxes when it becomes evident to him sebastian merely wants to gain precedence over this debate, and keep him here to speak. well, i make regular donations to a homeless children's education fund in pittsburgh.

' okay. ' thats an example, as you demanded. ' i suppose so. '

when shaw contemplates him, erik thinks he looks rather dull. he watches his brow press into a line. when you learned the scarlet witch and quicksilver were your children, what did you do, magnus?

erik raises a pale brow, something hot and brittle waning in his chest. the sudden switch in topic is jarring, and suspicious to erik. he blinks, averting his eyes from sebastian in thought. ' i held my granddaughter in my arms. i thought about all the time i had missed, and i felt sorry for myself, and sad for them. and i got over it, and began trying to fill in the gaps. why? what does-- '

shaw, perhaps realizing he had yet a hold on erik's arm, lets him go. nothing. it was--a ghost from my past has come to haunt me. you, so filled with them, might have known what to do. i was.. perhaps, asking for .. help.

' help? you? ' ridiculous, isn't it? it feels disgustingly wrong.

' well, thats your problem. ' erik presses his finger into sebastian's chest, albeit the pressure is slight; it's meant to get his attention, nothing else. ' you only accept help when it means theres less work for you to do. what do you do when it makes you vulnerable? i struggled with that for years, and it is still wanting. '

there is a long suffering moment of silence between them, the sun continuing its descent on the horizon, bloated colors of orange and pink crawling over glass. finally, one of shaw's near-comically large hands raises to crest the side of erik's face, his thumb curling to the hinge of erik's jaw, beneath his ear. he tilts erik's head like he's appraising his face, and erik scrunches his nose. ' what are you doing? '

kissing him is certainly the last thing erik could have expected. in fact, it's so left-field to him, so abrupt and strange, that for a moment, erik doesn't know exactly what to do. shaw pulls erik's head down just slightly to compensate for the inch of difference in height, an act erik would suspect meant to be domineering. when his senses come back into focus, he can taste alcohol, a hint of smoke, something beneath that likely to be meat. his heart rushes into his ears, and the swirl of panic pushes erik to respond, his suspended belief finally giving like an overcrowded dam. he balls a fist against shaw's clavicle and shoves with force, successfully prying him free, and nearly knocking him into the railing.

' gott! du khazer, what in--why did you do that? ' erik roars, wiping his face in his sleeve.

i thought we were having a "moment".

' no! '

#sebastianshaw #--RESPONSE.#--PROMPT.#this is 90 percent set up 10 percent kiss and its what shaw fucking deserves #t: god; you pig #also i implied this to be about lourdes but honestly could be about anyone

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seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Red Pens Pt 2 - Tsukishima Kei

AU: T.A → Co-workers

Word Count: 1.3k

*Same rules apply….I have no idea how teacher’s assistants work so if you do then suspend your belief for a bit

Pt 1 | Pt 2

You have grown to hate all types of writing utensils. Pencils? Evil. Markers? Devils. Pens? The spawns of satan. You haven’t written this much since you were in university and even then it would only be exams.

You glanced over to Tsukishima, who was rubbing his hand.

“You know this is your fault.”

Tsukishima smirked, a small laugh escaping his lips. “What’s my fault?”

You raised your hand and stretched out your fingers towards him, showing him the unseeable pain. “My hand pain. Your hand pain. It’s all your fault. Why can’t you just let them hand in their work online like everyone else? That’s why people made programs for this type of stuff.”

“Computers miss things that the human eye doesn’t.”

“Computers catch things that the human eye doesn’t,” you countered, walking over to his desk.

He offered you your own desk, like his own, a few weeks after you started being his teacher’s assistant and realized that you weren’t going to quit and he had no reason to fire you. But you like this small desk that was at the end of the first row of desks that the students sat at, it was only a little way away from his desk and made you feel like you were a part of the class.

Plus, the small walk helped you believe that you were getting some sort of exercise. (Which you weren’t)

Also, you liked the way you would still learn from his class even if you already knew most of the material. You liked the way he would glance over at you every now and then, and the way you would smile at him and he would give you a small smile in return, followed by a shake of his head.

It was a nice little dance that only the two of you knew the rhythm too.

“Most professors don’t even look at the essays once they put it through the computer,” he complained, pushing his glasses up. “I like reading what my students have to say. A lot of them put so much effort into their work, spend hours, days or weeks putting it together. The least I could do is give back that effort.”

He paused and rubbed his hand. “It’s worth it in the end.”

You stared at him for a second. Despite how much your hand hurt, you understood what he meant and knew that he meant every word that he said. Maybe that’s why his classes are always full and that there were waitlists for some of them.

You wanted to teach as he did.

“What?”

Your eyes snapped up. “What?”

“You were staring at me,” Tsukihima said, taking another pen from the holding and clicked it. “It was weird.”

You rolled your eyes. “My hand still hurts.”

He smiled and his eyes went back to the paper in his hand. “You can complain when you’re done.”

“I only have a few more weeks as your T.A,” you said, clicking your pen on and off. It was mostly to annoy him because you knew if you did it long enough he would take it away and would call for a break. “You’re soo going to miss me. I basically do all of your work for you.”

Tsukishima looked up. You were marking tests this time which were much easier, so you had the time to annoy him. “You’re not the worst teacher’s assistant.”

You rolled your eyes and continued to click your pen. “I’m an amazing teacher’s assistant. I get all the work done on time, I stay extra late to finish, and I get us coffee even though I know it’s not in my job description. You’d be uncaffeinated without me.”

He got out of his chair and walked towards your desk. Once he got close enough, he snatched the pen out of your hand. “Stop clicking the pen.”

“Does that mean I can take a break?” You smiled, already getting out of your seat.

“You can go get us coffee,” he said, walking back to his desk.

“That’s what I meant. Getting coffee is the best type of break.”

You grabbed your bag and started towards the door.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned around.

“I’m happy that you’re not going to be my teacher assistant next year,” he said, not looking up from the papers in his hand.

You deflated. “Really?”

“Yes.” You stood in silence for a minute. Maybe this time you’d take your time getting coffee. Slowly, he placed his pen down and looked at you, his face blank, like his answer was obvious. “Yes, when you stop being my teacher’s assistant and you become a professor, then I can ask you out.”

1 Year Later

You were marking essays, a blue pen carefully balanced between your fingers. Unfortunately, this one was riddled with marks and your hand hurt. Your teacher assistant didn’t show up and hasn’t shown up for almost two days, so you’ve been marking over a hundred essays by yourself.

You understood why Tsukishima fired so many of them before you. Maybe you should fire yours.

Why couldn’t they give you a good one?

You closed your eyes and leaned back into the chair.

“Meditating?”

Your eyes shot open, the blue pen falling from your hand onto the floor. Tsukishima leaned against the door frame of your classroom, his hands behind his back and a smug look on his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you here to mock my hand pain?”

“Not really,” he admitted and walked towards your desk. He bent down and picked up your pen, carefully placing it on the desk. “That feels more like a Monday thing. Today’s Friday.”

“I’m glad that you know the days of the week. I think I should be concerned if you didn’t.”

“Not marking by computer? You complained about it a lot. I thought you would switch over once you got your own classroom” he said, taking another few tentative steps closer to you.

You straighten up in your chair. “I tried, but I think I like marking by hand better. It’s different and I’m kind of used to it thanks to you.”

He smiled. “I have something for you.”

“Wow! A present for me? Maybe I should have quit being your teacher assistant if I knew it led to presents.”

He rolled his eyes and brought a box from behind his back. It was wrapped with red paper. You unwrapped it

It was a box of red pens. The same brand that he used and the same ones that you went through multiples of marking things with him. There was a sticky note attached to the back of the clear plastic container and you turned it over.

Written in red pen, it wrote:

Will you go out with me?

You looked up at him. He was, quite literary, towering over you. He had always been taller than you by a lot, but with you sitting down, he seemed larger than life itself. Something was different in the way he looked at you, but it seemed so familiar.

“I want to hear you say it,” you said, putting down the box of pens and standing up. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Will you go out with me? Someone who is not my teacher’s assistant and as someone who’s a teacher not breaking any rash rules made by me.” He paused. “Someone who I waited a really long time to ask out.”

You smiled and took a step closer to him. “Hmm….I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

“Seriously?” He said, but a small grin played on his lips.

“It’ll just take a second,” you said, tapping your chin, pretending to think. After a moment, you said, “I’ll take it under consideration. I have a lot of essays to mark.”

