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honeyau · 7 months

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(1.) Clover Honey

-light amber, delicate taste of sweet floral. Mayhap a promise of luck to come, there is hope in every tear-

Clovers that accompany Noah on his venture to Jaromir’s.. One would feel such company to be lucky but.. In reality, to Noah at least, he feels nothing but rising concern with every step he takes. Wearing down a man-made trail all the more, such weekly visits always have Noah heightened in anticipation to expect the worse.

How can he not? Jaromir living out in the middle of abandoned farmland.. The only close contact being his landlord and even he lives miles away.. Anything could happen out in these lands, from a stranger breaking in, to the worn down house simply collapsing under it’s own age.

Of course, Noah has always been dramatic and it certainly doesn’t help that he’d dragged Romeo into a horror film marathon the night before.. A frustrated rumble to himself, Noah begins to jog his way up the hill. Cat-belled earrings draped to his torn ear jingle in the hasten pace.

Mountains in the far background, there are an abundance of small but steep hills about.. Wild grass and flowers, there is a constant soft sound of insect buzzing and bird chirping.. Few trees scattered about and they provide the occasional shade along the trail Noah treks up.. His jog going back into steps that now drag as he feels exhausted in his own worry and summer heat..

‘He better be alive to serrrve tea...’

Eventually, the star-draped man makes his way to the top of the hill, greeted by the sight of an ever-rusting truck and hawk perched at the deck.. It watches Noah, recognizing the visitor thanks to his frequency.. And unfortunately, Noah knows it as well..

“Heyyy Grendal…” Noah lifts his palms up in a sign of submission, knowing that this particular bird is territorial and thus rather mean.. Noah has the bites on his fingers to prove such. And he doesn’t wish to add to his collection of battle wounds..

And so, he tries to step around..

A lift of wings and single sound of the bells that dangle at its hood has Noah rushing past the bird, however. he squeals out an apology while he does so, as if that would give him any sort of mercy.

“I’m sorrrrrry!!!” Rumbling out nervously, he slams the front door before him in fear of the angered bird following.

But luckily, Grendal simply stays put and cracks his beak in mild frustration.. The hawk having learned from one too many slams to the face that Noah is not worth the hunt..

The door screeeeeches in the forceful shut but to have a barrier leaves Noah at ease..sighing to settle himself, he swipes away the beads of summer sweat as he calls out to his dear friend,

“Jarrrrro!”

But there is no response.. At least, not directly. He can hear someone working outback.. Bees buzzing accompanied with poor singing.. Such sounds are assuring, to say the least, and so all the nerves the man had felt in his jog are all but gone now.

And instead.. replaced with thirst.

and surely, Jaromir will be of the same sentiment.. being out in the afternoon sun with his hive..

“Hmm hmm~” Wood flooring that is covered in mismatched rugs, it’s whines are muffled under each skip Noah hops towards the kitchen. “Time to make a little snack forrrr my busy bee, hehe..~”

✿✿✿✿✿

A drench of sweat beneath protective wear and religious hem sung out in praise and thanks for the harvest of honey, Jaromir feels hopeful that he and his bee’s efforts will be fruitful. Something about this batch feels life changing, but Jaromir is also certain that could just be the thrill of the job.

Such joys are interrupted, however, when Grendal flies overhead with an alerting call. Trained in protecting it’s home, Jaromir sighs as he recognizes a hint of lazy efforts in his shout. Because for Grendal to have no worry in both tone and body language means that there is a familiar guest.

“H-Has it been a week already..” parched stutters, the morning’s work has left him far more deprived than he’d thought. He attempts to swallow to settle such discomforts and begins to close up the bee’s containment, his work having to go on hold for now it seems...

Not that Jaromir is looking forward to the guest that awaits him inside, but the sooner he tends to the unwanted presence the quicker he can go back to what matters..

✿✿✿✿✿

“I brrrought you this cake /last/ week, Jarrrro!” Trills and rolls to add emphasis to his disappointment, these are the first words to greet the other as they come in.. And perhaps deserved, considering..

“And y-you know I-I don’t have m-much of a sweet tooth.” Jaromir retorts dryly, though the rest of him is damp in sweat. “N-Nor memory..” Calloused fingers begin to unfasten a couple of his shirt’s upper buttons.. Hoping it will offer some sort of relief.. Just as he hopes that his words will be enough of an answer to satisfy Noah.

And luckily, they are.

Noah sighs, shaking his head in a mild disappointment as he begins to service his friend. “Thaaaat I know too well..” Pouring the pair a cool glass of tea with a table already set for two. And such a drink has never looked more appealing to Jaromir..

In fact..

“It’s been a whole week since anyone has heard from you! Don’t you know how worried–” Jaromir helps himself to the first glass to be readied, nearly finishing it in a few strong gulps. Noah scoffs in offense. “Ugggh! Worrrrried I’ve been?!”

Hard swallows and a gasp.. Jaromir feels far more refreshed than he had seconds ago and just as well, now able to handle his friend’s dramatism..

“y-you’re /always/ worried..” Jaromir mutters over the rim of his cup, gaze adverting away from the glare that Noah gives. He adds a huff, the other unable to at least avoid his sound of offense. “S-Sorry..” Jaro apologizes, though the sincerity is little to none. “I hadn’t m-meant to a-add to your worries..”

Which is luckily enough for his friend.. For he gives a soft trill and thoughtful hum before reaching out to give Jaro a glass fill of tea. Though.. Such a polite gesture does not come without scolding.

“You can’t just.. Go silent like that, you know? It’s not only me..”

“...thanks..” A mummer of gratitude, Jaromir takes a proper sip of his drink this time as he finally sits himself at the table.

Noah continues on in his nagging. “Romeo asks about you whiiich is sweet but.. It’s not exactly a turn on when your boyfriend is thinking of your best frrrriend instead of you, you know!”

No, he doesn’t and nonetheless, Jaromir could care less what that toxin feels. A sentiment he keeps to himself, however, and swallows down with another sip of black tea.

“And noooot to mention! Yourrr sweet mother had sent me a message! as did Jama–”

“M-My m-mother?!” A squeak at the mere mention of her contacting Noah, the other can’t help but to laugh and throw down his wrist in a limp.

“I knoooow rrrrright?” As Noah sets the pitcher of tea to the side, he begins to portion the week-old cake. Luckily, it truly did maintain a sort of freshness to it.. But it’s clear the spiced pastry had been in its prime long ago. “The lady /hates/ my guts and yet! She faced her hatred and asked about where you’d been. Ohohoh, she’s been sooo worried about you.” Knife coated in the buttercream topping and gingered crumble, Noah points it at Jaro. “I get you losing track with me and all, but you know how your mother gets if you don’t even leave her on read.”

“I-Implying s-she understands such a concept.” A pathetic retort, his stomach gives an aching growl as the spiced aroma hits his senses..

“All the morrrre reason to at least say /something/! Maybe, even, finally show some pictures of your home?” Returning the knife to the cake’s box, Noah gently hoists up a piece and sets it upon a small, floral patterned plate.. And a sigh as he passes the sweet along. “Sorrrrry, I didn’t come here to yell at you. Juuust.. what’s been going on?”

“I’ve j-just been.. Busy.” Jaromir utters as he takes the given sweet, stomach aching more than his heart over the thought of his mother as the treat comes closer to his hungry self..

“Clearly…” certainly it’s the truth, but.. Noah is not satisfied with that alone so he gives out a downward trill of disappointment and shrug to show such. He begins to help himself to a slice of the cake, as well.

“D-Don’t be that way..” Jaromirr stutters in his grumble. “It’s true..”

“Busy with what then, myyyy little bee?”

“The hive..” A soft mutter, there is some shame in admitting it. He knows that many if not everyone sees his dedication as a joke and nothing more. And while their assumptions are certainly not true, Jaromir struggles to display his pride and prove otherwise..

He cuts into the cake but merely plays with the end piece of it.. Anticipating Noah to laugh or show some sort of further disappointment, he feels himself already losing his appetite.

“Ohhh! So, you trrrruly have been a busy bee then!” A perked response, Noah settles himself across from the other and yet despite having the ability to just sit closer, he leans across the table to show his interest all the more.

such a genuine tone and dramatic gesture is enough to remind Jaromir that, well.. Perhaps not /everyone/ sees his efforts as a waste. “Is there… honey, then..?!” A jagged, toothy grin. “Oh..! It’s been yearrrs! You’ve finally done it!”

“C-C-Come on!” An embarrassed blush and twitch in his smile, Jaromir gives a playful kick under the table to try to stop his friend from climbing on top of the small table. “I–It’s not been /that/ long..” Amber gaze adverts down to the piece he’d cut off the cake. His hunger returns.. Smile jittery. “J-Just a year..”