He grabbed your hand. “Come on. We’ll get something to eat and then I’ll help you mark them.”

You grabbed your jacket. “Such a hot date.”

“You know it.”

You headed out of the classroom with Tsukishima’s hand in yours, throwing out the blue pen as you did.

You’ve always liked the red ones better.

I know that you probably won’t get a job a year after, but it would be weird if I did like “5 years after” cause Tsuki would probably ask them out by then and wouldn’t wait that long….

Here’s the part 2 as promised!! I hope that you enjoyed it! This was actually really fun to write and didn’t take that long to write which is weird. I think it liked this one better than the first one lol. Stay safe everyone - Kiwi

Posted: 03/07/2020

#Haikyuu x reader #Tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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t100ficrecsblog · 4 years

Text

an interview with @easilydistractedbyfanfic (she/they)

what are you working on right now? I don’t typically take prompts, but after finding out about the Bellarke Writers For BLM Initiative and how their goal is to raise money for BLM via various fandom prompts that are requested by readers and written & illustrated by various writers and artists, I wanted to get involved. I’ve finished two prompts and am working on my third, which is a Murphy/Raven smutfic set during their years on the Ring. It’s definitely an idea I can work with - it’s over 10k at this point with a lot more to say, so hopefully the anon who requested it will end up pleased! Go check out the tumblr page and the ao3 collection - there’s various t100 pairings/ratings and you can choose the cause if you want to request a fic!

what is the fanwork you’re most proud of? I struggled with this question! My stories are all like my kids, and even if some of them could use a bit of improvement with pacing or dialogue or whatever faults I see when they age, ultimately I do love them all and I’m glad I wrote them. I do sometimes play favorites but that often depends on what I’m in the mood to read myself. That said, I really do always feel proud of my story called What You Need. It’s a darker version of Raven & Murphy, but one that I don’t find unrealistic under the circumstances of the fic. I surprised myself with where my head went on this one. In a good way, because it was really fascinating to dive into the minds of who these particular versions of the characters were.

I’m also pleased that I have over 500k on ao3 at this point. I never expected anything like this when I started writing, and it kind of blows my mind that this is my hobby now. It’s so strange to me that there are stories in my head at any given moment now.

why did you first start writing fic? I started writing in June 2018. Never wrote any fanfic before that, ever - though I did read plenty! I wrote three stories super fast, posted them all on ao3 on the same day and haven’t looked back. I think I started writing out of a combination of just really needing more content for my faves, but also I wasn’t in fandom before s5 and was quite desperate after s4 to talk to other people about Raven & Murphy. So I needed to get the stories out but also I had this hope that it would invite conversation when I didn’t know anyone in fandom.

what frustrates you most about fic writing? Just because I want to write doesn’t mean I can. Having prompts on my plate right now, I feel a real responsibility to finish them, but even when I carve time out to write, sometimes the words just don’t feel right. The muse doesn’t always strike when I have the time available. Also, it’s super ridiculously important to me that scenes and dialogue FEEL right based on the characterization I have in my head in any particular story. I can look at a scene I’ve written, especially an emotional one, and sometimes it’s just not resonating with me the way I know it could or should. It’s tough not to just push through and post it as-is, but I know that would never satisfy me, even if it means a much longer turn-around time on a story or chapter update. Often I will find that I get an a-ha moment that cracks open a better understanding of why a scene isn’t working for me, but this can take time and I have to trust in this process.

Not to preach, but it’s also frustrating when something you spend a lot of time and effort on doesn’t get much in the way of comments. I see posting fic on ao3 as a sort of conversation, so when there’s mostly silence even as the hits (and hopefully kudos) tick upwards, it can feel really...disheartening to feel like you’re talking into a void. And I say this as someone who has been fortunate enough to have regular readers who DO give feedback! I think every writer understands that they need to write for themselves first and foremost, but I wish more readers understood that feedback and enthusiasm will absolutely result in MORE CONTENT! I try very hard to follow this guideline myself by supporting and commenting on everything I read as time permits.

what are your top five songs right now? I listen to a huge mix of songs & my childhood influenced me a lot.

Some floating in my head include -

Chris Cornell’s live cover of Nothing Compares 2U Indigo Girls - Romeo & Juliet The Decemberists - Once In My Life Tori Amos - Silent All These Years The Chicks - March March

what are your inspirations (books, songs, other fic)? I find inspiration in a lot of things, which I think is lucky. One of my biggest is the characters themselves. I love getting deep into understanding who I think they are, what their motivations are and why they’d make certain decisions, whether in canon or in an AU. What parts of their personalities do they keep when they aren’t tortured and under trauma on the regular? What would happen if I change this one scenario in their lives? I could probably go on forever just based on these sorts of thoughts, but I do also find inspiration in simple things like tropes, or song lyrics and the lore of the show itself. Quite a lot of my ideas in my inspiration notebook have sci-fi themes too. A few of my stories have already touched on sci-fi topics, and I absolutely plan more of them because I love how creative that can be. I also love the idea of suspended belief - can I have sentient plant life from an alien planet that can mindread & communicate by projecting thoughts into characters' heads? Yes, yes I can! (I wrote this story, fyi - Flora Incognita, part of a series)

what attracts you to Murven? what first attracted you? Hey, do you have all day? Ha! Seriously, I could talk about this until everyone wants to strangle me! I loved Raven immediately - not so much Murphy! But I really disliked Finn, so ep 1x10 when Raven finally broke up with him had me interested. In that ep, you can see that Murphy is present, awake & nearby in the Dropship and probably overhears everything Raven says. Then he gets up and looks at her to make sure she’s still sleeping before he carries out his revenge plans. I’m not kidding - that one look absolutely and completely hooked me! Murphy was still awful then but he was so much more interesting than Finn, and back then I remember thinking how I’d really like to see them interact as two stubborn, strong personalities, because no doubt sparks would fly. And then when they did interact more, their dynamic was exactly what I’d hoped for and then some!

I love that they’ve seen each other at their worst and at their weakest and most vulnerable, yet they’ve built a strong foundation of trust, faith and understanding. They have so much in common but they’re also different sides of the coin in some ways too. Fandom talks about Bellarke being the head & the heart, but to me Raven and Murphy are the intellect & the instinct - they complement each other, provide some of the qualities that the other needs, their differences improve each other. For me, nobody gets Raven like Murphy & nobody understands Murphy like Raven. Maybe not a lot of people notice, but Raven & Murphy check in with each other a lot - Raven tends to say “I got this” but Murphy is the only person who replies to her “Do you?”. And Raven listens to Murphy’s ideas and suggestions and plans even when she’s known as the genius because she knows that he has valuable things to say. They have fun together, make each other smile and enjoy each other’s company, which is in such short supply in this show!

I know there’s parts of fandom that don’t ship them because Murphy shot Raven in s1. I have a lot of thoughts on it and have had quite a few tumblr posts about it. This is a fictional show - it does not reflect reality. I’ve been on the fringes of fandom for a long time and I know shipping doesn’t always mean yes, I want to see this relationship in real life. For me, I think it’s absolutely fascinating that someone Raven should hate has become one of her closest and most trusted friends. That she forgave him, and we as the audience get to see this dynamic change and grow, and that Murphy has always felt guilty about it even though he was being presented as selfish and out for himself - it’s such a huge, huge part of each of their character’s journeys. This is getting rather meta, but I don’t think either of these characters would have survived this long or evolved to the extent that they each have without specifically being around each other.

And I absolutely can not discuss my love for Raven & Murphy without mentioning the whole way these two LOOK at each other! OMG have you SEEN it?!?? How could I not ship them when they look at each other like that! LOL! Also, I want to keep talking about this but I’ll stop now because I truly could go on forever and anyone who follows me already knows I’m wordy.

BESIDES Murven, what’s your favorite ship in t100? Honestly, nothing else comes close to Murven for me, but I did like Kabby before the show just eviscerated their characters. I like the possibilities of Niytavia still. I can see why people ship Murphamy in the earlier seasons. Definitely think Echo/Roan could’ve been something intriguing. And I’ve got this weird thing going right now where I wouldn’t hate Murphy/Russheda, but admittedly that’s mostly about the aesthetic! I tried really hard to like other partners for Raven & Murphy since they’ve always been my faves, but I’ve been meh about all the possibilities except Luna as a partner for Raven or as a Luna/Raven/Murphy threesome. At some point I might write that. Otherwise I’d say I tend to like the friendships more than the ships.

what are some things you’d like to recommend? I always hesitate to recommend other stories & authors because I can’t stand the idea of people feeling left out if I forget to mention them! But I would like to say that I really and truly love my fellow Murven shippers who read & support my stories and who create content like fic and art and gifs and fanvids. I find so much inspiration in them even though sometimes I can’t get through 30 seconds of a fanvid before I have to pause it because the angst is too much for me!