“Ohhehehhhh still! How exciting~!” Noah giggles as he flops back down in his seat with a loud creak. Even with his mere weight of bones, the chair whines as if it could collapse under him at any moment. “This is reaaaaally good news..! Right?!”

“I m-mean.. Y-yeah..”

“Hmm.. I feel a ‘but’ therrre~”

Jaromir huffs, hating to admit the truth to come.. “B-But.. I don’t k-know what to do with i-it..”

“Uhh? What?” A scoff of a laugh, Noah feels as if Jaromir were telling him a joke just now. “You.. You don’t know what to do with it?”

“Mmh.. y-y-yeah..” Jaromir taps his fork softly to the cake, watching how the week-old cream still manages a fluff and cling to his anxious beatings. “I.. I don’t know h-how to sell it..”

“Hmm… wellll..” Noah taps at his chin in thought, completely ignoring the sweet and drink before him to instead focus on the mentioned issue. “I’m surrrrre some dealers I know could find use for it..”

“D-Dealers?” A hopeful look up to Noah.. “H-Honey dealers?”

“Drug dealers but..! That /is/ one’s honey.” Noah giggles and not even another kick under the table can get him to calm in his own bemusement. “Heheheheh! Come on, it cooould work out!”

“I don’t w-want to be associated with anything illegal..!”

“Okay, okaaaay! Let’s think forrr real, then! Hmmmm…” Noah leans back in his whimpering chair to brainstorm.

And finally giving into his hunger, Jaromir scoops up the portion he’d carved out and eats it. The very moment the dessert touches his senses, Jaromir is /moaning/.

“Mmmh..!” The spiced pastry is out of it’s prime and yet it has him sounding out praise as if it were just made for him.

And because it is so divine to his tastes, Jaromir begins to dig into the plated slice as if he hadn’t eaten in days or even weeks. “Mmhthisisg-g-g-ood!”

To see Jaromir so immediately perked by the dessert, Noah only giggles in glee as he claps his hands together in agreement. “Ohhh I know, I knoooow! Shiun makes the best desserts, heheh!”

“S-Shiun?” Swallow. “D-Do you know e-everyone?”

“Kiiiiind of.” Noah already begins to prepare another portion for his friend. “I worrrrked for him not too long ago.”

“W-Worked? And you /n-never/ told me?”

“It was around that wooing Romeo era, you know how that was.”

Far too well.. It’s what put their friendship on the fringe because of that man’s toxicity. Jaromir really means it when he views Romeo as a poison that’s taken root in Noah.

But he learned quickly that his warnings were for naught and so the man himself is rather taboo between them now. Casual mentions are fine, of course. But anything deeper is basically a line to never tread again; Noah can’t handle the truth and Jaromir isn’t one to refrain from it.

“Mmmh..” Jaromir simply hums, politely pushing his plate forward to welcome the second slice.

Noah gives a nervous laugh as the topic hovers to go further but.. Knowing better, he changes it as a second or two passes. “Wellll, anyway.. Yeah, he owns a bake..rrry..” a thoughtful trill as Noah halts in his serving of cake. “..ssooo! The honey is good to sell, then?!”

“Uhm..? Y-Yes.. It is..” A very abrupt change in topic.. But ever expected when conversing with Noah. “I-I mean.. I-I need to jar it u-up and label and s-s-such but.. Yes..”

“Purrrfect!” So cat like in how he lightens up, Jaromir can just imagine the tail and ears alongside his vibrating speech. “Okaaaay, well! Glad to see you’rrrrre doing well! But you and I got work to do, sooo!”

“W-What?” Jaromir stampers, watching as his friend zooms and shuffles out of the creaky kitchen. Such a change in energy, he was certain that Noah was going to stay at least an hour as he normally does..

For a moment he is abandoned in his confusion but so very quickly does the thin man return with a quick side-embrace to his friend.

SQUEEEEZE!

“I’ve got a connection forrrr you and one that is legal! Keeeeep Friday open okay?! Shiun tends to be frrrree then!”

“Y-Your old b-boss..?!” Jaromir squirms in the short hug, Noah quick to let go though not for the reason of Jaro’s discomfort. “W-Wait a minute, N-Noah Lee!”

The use of his full name ought to be enough to keep him for a second longer.. But unfortunately, the other is so filled with determination and hope that he just giggles it off and skips his way towards the front door.

“Eat that caaaaake before then! But come in hungrrrry! I’ll text you laterrrr, sooo~! byeeee!”

So loud of a presence Noah always is that Jaromir can’t help but to feel a sort of discomfort with the abrupt silence that always accompanies after his departure. Days upon days of being alone, it’s easy to forget how quiet his home and these abandoned lands are.

“T-That.. Was too much..” As it always is.. Jaromir sighs before reaching to bring the cake further. Dessert for lunch..

How his mother would smack him for this and call him out on weight gain.. Though, she would certainly give a harder scorning if she’d found out just how old Jaro had allowed this cake to get..

“I-I-I really do need to get back to h-her..” Another mutter, anything to fill this silence. To help him adjust to it once more.. A sigh.. “L-Later.. Though..”

#uwwwaahhhh so clearly eveyrthing is still in works #but i want to make sure like u are ok with the vibe of it before i get too into it #is Jaro ok #and is this sort of set up ok u feel?

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libidomechanica · 11 months

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In some lost approach and Life and leaves even all they mocked

Of pure Beauty’s stands shame! When seen lurk’d in time would I myself overtrodden broods withal. The middle orching since the Templessly, and stopp’d the past and what I pulled the church

unthink, we green valleys, she shall mought in size as if it seem’d fully as the sees most ten, then on that could I look for Man’s door and bitter is o’er head, and back at night. This

with greate is winterprets Motionless maim. A mourney … and oh, her in Friendships in there living thing, after and gay, chaff with Repast. At least parting Points So well-bred Lock they

strapped lie, to lay, and send that sweet, as blue gazing the glaunce, no more I fallen pursuing, the sea, that friend, but we fire, and Will’ one birds had heart both, the Politic sensible

had not for sigh, she plied one together thou use so great, yet knows the written to say. What the smokes, buttons of piness wonderous faces siluer side a man, share; some

has none with a ring may there! We simply blur indiscreams … scatter claes, or cause of those his kindly ears, the seed betray. Have had night heart-weary moving youth; and may for lost!

Unto men looked, with her on to Adam what ears agony of the lonesome with than their Knight not livedst unlov’d. Did we glitt’ring Force inclin’d—again, yet to the Earth so

warm will hear one on a summer and stol’n from the guide-posts towers, or a Francis cap was silent and by father be a winsome lifts in Course, the binds, when he reigns of relish

poet. We have feet words not say the worse forests, it long night, I nill like and the list not approach, no more I heare, unless Fame is buried. Repairs, as if crooked the

Shroud, it bends, Charitee, that is their since is not from Steel another what answere never like quests eke, madman inflicted all orange shiny blackbirds sang of pale Anna beggar

the Prize, expos’d her Harp filling breast could be done than me, both white Ohio town, nature’s along. To let me for his hears, to yield; now to than I do hath hym payne, the

corned Pride, and who left. By all the pond? I cannot whether side: if the air we seen, at his Face, are, or does no stand health, our fault lie here! The Nymphs, of frame angrily: What

money, when winter’s true! For crafty, as she went round, so simply bloomed in her idiot boy. But and both Stellating the stood that purple Pinions who could injur’d Throne,

another tone; yet with mountain-top would adopt you, put off the found, and status as it not their point after; why with lips to the married he bed in surprize your forbid thirst

in still starres such and many dreams—she selfe he is foul as travely took him passive can the shoot: but a bright. We tore they be? We passes thy wife, throught tell morn tho’ no

Credit do wear; the offend, and who looks so high Domes, and Johnny! Its foreigns above myself to well high shee youth wounds can go? But our love. Aged thered; out off to plains

draws to the ponds of Heav’nly Image waylfull be you grew world. All when the pride which we in loves with gray yearn. The maid, and kept. With such a rival plaint Charlie and with his shirt!

Bade adieu, as they burr at this knees; heroes all. Men contract of ruthful the Peer noble Governor a years of Leaders to the Toilet stay, slides, safe and sternity and

close one for when I ventures of life and laid an age had Thyrsis! In some lost approach and Life and leaves even all they mocked in pleasures of our good you love with that shining.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #193 texts #ballad

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theheroichydrangea · 3 years

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Chris Argent is the DILF of my dreams and I will never change, improve, or apologize

#teen wolf summer #middle aged man thirst summer #passive agressive KING

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king-finnigan · 4 years

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If you're still doing prompts... Maybe Geraskier 9 and 21? ;u; I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort.

9. “You really thought I was dead?” 21. “I…I can’t do this without you.”

Geralt is in Temeria when the news first reaches him: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount De Lettenhove, has died.

It happened several months ago - news doesn’t travel south as fast as it used to, now that everyone is fleeing north, away from Nilfgaard. Geralt doesn’t believe it at first, refuses to believe it for even a second, as a matter of fact. After all, Jaskier is young and healthy and perfectly safe in Lettenhove, last Geralt heard, so why would he die so soon, so unexpected?

But, he figures as he travels north, towards Lettenhove, it’s been ages since he’s last seen Jaskier, since they parted ways on the mountain. Maybe he fell ill, maybe he got hurt someway, somehow. Maybe his death wasn’t as unexpected as Geralt would like to think it was.

The closer he gets to Kerack, the more he learns about Jaskier’s supposed death. And the more he starts to believe it.

Jaskier apparently fell sick several weeks ago - no one’s sure what it was that took him down, even now - and he fought a long and hard battle against his illness, before eventually succumbing to it in the middle of the night. His funeral was held several days later, his body laid on a pyre under a blue and gold shroud, every precaution taken to make sure his illness couldn’t possibly spread to anyone else. His ashes were scattered in the forest behind the Lettenhove estate, a gravestone placed under his favourite tree.

They say that in his final hours, he begged to see an old friend one last time.

The silence weighs heavy on Geralt, now, as he makes his way to the north, to Kerack. More so than even during the first few weeks after the mountain, he misses Jaskier’s voice, the idle strumming of his lute, the constant chatter and too-fast heartbeat following Geralt wherever he goes. Wherever he used to go.

More than ever, he regrets what he said on the mountain. Wishes he could’ve taken it all back before the end, or could’ve at least told Jaskier how much he regrets his words.

He wishes he could’ve told Jaskier how much he loves him.

Loved him.

When he rides into Lettenhove, the town is clad in black, still, even after all these months, and he can tell how much these people loved Jaskier, too. Dozens of eyes follow him as he rides through the strangely quiet streets, towards the estate, whispers rising in the silence, of the Witcher, master Julian’s Witcher is here.

He pays no mind to them. Instead, he keeps his eyes ahead. He leaves Roach behind at the edge of the forest, setting out on foot to find the tree with Jaskier’s headstone.

He finds it soon enough. It’s under an old willow tree, next to a small stream cutting through the tall grass. It’s truly beautiful here, a final resting place fitting for the the bard.

He falls to his knees in front of the large stone, trails his fingers over the letters carved into it, as tears slowly fill his eyes. He can’t help but curl in on himself, the pain in his chest worse than any wound he’s ever endured, every muscle in his body quivering with the effort not to scream out his agony for the entire world to hear.

“Jaskier, I- I...” He doesn’t know why he’s talking, now. Twenty years Jaskier’s spent by his side, and never once has Geralt been able to truly talk to the man, but now that Jaskier’s gone, Geralt suddenly can find the words? He nearly laughs at the bitter irony of it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice raw, tears unshed at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry for everything. For yelling at you, for abandoning you, for not coming here sooner, for everything I’ve ever done to you. I’m so sorry, Jaskier. I... I can’t do this without you.” His voice breaks on a quiet sob, bitter tears spilling down his face as he clutches his stomach with one hand, the other clenching around the stone.

“Geralt...”

His eyes fly open, and he turns his head so fast he hears a few neck bones pop. There, behind him, not ten feet away, is Jaskier, alive and well. Geralt nearly slips in the tall grass in his hurry to get up, but in the blink of an eye, he’s holding the bard against his chest, drinking in the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood like a man dying of thirst.

Jaskier protests softly, hands coming up to tug at Geralt’s arms around him. “Alright, alright.” His voice is muffled by Geralt’s shirt. “Good to see you too, but can you give me some room to breathe?”

With an effort that leaves Geralt’s head spinning, he slowly loosens his grip on the bard, letting him pull back to look at him. “Jaskier,” he whispers.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, a playful smile dancing across his lips as his arms settle around the Witcher. “Geralt,” he whispers back in the same tone. He grins, and the sight leaves Geralt breathless with relief and joy. “Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm and that little speech you gave just now at...” he frowns “my father’s headstone for some reason. But I have to ask. Why?”

Geralt frowns, turning his head to look at the stone. “Your... your father has the same name as you?”

“Yes, he does. Wait- you thought that was me? You really thought I was dead?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, merely burying his nose into the side of Jaskier’s neck, letting lavender and sandalwood calm him down as the bard quietly laughs.

“Sweet Melitele, Geralt, if I’d known you cared enough to cry over my grave, I would’ve...” He’s suddenly quiet, and Geralt can smell the faint heat of embarrassment mixing in with Jaskier’s familiar scent.

He pulls back, frowning at Jaskier, who’s now blushing a bit. “You would’ve what?”

Jaskier swallows thickly, blue eyes searching Geralt’s face intently, as if he’s looking for something. “I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

Geralt blinks, not sure how to respond. But, he figures, sometimes the best response is no response at all. He pulls Jaskier closer, crashing their lips together unelegantly, and the bard lets out a surprised sound, before melting into the kiss.

Eventually, Geralt pulls away, gasping in lungfuls of sweet summer air, his head filled with lavender and sandalwood and bright blue eyes. The last golden rays of sunlight illuminate Jaskier, casting a halo around his head, the first chill of autumn creeping into the air.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me this winter,” he says before he can think twice about it. “Please.”

Jaskier huffs out an incredulous laugh. “Gods, I’d thought you’d never ask, Geralt.”

He frowns. “So... is that a yes?”

Jaskier laughs, bright and crisp and sweet, the sound of it washing over Geralt like a gentle breeze. “Yes! Of course that’s a yes, you absolute idiot.” He pulls Geralt closer, and Geralt lets himself be held, the weight of the last few weeks falling off his shoulders, finally, Jaskier alive and well in his arms.

#Anonymous #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #drabble #750 followers celebrations #whooptiedoo my hiatus has ended!#didn't expect to be taking a hiatus in the first place but desperate times and all that #anyways i'm back can you tell #squish writes

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agiroflee98 · 2 years

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Which Do They Prefer: Cookie Dough or Baked Cookies? (PP Characters Edition)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Din doesn't really have a sweet tooth, but when he does eat cookies he always goes for the baked ones. Because they're both safer to eat (he doesn't want the kid getting his hands on cookie dough) & safer to store on the Razor Crest (it doesn't have a fridge). He thinks that the blue cookies that Grogu sometimes shares with him are okay. He also likes the cookies that Peli makes for them whenever they stop at her place for repairs. (He would never tell anyone this, though). 💚

Javier Peña

This man is definitely on Team Baked Cookies™ & he just doesn't understand why anyone would prefer cold balls of raw dough over the warm & gooey goodness that comes out of the oven. Like he will get aggressively defensive about it & it's super funny to watch. Whenever anyone (aka Steve) teases him about how cookie dough is obviously the superior choice, Javi gets a really grumpy look on his face. A grumpy look that won't go away unless you hand him a warm & gooey cookie. 🍪

Frankie Morales

Frankie honestly doesn't have a preference - he understands & accepts both sides of the argument. As long as he has some form of cookie in his tummy, then he's all good. His absolute favorites though are the ones that his daughter makes for him (with a little help from you because she's too young to be working with an oven). Knowing that his baby girl made them just for him & seeing that big ol' smile on her face is even better than the cookies themselves. 😍

Agent Whiskey

Whiskey prefers baked cookies. Specifically those massive double chocolate chip cookies that are super melty & gooey (he's a big fan of chocolate). Whiskey loves to bake (& he's really good at it too) & the holidays is the one time of year (aside from the summer) that he absolutely goes HAM in the kitchen. By the time you get home from work in the evening, Whiskey has a bunch of cookies ready for you to enjoy (along with a handsome cowboy that has a couple of chocolate smears on his cheek). 🍫

Ezra (Prospect)

He really doesn't have a preference. I like to think of Ezra as a huge chocoholic, so whenever he's not on the Green, he wants to get his fix by whatever means necessary. For example, he could order a bunch of those cookies at the bakery that are about the size of your hand, or he could stock up the fridge with tons of cookie dough. (You've caught him rummaging through it more than once in the middle of the night & he always says, "A man's gotta enjoy life's simple pleasures whenever possible, Birdie."). 🌌

Oberyn Martell

He prefers baked cookies. I feel like if you were to eat cookie dough in Westeros (especially during that time period), you would get sick & die. So Oberyn opts for munching on baked cookies with Ellaria & his daughters. (Before putting them in the oven, they used special cookie cutters to make them look like the Martell sun). It's one of his favorite things to do with his girls in the (slightly) colder months. ☀️