Since you’re kind enough to ask me this question and maybe a few people will read this answer, please - I recommend that everyone educate themselves on social justice and climate change and Black Lives Matter and capitalism and unions and what intersectionality & solidarity truly mean! Vote like your lives depend on it because THEY DO!

ed’s note: compiled a few resources -Rebel Well: A Starter Survival Guide to Trumped America -Jacob and Al’s Intergalactic Intersectionality Adventure -Get involved in your local chapter of DSA -Join Your Local Mutual Aid Group -Keeping Yourself Safe Online In This Capitalistic Hellscape -Angela Davis’ book Are Prisons Obsolete? -Resource about defunding the police

You can find @easilydistractedbyfanfic here on Tumblr, on Twitter, and on AO3. You can also a request a fic written by her via @bellarkefic-for-blm!

#bellarkefic4blm #raven reyes #john murphy #murven #murven fanfiction #bellarkefics for blm interview

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omg-baeyoung-baeran · 4 years

Text

Maybe I Should Resign (Jumin/MC Oneshot)

youtube

Summary:

When your cringeworthy, cutesy cat-based post-its meant for your depressed friend are accidentally sent to your stone-hearted boss...take it as a sign to turn in your resignation letter.

o-o-o-o

It was mischievous and amusing, he admitted. The words written were always related to his current situation for some reason. Initially, it was odd and suspicious, but after it had given him comfort on several occasions, he had grown a little fond of the notes sent attached to his cup of coffee.

Unless it was something related to cats, he was never the type to waste time, energy, or even money on something that did not involve the family and the company’s benefit; therefore, he never bothered finding the person behind it. He figured it was another scheme from someone who wanted to get ahold of his affection, so it was in his best interest to leave things be. The interaction went on for months, and the unknown person did not seem to have missed a single day doing the same task.

Impressive.

This mysterious person had persistence he would applaud of if he or she were not using it on something insignificant.

“Make efforts for yourself too because you are worth it!” The sticky note was purple this time.

That day, he bought himself a cat mug and was delighted by it.

Is this what commoners mean by “reward yourself”?

The first time the note made him frown deeply was when his father was involved with another woman, though the message was not the reason why he had made such a face. He wondered once again who the person might be behind the notes. Is it a woman who has the same intentions like his father’s passing lovers? Is it a man who is sucking up for a promotion?

He had asked Jaehee before who had been preparing his coffee lately, since he had her retire from the task to handle more important matters at hand.

“It’s the chef’s son who prepares the coffee for the executives, Mr. Han.”

“He is not an employee.”

“Yes, but he volunteered to work without pay to help his father fulfill his duties without problems. I have offered to raise the concern to you, Mr. Han, but he refused.”

He hummed, raising his hand to his chin in thought. “Make him sign a contract and ensure his pay is more than sufficient to compensate for the days he did not get paid.”

Jaehee nodded and reconfirmed, “We will need to help him get a lawyer for the contract. The chef has mentioned before that his son is illiterate, so I will be contacting Mr. Joyou for recommendations.”

For a brief second, his eyes flashed in confusion. “Are you sure his son is illiterate?”

He received the third report the next day, proving that the chef’s son was indeed illiterate.

From mysterious messages, it went down south to suspicious messages.

Fortunately, nothing other than passing one-sided notes was happening. The messages were innocent and can sometimes be helpful, thus there was no need to be alarmed.

“Meow~ a kitty a day keeps the purrblem paway!”

It can sometimes be… cute… he begrudgingly confessed.

That was the first time it made him smile and his heart flutter.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

It was a huge mistake.

All this time, she was digging her own grave, and she had no idea she had dug deep enough to be a knock away from entering the gates of hell. She had been writing him notes to cheer him up and, perhaps, brighten up his troubled days. Pretending to be a maid to gather information unavailable online from a huge company seemed to be a huge hassle. He was tasked to do it for months too; hence, she made sure he wouldn’t get too lonely.

She wrote him notes—which she thought might help him smile—and stuck them on the cup of coffee he would serve for the employees. He never mentioned anything about it whenever they got the chance to chat. It was a bit disappointing, but her little help appeared to be working well. He seemed genuinely happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.

That was until she got a response in the form of a cat-shaped baby blue sticky note.

The coffee area was empty early in the morning. Most employees were yet to arrive, but the tray holding the cup where she usually stuck her messages already had a sticky note attached to it. Her lips touched the rim of the mug, her own sweetened coffee warming her cold lips.

Oh? A response? I wasn’t expecting that….

She took the note, flipping it around to inspect it.

Cat-shaped? Aw, so cute! Seven really loves cats.

Her eyes scanned the message written.

“Write something about cats today.”

Huh? Wait, hold on, something’s wrong here.

She felt the heavy feeling of dread fill her stomach as she analyzed the piece of paper in her hand. Her mother had always jokingly called her “stupid” when she was in her teens, but she never believed it was true until she actually gave evidences to such hypothesis. Her joke was probably not a half-meant joke but a prediction of what she would become in the near future.

One thing she was certain of….

This is totally not his penmanship.

She had known Seven for years and was one of his closest friends. He would even take her out at random times to get ice cream even when his schedule was loaded. They would write on receipts and draw doodles of whatever came into their imagination. His penmanship was not necessarily messy but it carried its own charm.

This, on the other hand, looked too elegant to be his.

“Umm… good morning, Ma’am,” greeted a young man with brown hair and light brown eyes.

She forced a smile, tucking the note into her skirt’s pocket. “Good morning! Are you gonna grab a coffee?”

“Oh! Umm… no… haha! I am more of a tea person, though I make coffee for the executives.” His laugh sounded awkward, but she thought he looked like a nice guy. “Please do excuse me,” he muttered before passing in front of her, grabbing the tray where the cup with the note was placed.

The coffee she drank nearly burst out of her nose when she choked.

“Miss?” the boy questioned in a low voice, albeit slightly alarmed, “Are you okay?”

Her laugh can sound as fake as it was, but her petrified mind was too horrified to function.

“Ohohoho! I am fine! Nothing to worry about!” she beamed between coughs.

Later that day, Jumin did not get his daily note.

He tried to deny it the best he could, but it was just too evident.

It was the first time it made him upset.

Just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

When a week came without a single note from the mysterious messenger, he started to feel unusual. It may be childish of him, but because he had learned to like it, it brought him disappointment to find a typical cup of coffee served in front of him. Perhaps it was from the fact that he forcefully abandoned his childhood before that his childhood spirit came back to bite him now.

Each morning, it got him curious of what secret message he would receive for the day. Will it be another joke? Another cat pun? He learned to find excitement in the short letters and “freebies” that came with it. Once, he got a stamp, and it caused him to raise a single brow.

“What is this?” he asked the chef’s son while he studied the white cat stamp between his fingers.

The chef’s son cocked his head to the side. “I do not have a clue, Mr. Han. I just found it on the tray next to your cup. I assumed it was something important and someone wanted to send it to you.”

It was nothing expensive, yet he kept it displayed on his table.

That was weeks ago… and he missed it.

Again, just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The gossip which greeted her ears the moment she entered the office mortified her beyond belief. Apparently, the heir of the C&R International company had asked if anyone knew of someone who was courageous enough to leave “memos” on his cup of coffee. He worded it terribly, as though it was a violation of the company’s rules and regulation, so it was not a surprise people made a huge deal out of it.

I’m leaving this company. I will never rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation. Surely, Mr. Trust Fund Kid will know immediately if he’s ever free to check the cctv footage.

With a silent battle cry, she filed her resignation a day later…

and just her luck, a secret agent had successfully stolen quite an important document from the CEO the very same day.

“You are relieved from your mission, Agent 707.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

“Are you sure you did not misplace it, Father?”

Three people stood inside the CCTV control room. They were surrounded by more than 20 monitors that were flashing previous clips from the past weeks.

“I am sure without a single doubt that I kept it hidden in drawer 7.”

Dark, calculating orbs scrutinized the video. It was the last clip they were reviewing, and it was where the chairman can be last seen holding the documents prior leaving it in drawer 7.

“How can it disappear when no one has entered Father’s room? Have you double checked the system if anything’s amiss?”