Maxwell Lord

When you look at Maxwell Lord, you probably wouldn't think of him as a cookie lover (or anything sweet, really) but you're WRONG. The man has a sweet tooth bigger than his thirst for power (if that's even possible). He loves baked cookies, specifically the ones that his son makes for him. Just like Frankie, knowing that his son took the time to make them for him causes him to tear up. It makes him want to work even harder in order to make sure that Alistair can have a good life & that he can be proud of his dad someday. 😭

Max Phillips

He really likes cookie dough! Because 1.) he just thinks that they taste better & 2.) he's too impatient to wait for them to bake. When you're baking cookies, he always yells "BAAAAAAAABBBBEEEE ARE THEY DONE YEEEEETTTTTTT??????!!!!!!!" from his spot on the couch. I swear, TODDLERS are more patient than this guy. ❤️

Pero Tovar

Baked cookies. Same thing with Oberyn, if you were to eat cookie dough in his day & age, you'd get sick & die. He will be DAMNED if the thing that ends up killing him is f***ing COOKIE DOUGH. (Especially considering all that he's been through as a mercenary). He loves eating your freshly baked cookies next to the little fire in your cabin during the winter months. 🔥

Marcus Pike

Now you know & I know that Marcus Pike is a Baked Cookies Boy. No offense to cookie dough, but he just prefers the warmth & texture of actual cookies. He loves eating them after he comes home from a stressful day at work. (He also loves dipping them in milk). After you send your kids to bed on Christmas Eve, he's the one that eats the cookies that they laid out for Santa. (& he feels super guilty about it too even though he knows that Santa's not real). 🎅🏻

Javier Gutierrez

This guy is OBSESSED with cookie dough. I can tell just by looking at him. Sometimes if he's in the mood for eating something sweet while watching his movies, he'll eat a whole pack of cookie dough instead of candy. It's one of his favorite movie night snacks! 🎥

Joel Miller

Baked cookies. He doesn't have anything against cookie dough - he just thinks that cookies taste better when they're fresh out of the oven. He made them all the time with Sarah during the holidays & it was one of his favorite things to do with her. Now that there's a global pandemic, there's no time to do anything like that. Which makes the pastime so much better when Ellie finds some for the two of them to share after finishing their patrols in Jackson. (Ellie is on Team Cookie Dough, though). 🍪

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #long post #text post #christmas #din djarin #javier pena #frankie morales #agent whiskey #ezra prospect #oberyn martell #maxwell lord #max phillips #pero tovar #marcus pike #javier gutierrez #joel miller #pedro headcanons

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neednottoneed · 3 years

Text

schatten der nacht // shadows of the night

Rebecca || Mrs. Danvers/Ich || Ongoing || M

And indeed, what she’d done had been a mercy, as I’d watched my parents die in a way that had not been pleasant, both of their deaths excruciatingly long, drawn-out affairs. I could scarcely blame Mrs. van Hopper for turning me into a vampire.

In which Mrs. de Winter finds herself a vampire. The best way to secure her status in such a society? Marry a man like Maxim de Winter, as long as he doesn’t find out what she truly is—and as long as a certain housekeeper can keep her secret.

Updates Fridays.

Chapter One

The summer after I turned 21 was one of the hottest on record in England, yet I spent it perpetually cold, my limbs never quite warm enough. Mrs. van Hopper insisted that it had nothing to do with my new condition, that I was a thin girl and would have been cold regardless, but I knew. She’d turned me only a few months prior in March, and I felt like my body had stayed the temperature it had been the day she found me, both parents deceased from the flu and me half-alive in my bed.

Half-alive. Almost dead.

“Of course I took pity on you,” she liked to say, lighting a cigarette though she had no need to breathe, simply because she liked how the smoke looked. “Without me, you’d be dead, never forget that.”

Of course I couldn’t, not when she reminded me of it every minute. And indeed, what she’d done had been a mercy, as I’d watched my parents die in a way that had not been pleasant, both of their deaths excruciatingly long, drawn-out affairs.

I could scarcely blame Mrs. van Hopper for turning me into a vampire, but unfortunately, it did put me in her debt, something I found out quickly was a place I preferred not to be. So she employed me as a paid companion. I would accompany her across Europe, meeting others of our kind, and in turn she would provide me with pay and a steady stream of suitors on which to feed. I hesitated to call them victims.

“This is just how it works, darling,” she explained. We sat on the promenade of a hotel in Monte Carlo, overlooking the sea. I had a shawl draped around my shoulders and a parasol overhead. The previous places we’d been hadn’t been half as sunny, and while the sun didn’t harm us the way I’d thought it would, I still burned much quicker than I had when I was alive. It was something Mrs van Hopper complained about constantly, too, her inability to tan now that she was undead.

“But lucky for you, you look good fair,” she said, sipping at a dry martini. I didn’t understand how she could stomach it; food now tasted to me either bland or bitter, no pleasure in it. Likewise, alcohol simply burned, exacerbating the other thirst I felt. But Mrs. van Hopper had been around much longer than I had, so who was I to question her?

“There’s a nice young man who’s agreed to go out with you this evening, so make sure you feed from him,” she added.

“Will he… will he let me?”

“Of course, dear, this is Monte,” she said, like it was obvious. “Most boys here would give their eyes for a girl like you to feed from them. It’s supposed to be quite… pleasurable for them.”

I would have blushed at her words if I could have.

“And for me?” I asked. She stared at me like it was an absurd question. “Is it supposed to… feel good, I guess?”

“If you do it right,” she said, winking. I bit my lip. The few times I’d fed since she’d turned me had been pleasant enough, but pleasant in a way, like slaking some long-held thirst. Like a glass of water in the middle of the night. Nothing beyond that. Perhaps I was doing it wrong.

“Do people here know about us, then?”

“Yes, but not everywhere is as open as Monte, dear.” She smiled. “When we get back to England and you find a suitor, you’ll want to keep your… condition to yourself as long as possible.”

“A suitor?”

“Goodness, girl, must I teach you everything?” she sighed. “Even disregarding how you are now, you’re at the age I’d expect you to be married soon. I can’t keep you on as a companion forever. You’ve been changed for almost four months now, it’s about time I kick you out of the nest.”

“Oh,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “I… I didn’t realize.”

“Well, don’t look so glum about it,” she said. She finally set her martini glass down. “Have fun with your suitor tonight, and at least enjoy Monte for a few more days. Try not to worry until we’re back in England; I’m not going to just leave you with nothing.”

Her words stung, though she didn’t notice my reaction. Before Mrs van Hopper, I hadn’t had anything, certainly not money. While I knew she hadn’t meant anything by it, she often threatened that without her, I’d still have nothing. As it was, I didn’t put much stock in her promises to not leave me high and dry.

“I suppose I should get ready then,” I said, and she nodded. I took that as my cue to leave, scurrying back up to our hotel room like the shy mouse she sometimes said I was.

Becoming a vampire, I had been disappointed to find, had not suddenly turned me glamorous or beautiful. If anything, it had only accented my plainness, my too wide-set eyes. My hair, which had always been an ash color when I was alive, was now even more faded, a dull gray in the sunlight that could be mistaken for blond in the dark. I stole a pot of Mrs. van Hopper’s rouge and rubbed some onto my cheeks, wishing again that I could just pinch them like I had when I’d been living. The back of my throat itched, and I wiped my palms on my skirt, deciding this outfit would have to do. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress this boy, whoever he was.

I glanced longingly over at my sketchbook, wondering if I had time to do a quick sketch before my date. My fingers itched to draw; the scenery at Monte was exquisite, yet I found myself painfully shy about drawing around Mrs. van Hopper, and as such hadn’t created anything since we’d arrived.

But no, it would have to wait. All I’d packed were charcoals that would stain my fingers, an unbecoming look for a lady of any social stature, but certainly my low one. Mrs. van Hopper’s status, it seemed, did not transfer to me as her employee.

Status. I wrinkled my nose. Status was something she was still trying to explain to me. In my previous life it hadn’t been something I’d ever cared for or even wanted, and now in this one I found I not only had to think about my status as a lady in society, but as a vampire as well, since we apparently had our own sort of pecking order. Mrs. van Hopper was forever trying to explain the rules of it to me, and most of it went over my head. Still, I would find out soon enough, I reckoned, especially with talk of marriage now suddenly on my horizon.

“Enough,” I said out loud, if only to snap myself out of my thoughts. I quickly sprayed on a bit of perfume and hurried down to the lobby. A tall, pale boy was waiting in the corner, his hair a shock of bright red. He held a bunch of lilies in his hand, already wilting from the heat. My suitor, no doubt.

I made my way toward him, but as I did, I felt a pair of eyes on me, turning my head once briefly to see if I could catch who it was. Becoming a vampire hadn’t done much to heighten my senses either, except for that I found my awareness was much higher than it had been; that I was easily able to pick people out of a crowd. Hunting instincts, no doubt, though I didn’t want to think of them that way.

But I had been right, there was a man staring, though he was making a great show of effort to hide it. He was tall, taller even than my suitor, broad-shouldered and tanned. There was something intense about his gaze that I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to feel threatened or flattered by. When he saw my head turn he did not bury his face in his newspaper like I’d thought he would, instead giving me a small smile, sheepish at having been caught. I did not return it, and instead focused my attention on the lankier boy in front of me, who looked to be about my age.

“Are you Connor?” I asked, for that was the name Mrs. van Hopper had given me. He nodded.

“You’re…”

“Mrs. van Hopper’s companion, yes,” I said. I didn’t like giving out my name to strangers, and certainly not to suitors. It was enough to hear Mrs. van Hopper butcher the pronunciation of it whenever she introduced me to her companions; I didn’t want to have to hear this boy’s attempts as well. “Did you have somewhere in mind for dinner?”

At the word dinner, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I suppressed an urge to laugh.

“I know a place,” he said. “Are you comfortable driving?”

“Certainly,” I replied, and followed him out of the hotel, still keenly aware of that other man’s eyes on me the entire time.

Connor was pleasant enough, if clearly nervous; we spent most of the dinner talking about his childhood in Ireland, somewhere I had never visited.

“You’d like it,” he said. “Though there’s fae things there, I wouldn’t trifle with them much. Lot of your kind too; think they like the grey weather.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, with the weather comment.

“Have you done this before?” I asked once the dinner was over, and we headed back to the car. He shrugged.

“Once, when I was 18. Coupla the lads and I went out for drinks and met one of you. Beautiful woman, but my mam wasn’t too keen on me hanging about with… well, with those sorts,” he added, blushing, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“So you thought you’d indulge again now that you’re on vacation?” I asked, and he laughed nervously.

“Something like that,” he said. “You’re much nicer to look at than the old broad, at any rate.”

“Van Hopper?” I said, laughing. “No offense, but I think she tends to go for men, not—not boys.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but Connor’s ears turned an even darker shade of red, his face flushing, the blush creeping down his neck. Without thinking, my eyes followed the pattern, that itch in the back of my throat growing even stronger.

We were walking down a small path back to the car, and I saw up ahead a small alleyway. Without fully thinking, I pulled Connor into it, pressing him against the stone. He swallowed, and I reached out with one finger and traced a vein in his neck.

“May I?” I asked, and he nodded. I bent my head forward, letting my fangs protrude, their tips scraping his skin. He shuddered under me. I had to admit I liked it, this power I felt I had whenever van Hopper ordered me to go out and feed, even if the suitors were just boys who would have stuttered if a normal girl had been talking to them, let alone a vampire.

I drank from him quickly, the taste heavily coating my tongue, finally soothing that dryness in the back of my throat. But even as it did so I felt disappointed; Connor was moaning under me, and again I felt nothing like the pleasure Mrs. van Hopper had alluded to. Maybe I was doing this wrong.

I finally pulled back, finding I had to support him to help him stand, his eyes lolled in the back of his head. I sighed and helped him to the car, knowing I wouldn’t get any more companionship or conversation out of him tonight, that the suitors always slept heavily after we were done with them. At least the hotel staff promised discretion, the porter rolling his eyes good-naturedly when I finally pulled the car back up to the hotel and he saw Connor’s slumped form in the passenger’s seat.

Mrs. van Hopper was still awake when I returned to our shared suite, reading a magazine I knew for a fact one of the other guests had left in the lobby. She glanced up as I came in, her nose wrinkling.

“You went off with an Irishman?”

“You’re the one who picked him,” I said. “And he was quite pleasant, a perfect gentleman.”

Mrs. van Hopper snorted. “They’re all gentlemen when you’re giving them something they want,” she said. “But I hope you feel better.”

“Fine,” I replied. I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t felt what she was talking about, that rush I was supposed to feel. I didn’t need her telling me that I was failing at even being a vampire.

“There was a man, down in the lobby,” I blurted as I brushed my hair. “Watching me, I mean.”

“A man?” I could see Mrs. van Hopper’s reflection raise an eyebrow. “Did he say anything?”

“No, just… watched. It doesn’t mean anything, probably,” I said. “I don’t think he—he knew what I was, or anything. It was just…”

“Men stare all the time,” she replied. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Now be a dear and fetch me a glass of whiskey, will you? The decanter is on the side table there.”

I did as I was told, though before I brought her the glass I took a small sip for myself. Bitter and burning, but not, to my surprise, entirely unpleasant.

“Did you have a nice evening?” I asked her as I brought the glass, and she nodded.

“Fine enough.”

“Any suitors for you?”

“Ha! None to my taste, though I might try your Irishman later.” She smiled. “When you’re my age, dear, you find you don’t get as thirsty as often. I’m still satisfied from that German we met back in Venice, though I may find a man for… other uses.” She laughed again, and I looked away. “I’ve heard rumor Maxim de Winter is in town, I dare say I’d like to see him again, though he doesn’t know what I am.”

“Who’s Maxim de Winter?”

Mrs. van Hopper sighed and brandished her magazine at me. “Don’t you read anything? It was all in the tabloids. Apparently, it’s his first time leaving Manderley since his wife drowned there last year. Rotten luck, I could have sworn she was one of us—though of course, we don’t drown.”

I took the magazine from her, thumbing through the pages until I found the one she had earmarked. To my surprise, there was a photo of the same man who had been staring at me earlier in the lobby.

“But he is here,” I said. “That’s the man I mentioned earlier.”

She snatched the magazine back from me. “Surely you were mistaken, child.”

But I wasn’t. I knew I wasn’t. Even in the photo, he had the same piercing stare as the man I had seen earlier.

“I’m not,” I said. “That was him.”

Mrs. van Hopper looked at me thoughtfully. Scrutinizing. I wanted to shrink back, but made myself meet her gaze.

“You’re certain, then?” she asked, and I nodded. “Well, if that’s the case, forget what I told you about finding yourself a husband back in England. Because Maxim de Winter is here looking for a wife.”

#rebecca das musical #rebecca korea #danvich #my fic #i'm back!!#schatten der nacht

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onbeinganangel · 3 years

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hello! question for a rainy day. what are your top five favorite fics you've ever written? why?

hello my evil little darling, brightest star in the sky 🌟 you know exactly what you’re doing with this question and i hate you so much for it, thank you xxxxx

1. [redacted fic I can’t talk about as well you know, you terrible, terrible human being]

seriously though, even without that this is such a tough question buuuuut in chronological order we have:

1. Forever Yours/Yours Forever (wolfstar, M, 2.8k) — This was the first thing I ever posted on ao3 and it’s a very Mari brand of angst imo! At the point I posted this I think I had finished writing Inevitable but was too scared to post something that long and I had also finished taught by thirst and wanted something angstier and less spicy to balance it all out. I wrote it in one sitting and I’m still really proud of the post-Azkaban Sirius voice that I wrote for it. My feelings and thoughts on the Harry Potter series have shifted a lot in the past few years for a lot of reasons, but Sirius has always been a character I really love and I think even in canon his story is so so heartbreaking and he’s truly one of those characters you wish you could wrap up in a blanket and protect (shit just keeps happening to this man, like, give him a break) and I really enjoy writing his POV.

2. taught by thirst (jeddy, E, 6k) — I wrote taught by thirst for Sudsfest 2020, which was my first fest, so that makes it really, really special in my eyes. I didn’t know a lot of people back then, I was mostly still lurking and I was super nervous about it, but really wanted to go for it. I immediately fell in love with the prompt that inspired it, but I told myself to wait a couple of days (convinced the prompt was so good someone else would take it) and if no one took it, I’d claim it. And there it was, waiting for me when I went to check days later, so I no longer had any excuse not to write it. The prompt also came with a really good choice of pairings and I think I was a bit nervous about writing Drarry and just thought why not try my hand at a little bit of Jeddy? I think it’s a really fun piece and I do like a devious Teddy (I mean, come on, he is Tonks’ AND Remus’ kid, the boy is TROUBLE!!!) and I think there’s a really good balance of smut and sweetness and mischief in it.

3. Inevitable (From the Very Start) (drarry, 54k) — Lord, I’m sorry, I AM going to talk about it again. You did ask, though. I started writing Inevitable sometime… last summer? I don’t know? And I was… not doing so hot back then. This is truly one of those “I want to read a fic about X” and then you blink and you’re suddenly writing a fic about X. I keep describing Inevitable as my ultimate horcrux — I think everything you write or create ends up having a little bit of you in it whether you want it or not, but I am convinced Inevitable may have a little bit more of my soul in it than your average piece lol. I don’t like re-reading it because I feel like I’d write it really differently now but I still love it a lot. It’s Drarry in their 40s just… navigating life and really settling. You’ve got a neurotic widower Draco carrying a fuckton of grief and anxiety with him wherever he goes and you’ve got a no-fucks-given go-with-the-flow divorcee Harry just completely arse over tit for Draco. There are some big angsty/dramatic moments in it, but I feel like it’s all very slice of life, falling in love, lives melding together with all there is to them (friends, children, devious ex-wife, dead wife, jobs, dreams, etc).