He patiently waited for a response while the control manager worked on the system check—his eyes drifting back to the multiple clips they were previously analyzing.

There was Yeonwa chatting with Jaehee...

Jaewoo bringing in three boxes of pizza...

Helena bumping into Chong—

He frowned.

“August 6, 2018” was coded on the top right corner of the screen. If he was not mistaken, the company suspended all works that day to celebrate their successful purchase of Grace Cup Store.

So why are there employees working?

“Mr. Han,” the male manager cut off, “I believe the entire footage was placed in a loop since March using videos back in 2016.”

“Since… March?” He racked his brain for any memory that happened back in March. There were international events, meetings, partnership requests….

“Surprises will start today~ I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it.^^”

Now that he recalled, he was pretty sure the notes started back in March.

o-o-o-o

Soooo this is meant to be an open-ended oneshot, but we MAY post a second chapter (emphasis on “may”)

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger jumin #mystic messenger jumin x mc #mystic messenger oneshot #mystic messenger han jumin #jumin han #jumin #jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mc ya dun goofed

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nookishposts · 3 years

Text

Managing Messages

It would appear that there is a sea change going on in my brain. Self-reflection seems to be a mid-life given and I believe that has ramped up for many of us during restricted pandemic conditions. Once we tired of bread making and Netflix binges and being unable to wear anything but buffet pants, many of us got contemplative; involuntary monks in retreats that needed dusting.

As a storyteller I listen a lot and try to see the funny in the foibles and fairy-tales of everyday living. We tell ourselves whatever we need to in order to get from place to place,between frustrations and surprises, for better or worse. Case in point : “I will eat this last cookie, in addition to the two I just had, because it would be silly to put the bag back in the cupboard with just one cookie left.” Please tell me it’s not just me....

Rules of comportment have changed a lot in the last year and we have been more often confronted with the quirks of our own company. We examine the world through a lens of a necessarily more domestic perspective, noticing the dust dinosaurs under the bookshelf from our horizontal couch-lolling, seeing the cobwebs near the ceiling, remembering that we’d promised to freshen the cupboards with a coat of paint, and scrolling, scrolling, scrolling the hours away.

There are things I promised myself last November that I would spend the Winter doing; among them squats my own personal elephant-in-the-living-room; the actual work of assembling/organising some of my writing for publication. I have promised myself this every Autumn for the last 4 years, maybe more. Not following up has absolutely nothing to do with the pandemic and everything to do with the mixed messages in my early brain-wiring that I have managed until now to avoid reconciling. No, I am not blaming my parents for my failures; but I am finally acknowledging that they inadvertently gave me a puzzlement of fears to figure my way through. Analysis paralysis. That particular writing assignment is way overdue. I guess I have to start somewhere.

My parents, both born pre-Depression grew up in financial poverty, in families that strove to keep them fed and sheltered rather than striving for the sake of striving itself. Neither finished school because it was just not a priority next to taking on some responsibility for keeping the families basic needs of living met. They were taught to keep their heads down and noses-to-the-grindstone, to never think of aspiring beyond their “station” in life or if they did, to keep it to themselves. Which I think they did. I don’t recall either of them ever talking about having dreams for themselves except in the most self-deprecating or pipe-dreaming kind of manner, as if dreams were to be sloughed off, abandoned to the past, along with childhood.

So I grew up the eldest child of two very hard-working people whose attitudes combined in a united defensive front against those they’d been taught to believe were their “betters”; people like academics, doctors, and politicians. People of means, likely inherited. People of power and influence, genetically programmed to screw the little guy. Seriously.

I was a dreamer from the get-go. I had a hearty imagination fuelled by a belief in magic and a natural disinclination to follow the rules, a deeply curious little kid who had a knack for remembering and a sense of wonder at the world itself. My parents, like most of their generation were more concerned that I be prepared for harsh reality than for questioning the status quo. I too was to work hard, keep my head down, and not entertain any real ambition for fear of life beating it out of me. They both knew how to laugh and were not without creativity, but all of it was directed and drained off in matters of pure practicality.

Mixed messages have dogged me ever since, though I have long been of an age where I know it is my responsibility to unravel things for myself. Distilled, the messages that I carry are as follows: from Dad it was “who the hell do you think you are with your book-learning and big words? You think you are better than us? The hell you are!” And from Mum it was: “Well, good for you, but don’t get used to success because it doesn’t ever last.” Both attitudes came from fear, his from being usurped or found wanting and hers from being afraid of serial disappointment. Translated in my brain, those echoing, looping messages have kept me from believing it is okay to just take a grand leap of faith in myself. Good lord, what if I fail and embarrass us all?! The child in my brain wrestles with the adult who logically knows there are no guarantees either way, but that to do nothing is also futile.

I am a storyteller. My maternal grandparents were too. I read from a very young age and made up my own stories, even inventing a couple of imaginary friends to take along on my adventures. In school, I loved to read and write and went through systematic progressive phases of writing poetry and one-act plays and folk songs and short fiction. As an adult, I have written as therapy, for myself and for others of my generation who can relate to the things we all go through but I am willing to write and often laugh about. Writing is confession, and community, and collective consciousness. For me it’s most often spontaneous, off-the-cuff riffs about flushed car keys and public prat falls. Stories are how I make sense of the World, as well as the world of possibility. I write, I send it out like a flimsy paper airplane and hope it doesn’t crash too soon.

This past Winter I was all set to organise the many musings that I have blurted out on Facebook, in my blog, as a result of writing groups and workshops and the encouragement of kind readers. I wanted to prepare for publication a collection of mostly lighthearted observational spit-takes and rim-shots. But I didn’t do it. Every time I sat down, I would find a distraction to wander towards instead of the focus I needed to cobble my pieces (literal and figurative) together. I have watched friends publish works over the past two years and been so very proud and thrilled for them, admiring of and inspired by what they have done. Yet, I seem paralyzed in my own attempts. They tell me this is quite normal, this abject terror of imposter-ing, of discovering that I am just not any good at what I love so much that it is a significant part of my identity and therefore too personal to withstand the possibility of repeated wounds of rejection.

Possibility. It’s a double-edged sword of a word if ever there was one. We could fall. Or we could fly. The net between the two is full of holes.

I hear the words again; “who do you think you are?” and “don’t get used to it” and they stop me in my tracks, they burst the shiny pink bubble of joy that comes with delicious combinations of sounds and ideas, and I drop to the ground in a heap, feeling simply foolish, embarrassed to be caught dreaming. But I am a big girl, and I know full well that the real joy is in the doing, and the real fear is in the letting go...in sending those bubbles of joyous play and pondering out to fend for themselves in a world where most are shot out of the sky with a sharp stone from the slingshot of publishers simply trying to dig through a constant avalanche of submissions to find their own diamond..a money-maker that will keep the rent paid and the doors open. It’s really just a different degree of striving isn’t it?

I don’t ever expect to make much money from writing, although between copy-writing and biographies, I do make some. I would like to find the guts to write one really good book made up of many quirky little parts, something that other people could enjoy and relate to. (Yes,I’d settle for a bathroom book.)The very best part for me about telling a story are the stories that other people tell in response..that lovely, luscious, leveller of hearing “me too!” makes me feel like I’ve accurately described our human-ness. It’s that thing connects us all.

I’ve read lots advice from writers I admire...all the bits about getting my ass into a chair and just DOING it, letting a good editor chip the mud away from the motherlode, and suspending self-criticism in deference to those people paid to do it as their part of the journey toward publication. I have researched the publishers who accept the kind of work I think I write (that definition is hard!) and I have several versions of my elevator-pitch all ready to go. I have a ton of material to be shaped, and another ton in my head yet to be written down. What I am currently working on, the linchpin to all the rest, is courage. And perhaps a refresh button on my discipline. I really want to do this in spite of and perhaps to some degree, because of those old worn thin mixed messages. Wish me well.

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wildroseofarran · 3 years

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Wand Magic, Cont. || Captain Issott

Leslie: "I'm going to list things off the top of my head, and I want you to tell me how interested you are, and how believable it feels to you. There's a very real chance I'm not the teacher for you."

Tristan: "Do I have to think the spell is believable in order to learn it?"

Leslie: "If it's too outlandish in your belief."

Tristan: "The only things I can think of that are outlandish are things people do just in everyday life. Lay 'em on me."

Leslie: "Why not elaborate on that for me."

Tristan: "I've been thinking about that tourist who tried to convince you that seafood and white chocolate go together since you told me about him. Every. Single. Day."