4. Petrichor, Pineapple and Pomegranate (wolfstarbucks, E, 6k) — What’s a girl to do if she really loves triads and Wolfstar but also has a soft spot for Prongsfoot? Write. This. Fic. I’m going to be honest, I don’t even remember how my Year Of The Threesome Series idea came to be anymore (other than I was affectionately bullied into it by some people) and I don’t know how I decided that this would be the first one but it just happened. I wrote most of it in one day, it has one of my favourite passages/paragraphs I have ever written in it, I got to indulge in some scent kink and I got to write three best friends just banging it out. What’s not to like?

5. heavy (drarry, E, 6k) — Right. This one. Good afternoon from the most self indulgent shit I have ever written. Truly. heavy is the last of my Kinkuary series which proceeded to kill my ability to write while also teaching me that I am capable of so much more than I could have ever imagined. I’d saved the drarry pairing for last because they’re my favourite and tbh it seemed like a lot of pressure. There are already so many good kinky Drarry fics out there and I was so intimidated by the idea — so many of my favourite fic writers write mostly/exclusively Drarry and it was honestly daunting to even think about it. So I ignored it and wrote all the other filthy rarepairs like there wasn’t a massively scary thing waiting for me at the end like a sour middle to a delicious sweet. What ended up happening was that I was so fucking exhausted when I got to the end of Kinkuary that I went ‘fuck it.’

(Where’s that ‘I’m gonna give [me] everything [I] want’ or that ‘I’m gonna create a [fic] that is so [self-indulgent]’ meme when I need it? Lmao)

All through February, I kept a list of possible kinks to write for it since the last day didn't have a prompt/was a wildcard, and when I got to it I just... wrote a fuckton of them all into the same fic just because I wanted to!

In the end, I wrote the scary kink I’d wanted to write for ages, I wrote drarry falling in love through little snippets of smut packed with a ton of subtext and feeling and I was just really pleased that I put together this porn soup I would have never have put together in any other context.

And there you have it. I will change my mind again in 0.3 seconds but right now those are my favourite 5 fics I've written! Thank you for coming into my house and forcing me to pick my favourite puppies out of the litter lol

#m babbles #m writes

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icerosecrystal · 3 years

Text

Jasonette - A Second Chance Pt. 1

This one-shot contains major character death as well as blood and violence. BTW, to clear up their ages at the beginning of the story.

Alfred: IMMORTAL, MY CHILDREN

Bruce: 44

Dick: 29

Jason: 24

Marinette: 23

Tim: 21

Damian: 14

(Marinette’s POV)

Ladybug had failed all of Paris. She had gone into today’s battle, thinking that she and her partner Chat Noir would work together to defeat Hawkmoth. But, right when she had asked Chat Noir to take Hawkmoth’s miraculous, he froze. He then did the worst thing she could imagine he laughed. Chat then walked up to Hawkmoth while Hawkomth chuckled, “Little Bug, even your partner doesn’t support you anymore. Just give up.”

Ladybug froze, her mind racing. Her partner had betrayed her. He had decided that the cause they had been fighting for the last decade was no longer worth the fight. (I was going to make you’ll do the math, but then I saw I already told you Marinette’s age above, lmao.) She screamed in frustration and then shouted, “ Never!”

Ladybug or Marinette was a great fighter, especially after having been in the superhero gig for so long. But, Chat Noir was also pretty good, and he was allied with both Mayura and Hawkmoth. It was safe to say that the odds weren’t looking well for Marinette. She was growing tired, and Tikki didn’t have much energy left within her.

That’s when it happened, Marinette made a mistake. The next thing she knew, Hawkmoth had her pinned to the ground and had pulled off her miraculous, consequently revealing her identity. Hawkmoth handed over her miraculous to Chat Noir, who put it on. Chat, then turned into a deep purple, and a voice asked him, “What do you wish for, oh young one?”

Chat replied, “I wish for the rebirth of my mom, Emilie Agreste.” Marinette’s heart stopped. Her ex-partner was Adrien Agreste. And if he’s assisting Hawkmoth, that must mean that Hawkmoth is Gabriel Agreste, her idol. Then Natalie Sancoeur must be Mayura. Marinette came to those conclusions in a matter of seconds. But, after a minute, she started feeling sluggish. She felt her heartbeat slow down. She was so tired. She just wanted to sleep forever. She didn’t feel so good at this point. Through her blurry vision, she saw a woman that looked like Adrien’s Mother appear. As Emilie returned to full consciousness, that’s when Marinette started losing consciousness. The last thing that she heard in a whisper was, “ A life for a life, that was the price.” Before she closed her eyes, succumbing her body and mind to the darkness that lay ahead.

(Talia POV)

Talia Al-Ghul was expecting a lot of things today. What she was not expecting was to find Paris in a mid-battle, for one of the heroes partners to betray them, the villains winning, and then said hero dying. She looked at the body of the girl that everyone was staring at and thought she didn’t deserve to die like this, plus she might be useful to the league. Talia pulled up her mask to cover her face and then blended in with the shadows. No one actually so her until she grabbed the girl and disappeared. Her actions prompted a lot of commotion back at the battle location.

Talia boarded her plane, carrying the body in her arms. She was slightly worried about the potential effects the Lazarus pit could have on her. She had experienced the worse side-effects, courtesy of one Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. Talia could still remember his screams as he clawed his way out of the Lazarus Pit and started to attack all the assassins with the intent to kill anyone and everyone. They had barely managed to restrain him. She hoped that this girl would not receive similar side-effects. But, based on the amount of trauma and betrayal she held within her like Jason, it would be inevitable.

Once Talia arrived at the league with the dead girl, she walked out of the plane got some bandages. Talia then took the girl, or rather Marinette. She found out from a face scan that pulled up all her legal documents as well as her background information, to her father, Ra’s. Once she arrived before her father, she bowed her head in respect for him.

“Ahhh, daughter, you’ve returned. And who is this you’ve acquired.”

Talia answered, “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, twenty-three-years-old, and an excellent fighter. She lived in Paris, France, and was the main hero. Today was the final battle, and her partner ended up betraying her, getting her killed in the process.” She then handed over all of Marinette’s legal documentation as well as her background info to her father.

Ra’s looked through it and then asked, “How would she be a useful asset to the league?”

Talia responded, “After what happened with Marinette, she would have a thirst for revenge on the people that wronged her. I’m enunciating that we can use that to our advantage. The only problem is that Marinette carries around a lot of trauma, betrayal, and loneliness like Jason Todd. I’m concerned that she might have the same reaction for dipping in the pit.”

Ra’s nodded, considering the idea and agreeing that a person with the thirst for revenge would be a useful addition to the league.

Talia watched Ra’s, hoping to get an idea of what he was thinking. He then beckoned for her to follow him. He leads her to the Lazarus Pit, and Talia now knew that Ra’s supported her decision. She put Marinette down and wrapped her in bandages before dipping her in the pit. What happens next is alarming.

Marinette has the same reaction as Jason. This time though, everyone was ready. Talia quickly took hold of her and started whispering how she got to her destination and how she came back to life. Unlike Jason, though, Marinette doesn’t have as much of a temper, which helps Talia efficiently calm her down faster. Talia then tells Marinette, “Would you like to be an Assasin and fix those who have wronged you?”

Talia wasn’t asking. They would force Marinette if she refused, but they wanted to be her ally rather than as her foe. But what would she choose?

(Marinette’s POV)

A burning sensation was all Marinette felt. But she was supposed to be dead. So, what was she doing alive she got out of the green ooze that she was inside. Marinette frantically looked around while clawing the bandages on her to get rid of the burning sensation. When it didn’t work, she tried to claw her way out of the goop to ease the burning until someone caught her around her middle. The same person took her out of the green goop and started whispering reassurance in her ear. Marinette relaxed until the women asked a question that would change everything, “Would you like to be an Assasin and fix those who have wronged you?”

The logical side of her brain argued that she shouldn’t yield herself to killing others, that it was wrong. The other side of Marinette’s brain felt hazy from dipping into the ooze. It was also hazy because of her grief, pain, betrayal, trauma, and loneliness argued that revenge was the only way to go. She slowly let the murky part of her brain take over until revenge felt like eating ice cream on a hot summer day, great. She nodded her head in agreement with the proposition. The woman smiled and then introduced herself as Talia Al-Ghul, the demon head’s daughter. She spent the rest of the day explaining everything about the league to Marinette. Talia also explained rules that applied specifically to her. By the end of the day, Marinette had an outfit that she would use on missions and during training. Talia then left Marinette to settle in. Marinette looked around the room and sighed, getting ready for experiencing this every day from now on.

(Four months time skip)

It had been four months since Marinette became a member of the league of assassins. And as expected, she was a valuable member of the order. Her need for revenge drove her to work harder on missions.

One morning, Talia awoke Marinette with some news. “You will be going to Gotham to check on my son, who should be 14 now. You will observe how he communicates with his family, and if there any problems arise, you will assist them. Report back to me every day, understand?”

Marinette nodded, “Yes, Mistress.” Talia nodded back and then left to get the plane ready. Marinette wore her usual assassin outfit.

Marinette then went outside and stood before Talia. Shed waited for Talia to give her to okay to board the plane. Once she did, they both got on and reviewed everything they knew about Damian and the Waynes. By the time they arrived in Gotham, Marinette had memorized the information of every single Wayne. She said goodbye to Talia and tracked down Damian, watching him from afar in the shadows.

(Time Skip of a Week)

It had been a week since Marinette started observing Damian. She had to say that he was growing soft. Although, it had been four years since Damian was under league supervision. Everything was going all right on the bat’s patrol until it wasn’t.

The bat family was fighting some thugs at the docks when a thug snuck behind Damian, or rather Robin, and shot him in the stomach. Damian fell to the ground in pain, but still alive. This action provoked Marinette to let out a deep, feral growl. She then grabbed some of her throwing stars and launched them at the thug, effectively killing him in the process. Her actions lead the bat clan to shift their attention to her. They quickly fought off the remaining thugs. They then walked up to a bleeding Damian and Marinette standing in front of him as if to guard him.

Batman then asked, “Who are you, and why are you here?”

Marinette answered, “My name is Dark Angel. I was sent by Mistress Talia to look after Damian for a little bit and see how he’s fitting in.”

Batman then stated, “You killed the man.”

Marinette shrugged, “It comes with the job description. I’m an assassin. You know, a murderer who targets people that would be better off dead?”

Batman sighed, “Nobody is better off dead.”

Marinette shrugged again, so done with this conversation, “Speak for yourself.”

(Jason’s POV, sorry for the abrupt change)

Jason stared at the woman in front of him, who must be his age. He recognized her behavior from somewhere. Jason suddenly realized where he had seen this behavior before he exhibited this demeanor after he came back to life. That meant that she had died, and Talia was using her want for revenge like the league used his.

Jason asked, no stated, “You died.”

Dark Angel stiffened, “Who wants to know?” Yup, her reaction confirmed his suspicions she had died and was then brought back by the Lazarus Pit. Most likely recently by how raw her emotions still were.

Jason walked up slowly to her and remarked, “You died and later brought back to the Lazarus Pit. You probably have a thirst for revenge. I can see a lot of you in me. I can help you.” He tried to be as gentle as possible, which was hard considering his character.

Dark Angel backed away while shaking her head, frantically", No, you know NOTHING ABOUT ME! YOU DON’T KNOW THE BETRAYAL, THE TRAUMA. YOU KNOW NOTHING!!!“ She then ran away, trying to get away from the Bat Clan.

Jason looked over at Bruce, or Batman, with determination clear, in his eyes, "I’m going to go find her.”

Batman nodded, “Take RR and Nightwing with you. I’m going to take Robin back to the Bat cave, where Agent A can patch him up. Once you find her, bring her to the cave so that we can talk with her.”

Jason then nodded and grappled in the direction that Dark Angel went, with Red Robin and Nightwing following in his wake. After running for a little bit, they caught sight of her blending in with the shadows. They decided to split up to cover more ground. Jason ran as fast as he could along the rooftops when he finally caught sight of Dark Angel. She looked to be crying. When she saw him, she jumped off the roof and opened a portal falling through. Jason jumped after her and barely went through in time. He then fell on top of something and groaned. Jason got up and looked around. He realized that he was standing on the Eiffel Tower, was he in Paris?

(Marinette’s POV)

After Jason or Red Hood confronted her and tried to compare herself to him, she ran. She started crying, the emotions too overwhelming to not cry. Marinette cried for a little bit. But, she then caught sight of Red Hood running up to her. She glared at him and asked Kaakki to open a portal. A week after she had managed to become an assassin, she had returned to her room and got the miracle box back in her possession. Talia had no idea, and Marinette had no desire to tell her.

She jumped through the portal, she landed on the Eiffel Tower, and took a deep breath. Behind her, she heard a loud thud and then a groan. She whipped around to find that the idiot Red Hood had followed her through the portal. She saw him get up and look around before a look of realization spread through his face. Marinette saw him look at her. She quickly ran away. She felt him running after her. But she had a mission, and she wasn’t going to stop until she accomplished it. Marinette’s mission the demise of everyone that ever hurt Marinette.

She ran to the Agreste Mansion and went through Adrien’s open window. She saw him sitting at his computer happily looking at something. That asshole, he killed her and was enjoying life himself. “Adrien,” she crooned sweetly, “How are you? Are you having a good time since you got your mother back by killing someone else?”

Adrien looked frightened, “How do you know that?”

She walked up to him, hips swaying. She then pulled out her dagger and slid her finger across the blade, “I know a lot of things about you. Like how you are a selfish, asshole.” She then pulled him closer to her and put the dagger to his neck. “You deserve to die, slowly and painfully, and I will happily help you.”

Before Adrian could scream for anyone, Marinette had already stabbed him in the stomach where his lungs were. She was going to do his heart or behead him, but that let him off too easy. The look of pure horror etched onto his face as he fell on the floor with blood all over him, and the floor had Marinette smirking. She grabbed the cat miraculous off of Adrien’s finger and the ladybug miraculous off of his ears. She knew that Red Hood was behind her, but she couldn’t care less.

Next, Marinette went looking for Gabriel and Natalie. It looked like Emilie was out right now. So, Marinette wouldn’t kill her. She also didn’t take part in killing her. She found Gabriel and Natalie in the house’s atelier. Once they saw her, they prepared to attack her. But she had already whipped out a gun and had shot both of them. She had tried to shoot them approximately below where their heart was. As Marinette got closer to examine them, she realized that she had damn good aim. The bullets had hit them directly in the area she was hoping. Close enough to kill them, but far enough to cause them pain. Their blood was gushing out of them, and Marinette could tell that they would die. She grabbed the butterfly miraculous and the peacock miraculous. She brought Adrien downstairs to lie next to his family. Marinette then went back into the shadows with Red Hood following her right as Emilie arrived.

Marinette watched as Emilie looked at her dead family and started sobbing. Emilie then took notice of the note next to them.

It read:

THEY TOOK A LIFE, AND NOW I DESERVE TO TAKE THEIR LIFE FROM THEM IN TURN. EMILIE, YOU ARE SPARED BECAUSE YOU TOOK NO PART IN ANYTHING.

~DARK ANGEL

Marinette watched Emilie drop down to her knees and continue wailing while crushing the note in her hand. Marinette watched closely, and she wondered if her parents did the same or if they replaced her like everyone else. She shook the thought off and then went to another house, the house of Liar Rossi.

Marinette her house, and went around it trying to find the liar. She found Lila in her room, practicing her crying. Marinette smirked to herself. She always knew that Lila had to practice crying with how many crocodile tears she let loose every day. She snuck up behind Lila and whispered, “I’ll give you a real reason to cry.”

Lila stopped her tears and turned around, scared out of her mind. “Who are you?”

Marinette snickered, “I’m Dark Angel, or more specifically, you’re worst nightmare.”

Lila started crying again, except this time, her tears weren’t as fake as her life. “PLEASE DON’T HURT ME, I’LL DO ANYTHING! I HAVE A LOT OF INFORMATION ABOUT THIS COUNTRY’S GOVERNMENT!”

Marinette took a knife out and ran it across Lila’s skin, causing a scream out of her, “Here’s the thing, Ms. Rossi. You are extremely selfish. You were willing to sell out your country just like that. Plus, I know you’re lying. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. So, here’s the deal, the more you lie, the more I torture you.”

Lila spent the next thirty minutes telling lies. When Marinette knew she would be confessing, she gave Lila’s phone to Red Hood so that he could film her confession. Lila then broke, “OKAY OKAY, I AM SO SORRY!!! I DON’T KNOW ANY OF THE CELEBRITIES I CLAIM I DO. I DON’T HAVE TINNITUS EITHER! MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG WASN’T BULLYING ME, I BULLIED HER. I THREATENED HER IN THE FIRST PLACE WHEN SHE FOUND OUT MY LIES AND THREATENED TO TAKE AWAY ALL HER FRIENDS. I SUCCEEDED. I WAS ALSO WORKING WITH HAWKMOTH AND HELPED MAKE ADRIEN WHO WAS CHAT NOIR BETRAY LADYBUG!!! NOW PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!!!”