Leslie: That got a laugh, though a little more subdued and thoughtful.

"I think about that when people light up realizing lobster's on the menu. It'll stay with me forever."

He leaned back in his seat, fingers lost in his hair.

"Now that you know what I am, heard and seen things, how does your world feel now?"

Tristan: "It feels...bigger, and that's saying something coming from someone whose livelihood is on the ocean. Didn't think the world could feel bigger or more mysterious."

Leslie: "Do you feel a part of that bigger mystery?"

Tristan: "Just as much as I did before. Hell, maybe even more than I did before."

Leslie: "Gimmie more, baby."

Tristan: "Everything we are comes from that vast pit of darkness and wonder we call the ocean. It's a part of us. From what I understand, magic is the same."

Leslie: Leslie's smile softened. Without word, he got to his feet and crossed the house to his box of things, leftover from his unpacking. He returned with a single white unassuming white candle. It was placed between them.

He looked Tristan in the eyes, softly blew against the wick. Soft gray smoke, the promise of fire which swiftly followed.

Fingers danced over the flame, extinguished.

The candle was pushed towards the sailor.

Tristan: Ah, now this was a familiar scene. Having watched Charles do this on the day with the fairy chest gave Tristan a reasonable amount of confidence that even if he wasn't able to light the candle today, he'd be able to do it eventually.

"Is there a method or anything I should bear in mind or should I just go with my gut?"

Leslie: "Don't think too much. First time I taught Charles, I made him laugh. I'd say things like, how do you make holy water?" He smiled. "You boil the hell out of it."

He blew on the candle again. A new flame.

Tristan: Tristan snorted a laugh. "You and your puns. That's a good one, gonna have to tell it to mama."

No overthinking then. This was going to be a matter of his gut. Except for the magic, not all that different from reading the sea and her moods.

He took a deep breath, let his mind empty.

"Am I extinguishing or lighting?"

Leslie: Leslie waved a hand over the flame. Out with a flit of gray smoke. "You know Oliver still uses an iPod? He named it The Titanic, so when he plugs it in, it says, 'The Titanic is syncing.'"

Tristan: "Jesus, that's fuckin' dark," Tristan chuckled. "Okay okay, gotta focus."

Another deep breath, more visualization. If belief was a factor, he just had to believe the candle would light. He had to will it into the universe.

A moment passed, then two, before Tristan gently blew on the wick.

Leslie: "Have you ever almost drowned, Tristie?"

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. "Surprisingly no. Always been a strong swimmer."

Leslie: "Tell me about a time where my merman has felt strain. Exhaustion. I know you're damn near perfect, but there has to be something," he chuckled.

Tristan: Tristan just laughed. “Every day, puddin’. Hauling up fishing nets is hard work.”

Leslie: "Not... quite the same," he chuckled.

Tristan: “As lighting a candle with magic? No not really. At least with the candle my arms aren’t screaming at me.”

Leslie: "I mean something so strenuous all you can do is breathe. The point is for you to push your will onto your spell. Don't think. You don't tell yourself to breathe in and out. You will it when it's all that's left."

Tristan: Had he ever been that tired? He'd been exhausted, he'd run on fumes, he'd been bogged down by weariness, but that was just in the course of work with various amounts of sleep.

The only time he'd ever been in a state like the one Leslie described was the time he and Murphy had been out in the sound when one bastard of a nasty storm came through seemingly out of nowhere.

He tried to feel now what he'd felt then. Not the lashing wind or the burning cold rain, but the single-minded determination it had taken the wrest the Adriana away from the brink of capsizing and bring her back to shore.

Eyes closed, he blew on the wick again, and the little flame flickered to life.

Leslie: Tristan's face was cupped in both hands and furiously kissed. He'd expected much from Charles, and even then it had taken half an hour. Tristan was not a telepath with absolute affirmation of the truth. This man was a sleeper. A fisherman.

"Baby!" Another kiss. "How did-" kiss. "You're so good! That was so good!"

Tristan: Tristan only had a moment to stare in wide-eyed disbelief at the candle before Leslie grabbed and kissed him.

"I did it.... I did it! Holy--mmph!" He laughed against his witch's lips, "LES! I FUCKING DID IT! I LIT THE CANDLE!"

Leslie: "I'm sorry. I should have been offering this all along. But I - But you know I - whatever. Do it again!"

Tristan: "Sorry, why sorry? You taught me how to light a candle!"

He took one more second to enjoy the fruits of his labor and blew the candle out so he could give it another try.

The confidence that had been present at the start was even more present now, only this time, it had a solid basis. Tristan didn't just believe he could light the candle, he had lit the candle.

And with that spurring him on, he was able to do it again after a few moments of concentration.

Leslie: "And just like that," Leslie waved his fingers over the flame, extinguishing. "If you can do that, you can do this."

Tristan: "Unto the breach then." But first, the candle needed to be relit. He managed it just a bit quicker this time, positively beaming with pride.

Leslie: "It's the same will. You want it out, so it will." The same gesture of his hand, sans the extinguish.

Tristan: Tristan practiced the movement a few times, not wanting to accidentally put the candle by creating air instead of using magic.

When he felt comfortable with the gesture, he took a deep breath and let himself go back to that place that had lit the candle.

The first try was unsuccessful, as was the second, but by the third, he finally managed it.

Leslie: "That's... unheard of. You're exceptional. Not bein' biased here. A man that could read my mind, knew without any barrier that this was truth, struggled more than you... are."

His smile returned to mask the subtle wrinkle of shock on his features.

Tristan: "I'm a sailor. I think that gives me a leg up in the whole suspending disbelief department."

Leslie: "Being a sailor does that much, huh?"

Tristan: "You have to be a bit of a romantic and a good bit superstitious to be a sailor. You can't out-logic or outwit the ocean, you need your gut."

Leslie: "Hmm. I'm not sure Oliver thinks the same way you do. Doubt that man is religious in any sense of the word."

Tristan: "He's very tethered to the earth, so to speak. Some people are down to earth, he's actually tethered to it."

Leslie: "He's not a sleeper; he's in a coma."

Tristan: "Not a bad way of putting it. He looks lighter lately though." He smiled. "And I think there's a very good and very blonde and very Scottish reason for that."

Leslie: "Intimacy will do that. Refreshes the body, mind, and soul."

The candle was admired. That last bit of smoke a reminder of what he'd just witnessed. He wanted to tell Clive and Hazel immediately. He already knew what his mother would say.

"It's about damn time," she'll say.

"Ready for me to list spells?"

Tristan: Tristan rubbed his hands together. "I am so ready for the wand. Harry Potter's gonna have nothing on me."

Leslie: "If I told you, last festival, my father turned into a large dog, and my mother a cougar with gray around her eyes, would you believe me?"

Tristan: There was that look again: pure wonder and delight.

"THAT'S SO FUCKING COOL!"

Leslie: "So that's a yes to belief," he laughed. "Okay, um... would you believe I can see in the dark?"

Tristan: "One thousand percent, but I also have questions. Can you see in the dark like it's day, or kinda like a night vision camera, or heat signatures like an infrared camera?"

Leslie: "More like daytime, and... ultraviolet. Just another reason why owls have fascinated me. Barn owls in particular. I know where not to step when walking in the woods," he smiled.

Tristan: "Did you know they're a bad omen in Mexico? Murphy's wife saw one in their yard once and prayed until it flew away. Confused the hell out of me, it was beautiful bird."

Leslie: "Can I understand discrimination as a witch?" Dimples appeared around his mouth.

Tristan: Tristan kissed Leslie's cheek. "You and the owls get a bad rap. So you can see like they do?"

Leslie: "Mhm." Fingers came to rest against his temple. Elbow to the table. "Can't do what Clive and Hazel do, but I can use their sight."

Tristan: "How long did it take them to learn how to transform into animals?"

Leslie: "Around my adolescence. A few years of befriending them. Studying them."

Tristan: "Do you wanna learn too? You'd make a great owl."

Leslie: "It's easier with things... human size. Why my mother's not a house cat."

Tristan: "Does it have to be an animal that exists? You can't learn how to turn into a human sized owl?"

Leslie: "I could, someday. It's not easy. I have to... absorb what I want to become. I all but cried..."

Tristan: "Oh... So in order to--they had to...?"

Leslie: "They were careful, patient. It's in their nature. Clive's old dog; roadkill Hazel found as a teenager."

Tristan: He squeezed his witch's hand. "Sounds like it was very gentle and respectful."

Leslie: "If you're going to hunt, you respect an animal. If you can't bring yourself to that, you just become an opportunist. Not everyone feels that way. It's how we feel about it."

His smile had subdued. "I tried to help her. Caught on a barbed wire fence." He shook his head.

Tristan: "Well, everyone should feel that way. I've known lots of other fisherman who basically just plunder the ocean, don't think or use sustainable practices."

He gave Leslie's hand another squeeze. "I'm sure you did the very best you could. Sometimes that's all you can do."

Leslie: "Should, yes."

Ah, the subject he avoided thinking about. "Like nets that don't catch whales and seals and other precious animals?" A roll of his shoulder. "No one is without sin."

Tristan: "Plastic ones, yeah. Don't wanna pay for non-plastic or tear up their hands making their own like I do."

Leslie: "That's what Clive did in his spare time across the pond. Walking the beach, rescuing animals. Almost cursed the fishermen. Surprised he likes you at all," he laughed.

Tristan: "I'm a sustainable fisherman that cleans up the beach and rehabilitates hermit crabs." He smiled. "I do my bit."

Leslie: "Which is why he's given his blessing."

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "It's the way I was taught and I can't imagine doing it any other way."

Leslie: "We're veered off course."

Tristan: "Way off course. You were gonna list spells."

Leslie: "Yes, and you're only supposed to say if you believe. And I'm supposed to list lies, and things I actually cannot do."

Tristan: "Well go on, lay it on me."

Leslie: "I'm not good at lying." He considered a moment. Was there any lie?

"Let's change it to what interests you."

Tristan: "You're just too honest for lies, even white ones. As for what interests me...all of it?"

Leslie: "Doesn't work that way, but, that's good." Leslie stood up once more, in search of the nearest notepad and pen. The speech he had given Charles seemed worth repeating. Of the nine spheres and the dedication needed to master any as primary. The results of that primary on offspring, alteration of personality, aura, and philosophies.

"I'm what's known as Verbena. About as traditional as witchcraft gets. Rub shoulders with hedge witches like Charles on a daily basis. Others, for example Hermes, would sooner discard them."

Tristan: This magic thing was somehow both as intricate as Tristan would've expected and more intricate than he ever could've imagined. To think he'd spent his entire life with this whole other world just out of reach.

"Are hedge witches just new witches? Or novices?"

Leslie: "Both. They want nothing beyond a blessing here, a potion there. Some rationalize it as nothing more than holistic medicine. A rose by any other name."

Tristan: "Ahhh, gotcha. Hence the hedge part. Do full-fledged witches not like them?"

Leslie: "Verbena welcome everyone. Other Traditions," he waved his hand from side-to-side. Not so much.

Tristan: "Good thing Charles and I have you as a teacher then. For a lot of reasons."

Leslie: "Maybe." He tapped his pen to the paper. "What's your interest."

Tristan: “Going to the bottom of the ocean.”

Leslie: "Life... and correspondence?"

Tristan: “Definitely sounds like it’d be Life. Correspondence...well, there’s travel involved. That counts as correspondence, doesn’t it?”

Leslie: "Yes," he chuckled. "Taking something from somewhere else would include matter. Either of which I can help you with."

Tristan: "So I can conceivably visit the bottom of the ocean with enough time and know-how and practice?"

Leslie: "With the right teacher, yes."

Tristan: "Five year-old me would be over the moon if he knew that."

Leslie: "What's the adult you feel?"

Tristan: "Also pretty over the moon, honestly," he chuckled.

Leslie: "Maybe let's get back to this tomorrow."

Tristan: "All magic-ed out today?"

Leslie: "I don't want to overwhelm you."

Tristan: "Overwhelmed? I'm flying!"

Leslie: "Don't fly too high. That's only a small part of lesson one. Do you need a break?"

Tristan: "I feel great, Les. Really. Don't feel tired or anything. Actually that's a lie, I am starting to get hungry, but that's more to do with it almost being dinner time."

[4:12 PM] Aya: "What would you say to ordering take-away or delivery and we keep going?"

[4:21 PM] Cat: "Oh, can we order from the Chinese place? I'm craving fried rice and chow mein so bad."

[5:33 PM] Aya: "Alright. Five minute break, and we'll get back to it."

[7:46 PM] Cat: "Deal." He gave Leslie a quick kiss and pulled out his phone to dial the restaurant.

[8:39 PM] Aya: Felt as though he were constantly getting up, but up now for a proper notebook. There was one tucked away in one of his boxes. One he'd been reluctant to give for the very reason he'd been reluctant to share an unveiled truth.

"I have something for you," said after giving his order.

[9:27 PM] Cat: Tristan nodded as the kid on the line read his order back. "Yep, that's right. All right, thanks."

He hung up and smiled at Leslie. "Said it'll be no more than twenty-five minutes. Whatcha got for me?"

[9:30 PM] Aya: A blue leather notebook was presented in both hands. "The color suits you. Had it for a while. Since before I told you. Just couldn't find the right time, or an excuse. You could have denied everything and called me crazy. You didn't." His smile was soft again. "I've been delicate with you from the beginning. I don't mind what people think of me. I mind what you think of me. Just a bit."

[9:37 PM] Cat: The journal was taken and studied with a smile that was pure fondness. "It's beautiful, Les. My favorite color."

He tugged his witch down for a kiss, moved. "Well then you should know that I think the world of you. You're the farthest thing from crazy I've ever seen, and I believed that even before you taught me how to light a candle without a match."

[11:39 PM] Aya: The kiss was returned in kind. He wasn't existing in his head at the moment. Rather, it buzzed with emotion and curiosity, and he allowed himself to swim in it.

"You're a prodigy, and I wanna see how far that belief suspends."

Cat: "Who woulda thunk a sailor would be a magical prodigy?" he said with a chuckle. "Happy to be one though. Hopefully I don't disappoint."

[12:30 AM] Aya: "You wouldn't, but you should keep that far from your mind. Failure is healthy, and helps us learn."

[12:44 AM] Cat: "Healthy and definitely inevitable. There isn't really a manual for digging deep."

[12:45 AM] Aya: "Before we delve deep into actual spells, I want to alter my lesson plan, so-to-speak, and focus on the very basics. The depth of our Tradition."

[11:47 AM] Cat: "I'm good with basics. Gotta build a solid base before I try anything more advanced."

[5:05 PM] Aya: "This isn't to say you have to follow me." But he had his suspicion that he would. "I want to explain how I was raised and what my people believe."

[7:28 PM] Cat: "Even if I don't even up following you--" Which he too suspected he would, "--those things are still important to know."

[9:10 PM] Aya: "Will you tell me yours?"

Tristan: “How I was raised?”

Leslie: "Mhm. Your mother's every deep thought gifted to you."

Tristan: Tristan smiled and nodded. “All right. We’ll swap stories.”

Leslie: Leslie took to the floor beside the living room couch. He would begin. His first lessons were of Luna and her phases. The universal energy of Quintessence. Herbs Hazel used in soups, stews, and potions. Symbols his father carved in wooden figures, into the foundations of houses, etched into rocks surrounding the cottage. Ginger for an upset stomach. Black cohosh for menstrual and arthritic pain. Calendula for rashes and wounds. Every festival and their history. Gratitude for every harvest; the celebration of life and death, love and misery, and the journey in between.

A pause for delivery, tipping and waving goodbye to Su. He returned to the floor with his box of rice and broccoli.

"It's easy to teach a spell," Leslie confessed. "But my entire life isn't just spells. It's... a lifestyle. That's where I feel the gap with Charles."

Tristan: To Tristan’s ears, it sounded like being brought up in a fairy tale. Not because of the magic or the magical elements, though. The whole thing. The lifestyle as Leslie said.

“Hard to reconcile a lifestyle like that when yours has been so far removed from anything like it. I don’t know what sort of upbringing Charles had but I’m willing to bet it was at the other end of the spectrum.”

Leslie: "His most relaxed that I've had the pleasure to witness was in a lab, with latex gloves and a needle for my blood. In a room so void of the Gauntlet and Quintessence that I felt physically and spiritually drained. A microscope is his foci, and science is his paradigm. It's a wonder he could light a candle at all. I doubt he could have, had he not read my mind."

Tristan: “The lab is his comfort zone, I guess. It’s an environment he understands and he knows what to expect from it. All that goes a long way toward calming someone’s mind.”

Leslie: "He's a man in control, and I would assume, with what I understand, he wasn't always."

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “Well there you go. If that’s the case, then the lab in definitely his comfort zone.”

Leslie: "Now it's your turn."

Tristan: Tristan's upbringing had been much more mundane than Leslie's, but no less filled with wonder, for no reason other than the fact that his mother was a literature professor.

Megan had imparted her voracious reading habits on her son, nurturing his interests and providing him with a home life so stable, Tristan hardly even thought about missing a father.

He was taught to shave by the same man who had taught him to sail, and when he realized he was gay, had the luxury of it being as uneventful a topic as choosing what to have for dinner.

"It's only now as an adult that I can see how lucky I was to have her as a mother. Like Brett Parker, the sheriff? His dad made him so scared to even look at another boy while Megan's over here fighting with the vice principal over whether or not I should be allowed to take a boy to homecoming and threatening him with a lawsuit."

Leslie: "That's a good upbringing," Leslie concluded, nodding. "I've heard things about Brett Parker. I was raised holistically. The Christian saying of... 'to every season' greatly applies. But I think, in Brett's case, perhaps a bit much." A brief wry smile. "It's strengthened him, no doubt."

Tristan: Tristan made a face. "I don't know if it did. Made him resentful, probably traumatized him, and made him unable to have the relationship a child is entitled to have with their parent. It's like life handed over a lamb to be raised by an iceberg of a lion."

Leslie: "Mm. I will never say trauma is good or healthy. When I speak of a holistic upbringing, I speak of how we handle trauma, not the merits of it. Lemonade from lemons? Or as Hazel said, learning to dance in the rain. Brett, in all his conservative nature, something tells me he's a dancer."

Tristan: "Well, he's happily engaged to a man and doesn't talk to his dad anymore. I'd call that some damn good lemonade. And you know what, I hope it tortures the old man every waking moment. He was an asshole to Megan when we were growing up."

Leslie: "I would rather his father learn from this, perhaps grow before it's too late."

Tristan: "At the risk of sounding like a cynic, I sincerely doubt it. Man's a relentless prick. A relentless, aggressively homophobic prick."

Leslie: "But he only has one son." And then his brows tightened. "Right?"

Tristan: "As far as I know, yeah. Of course there's always the possibility that he's a hypocrite as well as a homophobe and he's got a lovechild and mistress somewhere."

Leslie: "Hmm. I feel compelled to pay him a visit. Brett, not his father - maybe both. The optimist in me." He dismissed his thought with a flick of his hand.

Tristan: "Brett's a good guy." Tristan smiled. "He'd benefit from that optimism of yours."

Leslie: "People either love it or loathe it."

Tristan: "I love it. You put hope into a world that sorely needs it."

Leslie: Now that's a thought. Another soft smile in a series of soft smiles.

"I can't wait for the fireplace. Imagining the new house... all the best things I grew up with. I'm already ready for it to be over. Not for me, but... it's disruptive. The sooner it's over the better. Especially for the birds."

Tristan: "Hell, I'm already impatient to see it built. Or at least starting to be built. Mama already picked out a housewarming gift for us but she won't tell me what it is."

Leslie: Leslie pulled his knees to his chest and hugged.

"You're happy with the design? The additions?"

Tristan: Tristan grinned and nodded. “I can’t wait to be in it and see it. The fish are gonna be so happy in the screened porch.”

Leslie: "I'm ready to reorganize the herbs, fruits, and finally... finally have a greenhouse."

Tristan: “Can’t wait to see what you grow in there. Gonna make you some pavers and wind chimes for it.”

Leslie: "Not gonna be just me. This is your greenhouse. Your porch. Your kitchen."

Tristan: “Yes but it’ll be mainly your domain. I’ll help water things though.”

Leslie: "I'd love that. Teach you what's poisonous and what's healing. Some things are both." His brows fell with thought, raised with a more illuminating smile. "Feels like something's shifted between us once I told you."

Tristan: "Only one I know about that's both is belladonna. Mrs. Pennyapple used to put it in her tea to relax before bed."

Tristan leaned in to kiss that smiling face. "Shifted in a good way?"

Leslie: He closed his eyes to the kiss. A little content sound from the depth of his throat in affirmation.

"Not a bad way. Dunno if good. Just... different."

Tristan: “There’s no big life secrets between us now. Has to count for something.”

Leslie: To that, the witch swallowed.

Tristan: "...There are more?"

Leslie: Leslie looked up. "What?"

Tristan: “You went all quiet. It’s fine if there are, you don’t have to spill your guts just because.”

Leslie: "Oh. Um... No. Yes and no. I don't know." Another example of his supreme subterfuge.

Tristan: "Hey, it's fine. Some things need the right timing and mental preparation." He offered another kiss. "We're good, baby."

Leslie: "When I went back to Charlotte for Samhain, I said I was going to... settle my past." Dark blue eyes looked up, studied Tristan's expression.

Tristan: Tristan didn't really know what to expect, so he merely listened in patient curiosity. Unless Leslie was about to say that that Belmira person had threatened him in some way, surely there was no cause for concern.

Leslie: He could feel her name in Tristan's eyes. "I did see her."

Tristan: "Kinda figured you would. Was she civil?"

Leslie: "She was exactly as I liked to remember her."

Tristan: "So not a horrible soul-sucking menace?"

Leslie: Leslie looked down at his hands, at Tristan's hands, and the floor.

"She was confident, beautiful, and cruel. We cast spells together and spoke fondly of the past, as though nothing had happened. We stayed up most of the night by the fire, and she told me about her lover in Portugal, and I told her of a sailor. I asked her if it was true love. She said it was love from a bottle, and I left."

Tristan: "So still a horrible soul-sucking menace who's conning some poor son of a bitch into being with her possibly against his will."

Tristan shook his head. That Belmira sounded like a real fuckin' peach, and he found himself more grateful than ever that Leslie was no longer wrapped up in her bullshit.

Leslie: "For her to say it came from a bottle, means it's a temporary spell, and one like infatuation. There are those much worse. I know that sounds like I'm excusing her; I'm not. But one day he'll look at her and wonder what it was he saw and he'll leave."

Tristan: “And she’ll do it again because to people like her, the world is a fucking dollhouse and everyone is fair game to fuck with.”

Leslie: "Not everyone." Just sleepers. "But you're right; it wasn't right. I told her it was goodbye, that I didn't want a rift to remain between us."

Tristan: “Maybe this is just me being biased or whatever, but it sounds like there should be more than a rift between you. The Mariana Trench should be between you. But I know you don’t think that way.”

Leslie: "Whether she'll respect my wish, I don't know. I felt better about leaving." Only some, and it shown in his honest eyes.

Tristan: Tristan squeezed Leslie's hand and brought it to his lips.

"She better. I own several very large harpoons and I'm not afraid to use them."

Leslie: "You would not harpoon my childhood friend."

Tristan: "I would seriously consider it under the right circumstances."

Leslie: "What are the right circumstances?"

Tristan: "If she does anything at all to hurt you or bring you discomfort."

Leslie: "Discomfort's a part of life, baby."

Tristan: "There's discomfort and then there's the soul-sucking menace."

Leslie: "Don't waste energy on being upset when nothing's happened."

Tristan: "But it did, and it's happening now to that random guy. People have been harpooned for less probably."

Leslie: "What do you want to do about it?"

Tristan: "Guess there's nothing I can do. Except hold a grudge."

Leslie: "I don't want you to hold a grudge, please."

Tristan: "Can I have an ambiguous beef?"

Leslie: "So long as it doesn't add a wrinkle to your eyes."

Tristan: “Okay, deal.”

Leslie: "Thank you." Have a kiss for the effort.

Tristan: He would take that kiss, thank you very much, and steal another for good measure.

"Other than the menace, was your trip to Charlotte good?"

Leslie: "It was enlightening. My... coven had disbanded. Split into two, really. Those that felt the way I felt, and those with Belmira." It hadn't been a bloody affair. Not what he'd been told.

"Clive and Hazel are always fine." He considered a moment. "No matter the argument, I feel you should know, family was never threatened."

Tristan: Tristan nodded, very glad that not everyone had drunk Belmira's kool-aid and even more glad that Leslie's family was okay.

"Okay, good. That's another one of those harpoon scenarios, just putting it out there. But I'm glad they were left out of it."

Leslie: "Mm. No. They know better. There is no comparison to our capabilities and that or our mentors."

Tristan: "A sentiment Meg would thoroughly approve of."

And speaking of families... "Are we telling her? About magic?"

Leslie: "That's not for me to decide. What are her beliefs? Heavy Christian? Nothing?"

Tristan: "You've seen her, she's pure bohemian hippie. She believes everyone should read for pleasure and make love instead of war."

Leslie: "Refreshing, but when presented with the idea of life after death, reincarnation, god or gods, where does she stand?"

Tristan: "Pretty sure she believes in reincarnation and life after death. With all she's read, impossible for her not to."

Leslie: "What has she read?"

Tristan: "She's got a whole bookcase dedicated to world religions and mythology."

Leslie: So, a curious mind. "Someone told her, her invisible friend was an imaginary one, I bet."

Tristan: "Wouldn't surprise me. She'll read damn near everything you put in front of her."

Leslie: "Do you want to tell her your boyfriend believes in witchcraft?"

Tristan: "Feels wrong to keep it from her. Maybe we can tell her together?"

Leslie: He could understand. "When and how?"

Tristan: "She asked us to dinner one of these days, our choice. Could tell her then."

Leslie: "I'll ask if she believes in magic?" he smiled.

Tristan: "Meg always appreciates a direct approach," he chuckled.

Leslie: "She's probably already heard. It's an open secret."

Tristan: "She would've told me if she had."

Leslie: "Before?"

Tristan: "Before what?"

Leslie: "Before getting together."

Tristan: "Oh no, any time. If she saw magic right now, she'd be knocking down that front door to tell me as quickly as she could."

Leslie: "That's some deep belief."

Tristan: "Mama doesn't do things by halves, that's for sure. Never has."

Leslie: "And how was she raised; do you know?"

Tristan: "She's a hippie raised by hippies."

Leslie: "Did you know them? You don't talk about them."

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. “They died before she even met my sperm donor. Don and Elaine. They were both teachers, too.”

Leslie: He took Tristan's hand between his own.

"Tomorrow, then? We'll talk to her tomorrow."

Tristan: He smiled and nodded. “Tomorrow it is. What do we want her to make us?”

Leslie: "Let's try a childhood classic of your choice."

Tristan: That was an easy choice. “How do you feel about cheesy chicken and rice?”

Leslie: "I'll be diligent with my insulin."

Tristan: “She knows to tone down the unhealthiness when she’s feeding you.”

Leslie: "The horror," he laughed.

Tristan: “Hey now, grilled chicken is as good as fried.”

Leslie: "If I had a choice between chicken or salmon, I would always choose salmon. And oysters? Forget about it."

Tristan: “Salmon goes with her cheesy rice just as well as chicken.”

Leslie: "Next time. I want your childhood classic, not a substitution."

Tristan: “It’s still a classic, just with a twist.”

Leslie: "Nope. Chicken. I'll wrestle you over it if I must."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "Promise?" A wrestling match turned makeout session was a very appealing concept.

Leslie: "You want me to promise a wrestling match?"

Tristan: "A naked one."

Leslie: "A naked wrestling match over chicken."

Tristan: "Absolutely," he chuckled. "Or is it over salmon? Either way, I get you all naked and sweaty."

Leslie: "I just want chicken," he laughed.

Tristan: "We can have chicken and a naked wrestling match. Win/win."

Leslie: "Okay," Leslie shook his head, "where is this going? Are you about to tackle me? Do I need to brace myself?"

Tristan: "Nah, not right now," Tristan chuckled. "We'll wrestle later. So! We're going over to mama's sometime this week for cheesy chicken and rice and telling her about magic."

He blinked. "Kinda feel like I'm describing a dream I had. Ever have those moments?"

Leslie: "All the time, baby." Deep breath. The tension in his shoulders had dissipated, but something was bringing it back.

"So! Where were we?" he laughed.

Tristan: "We got wayyyyy off track. We were sharing life stories and taking a break before doing more magic."

Leslie: "Right. I have some books you can - should - read. I'll be more vocal about things I'm doing in the future. Dried herbs, the garden, that kinda thing. But there's one more thing... I dunno if it should be a Yule... thing, or a now thing."

Tristan: "Mama raised a voracious reader, lay 'em on me. I'm primed and ready to learn."

Tristan gathered up their plates and the leftovers and took them into the kitchen.

"Thing? Is that code for present?"

Leslie: "Thing is code for present. Want a present now or later?"

Tristan: "Mmmmm...later. It'll give me something to look forward to and be excited about."

Leslie: "A man that likes surprises as much as I do."

Once more he excused himself, in search of the aforementioned wand which, typical of his memory, he realized, had been forgotten.

He couldn't hesitate with Tristan when he put so much effort into Charles and the girls. It wasn't fair.

"So," he began, returning with a long velvet pouch.

Tristan: "From you? Always." From rogue crustaceans? Not so much.

While Leslie was off doing whatever it was he was doing, Tristan took the opportunity to put away their leftovers, greeting his witch with a smile when he returned.

"So.... Whatcha got there?"

Leslie: "What do you think I have here?" Waved from its middle as a means to entice.

Tristan: Tristan's face lit with a gasp. "Is that a wand!?"

Leslie: Leslie burst out laughing. "Yeah. Exactly that." Offered without removal. Deceivingly light for its length. Tucked tip first. Pale driftwood, perfectly smooth, with fluid proportions.

"Something else I was doing in Charlotte."

Tristan: Tristan removed the want from its pouch and smiled. The driftwood was instantly recognizable; the perfect choice for a sailor.

"This is beautiful, Les. Thank you."

Leslie: "You're very welcome. Let's try lighting a candle with the wand now."

Tristan: "Does it work the same way as lighting a candle without one? Should I try to channel my will through the wand or try to direct it with the wand?"

Leslie: "You're the lightning, this is your conduit. As many people use a wand as don't. We're going to see what you feel is best. This? This is an extension of your hand, if you want it to be."

Tristan: "This is a lightning rod," Tristan said to himself with a nod. Minus the magic, this wasn't too different from how he handled his ship in dicey situations. At least as far as it being an extension of himself.

Who knew being a sailor would be so useful for witchcraft?

He took a deep breath. No time for counting chickens. He needed to dig into that place that lit the candle and channel it into his lightning rod.

And surprisingly enough, it only took two attempts this time around.

Leslie: The fact that his sailor was a prodigy was more of a surprise than this wondrous feat. What he now knew of him, a wand made complete sense.

"How did that feel? Better? Worse? Could you feel anything?"

Tristan: Tristan took a second to think before answering. "I'm not sure yet," he said, squinting at his hands and wand. "I think it's too soon to tell. Kinda wanna try it a handful more times both ways. Do you mind if I play around with it a little bit?"

Leslie: Leslie was just staring with a ridiculous smile, chin in hand. It had only just struck him how this man, this pillar of muscle and scars, handled something so delicate. With his long hair, rough vocal cords, it didn't seem cohesive, but it was.

"Go for it, baby."

Tristan: "Okay, cool." He almost blew out the candle normally before remembering to use magic.

Extinguishing it without magic had taken three tries, and as he was still getting used to the wand, this time it took four.

The next few minutes were a pattern of making the candle go in and out with his hands, then with the wand, then back to his hands, then back to the wand again. Each time around the result came a bit easier, but he still needed a minimum of two tries.

The verdict? "Feels pretty much the same? I keep thinking the wand feels easier but I think that's my brain latching on to the lightning rod thing. Reminds me of that scene in Back to the Future with the car and the rod going into the thing. I like the wand though! I feel cool using it."

Leslie: Tristan was watched patiently. Eventually, Leslie rested his cheek onto his folded arms, content with what he was seeing, and reminded of home. A wave of aching nostalgia warming his cheeks and eyes. He suddenly wanted Clive and Hazel. He wanted his coven. He wanted Charlotte. He wanted Tristan in Charlotte, but there was no Albemarle Sound in Charlotte.

"If you really enjoy using it, then it suits you. No harm in that, I promise."

Tristan: "I really do," he said with a grin, admiring the wand again. "Feels good. And just like my ship has both a motor and a sail, all the magic I practice will be perfected with both wand and no wand."

Leslie: "I fucking love you."

Tristan: Tristan chuckled and pulled Leslie in for a kiss. "I love you, too, puddin' pop. Have I won you over all over again with my magic skills?"

Leslie: "You damn well have." Although Merlin save him from those nicknames.

"I wanna go for a swim. The spirit grabbed me." He forced himself up to look outside. How cold was it?

Tristan: This time of year the water was definitely on the chilly side, but nothing that the body couldn't get acclimated to.

"Hell fucking yeah, let's do it. I'll grab us towels and blankets."

#Wand Magic chapter #leslieeissott #tristanseger

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