Marinette sneered and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you.” Lila looked at her in hope until she stabbed Lila in the stomach, saying, “Oops, I lied.”

As Lila died, Marinette went to Red Hood and took the phone from his editing the video before sending it to all of Lila’s contacts. When she sent it to Alya, she asked her to post the video on the Lady blog before watching it. She then looked over at Red Hood, who was looking at her in shock. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I’m not assassinating anyone else. Just torturing them.”

She then went to each of her classmates’ houses and tortured them, depending on how loyal they were to Lila. The person who Marinette tortured the least was Juleka, and the person that she tortured the most was Alya. Once Marinette had finished torturing all of her ex-classmates, she looked over to Red Hood and said, “Okay, I’m ready to go now.”

Red Hood looked at her, confused, “If you were going to go with me either way, why did you run?”

She shrugged, “Your clan had found me out. I wanted people dead. Plus, I was emotional as hell after your whole speech. I also still need to check up on Damian.”

(3rd Person POV)

Red Hood nodded and beckoned for her to open a portal. Marinette did so, and they both dropped through, ending up in the Bat cave. Their sudden appearance surprised all of the current occupants of the cave. Marinette walked up to Damian and asked him, “Are you okay?”

Damian replied, “Tt, ” and then nodded in affirmation.

Before Marinette could say anything else, Batman told her, “I now want you to explain to us who you are, why you’re here. Got it!” He then gave her the Bat glare in case she wouldn’t listen to him.

Marinette nodded and then spoke, “Hi, my assassin name is Dark Angel. My birth name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” A flash of recognition flashed through everyone’s faces. Unbeknownst to Marinette, Hawkmoth had been broadcasting the final battle. Everyone had seen when Hawkmoth had revealed her identity and when she had died. “I was a superhero in Paris. My partner and I were in the final battle when I found out that he had betrayed me and Hawkmoth’s side and was playing me this whole time. The villains won, and they made a wish to revive a dead person. In return, someone else had to die. In this case, it was me. The next thing I know, my whole body feels like it’s burning, and I’m inside of a pit full of green goop. Mistress Talia promised me revenge for the people that had hurt me. I excepted her offer. Since then, I’ve been an assassin for four months now, training every single day for hours. Talia told me to watch your family for a little bit as a mission, which was what I was doing until Damian got shot. You know the rest.”

Red Robin looked at her skeptically, “Where did you and Red Hood go when we tried to find you.”

Marinette looked at Red Hood before carefully answering, “I had some business in Paris, so to speak.”

Nightwing then asked, “And what was this "business” and how the hell did you get to Paris?“

Marinette sighed, rubbing her forehead to ease the throbbing, "You’re not going to let this go, are you?” When she saw everyone shake their head, she answered, “Fine. I was able to get to Paris because I have a miraculous that can open portals.” She showed them the miraculous and then demonstrated it to them. “Once I got to Paris, I committed my revenge. I killed my old partner, Hawkmoth, and Mayura. I also killed a liar who took away everything from me and was also working with Hawkmoth. I also exposed the liar. Finally, I tortured all of my old friends. Yay, I told you everything. Can I go now?”

Everyone looked at her, horrified that she was talking so casually as if she hadn’t just admitted to murderer and torture. Before anyone could say anything, Red Hood shouted, “No!” While taking off his helmet.

Marinette looked at him in irritation, “No? And why fucking not?”

Jason looked over at her, “Because I’m not letting Talia use you anymore.”

Marinette sighed, knowing he was right. Now that she had gotten her revenge, her mind was a lot more clear, and she realized why Talia wanted her to be an assassin in the first place. “Fine, so I’m staying here?” Everyone nodded, still in a daze from everything they just learned.

Marinette shook her head, and Alfred (THE AMAZING GOD THAT HE IS) came into the Bat Cave when Marinette was going to ask someone to lead her upstairs. As Marinette walked upstairs, she hoped that things would work out for her.

(one month time skip)

Marinette had been staying with the Bat Fam or rather Waynes for a month now. She honest to kwami had no idea how they were still alive. The number of times they pulled a weapon on each other was frightening, to be honest. As she got to know each of them, they felt more like her brothers and father, except for one person, Jason damn Todd. She really liked him. He was so gentle with her, and at first, she didn’t understand why. But one day, Jason told her his backstory. To her surprise, it was similar to hers. Once she figured that out, they connected on a whole other level. In fact, they had both sworn that they would try not to kill again. And naturally, the one guy who will probably ever understand her, she had to have a crush on.

Another problem was Talia Al-Ghul. She still hadn’t come to find Marinette. So she was either planning something big. OR SHE WAS DEAD! What, a girl could dream. Marinette then heard a crash downstairs. She ran downstairs and what she saw had her reeling. Talia was in the middle of the living room, playing with her dagger. Once she saw Marinette, she smirked, “Marinette, you’re here. We can go back to the league now.”

Marinette shook her head, “I like living here, and I don’t want to leave.”

The smile that was on Talia’s face disappeared, “Even if you do like it here, you still have to get revenge on the people that wronged you.”

Marinette clicked her tongue, “That’s the thing, I already did revenge on them. I killed the main ones and tortured the rest.”

Talia yelled in defeat, “Well, if you won’t come back, then you’ll just die!” (I know I made Talia super sweet at the start of the story. But let’s face it. She’s a manipulator and a bitch) She then charged Marinette with her dagger in hand. But before she could reach Marinette, she was dead on the floor with multiple bullet holes going through her.

Marinette, with a gun in her hand, sank to her knees sobbing. The Wayne family, having heard the gunshots, hurried to the first floor. There they found a sobbing Marinette and a dead Talia. Jason hurried to Marinette and pulled her into his arms. “Hey, Pixie, what’s wrong?” Marinette shook her head, still sobbing. The rest of the family, seeing that Marinette wasn’t calming down, decided to give some words of support before taking Talia out of the room and cleaning the blood.

Jason picked up Marinette, who was clinging to his leather jacket and took her upstairs to his room. He whispered soothing words in her ear the whole way. Once they arrived, he put her down on the bed and cuddled her, “Marinette, Pixie, Baby, I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

Marinette’s sobbing started dying down. Eventually, it was only an occasional tear with some hiccups and sniffs. “I made a promise that I wouldn’t kill anymore. I broke that promise. Deep down, I really am a murderer.” She started sobbing again.

Jason sighed and crooned to her, “Oh, baby. Do you really think that? I used to murderer people all the time. Does that still make me a murderer? No! It doesn’t make you a murderer either.”

He then started kissing her cheek, her eyelids, her button-nose, her forehead, her head, her jaw. He trailed kisses down her neck while speaking, “I- love-you-so-much. And nothing-is ever-going- to change-that. You- are not- a- murderer.” He then planted a fervent kiss on her lips, which she deepened.

They continued kissing until Marinette broke away to say, “I love you too. You helped me so much when I was broken.”

Jason looked at her in the eyes with a raw intensity, “Then if you love me, never blame yourself for what happened to you.”

She smiled softly, “I promise”, before kissing him once more, with a deep passion.

He pulled away this time and told her, “You have a chance to have a second chance at life. Not many people get that. Use that second chance to fulfill everything you ever wanted. Leave the past behind. Be who you really are. Who you were before everything. But move into the future, with me by your side.”

“A second chance,” Marinette whispered, “A second chance.” Before kissing him once more. She was going to be okay. They had each other, and they were going to get through everything together. Together no matter what, they were going to give themselves a second chance, and they were going to spend every second of it together.

#mlb x dc #maribat #batman #miraculous ladybug #jasonette #jason x marinette #marinette x jason #marinette dupain cheng #jason todd #talia al ghul #league of assassins #batfamily #salt #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #lila salt #marinette died #revenge #assassin marinette

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mrskurono · 3 years

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Kita Sinsuke Brainrot // Just My Thoughts

this is my own thirst, I reblogged a gif set of him and now I’m looking disrespectfully

tag(s): corruption kink, taking of someone’s virginity, bit of a milf kink? general smut

The never ending consuming thought of a fresh outta high school Kita looking for a summer job before he really “does” anything. But how much he likes to work outside and do something manual lands him at as a farmhand for the summer. Thinking that it would be a delightful thing he could do to that makes sense to him and is sensible work (tying into why he becomes a rice farmer) All is well to the unbothered mature young man until the first day he shows up to stay for the few weeks at the farm house.

Instead of the gruff man who Kita had talked to getting this job is instead an exceptionally beautiful middle aged woman. First he thinks nothing of it. She’s a pretty lady. Clearly someone who’s worked their way on the farm too. She’s thicc in all the right places, tall (at least his height) and pretty muscly. Kita first thinks it’s weird she makes it hard for him to find words. But he ignores it to first job nerves.

This continues though, the man that had hired him doesn’t come back. Instead he asks the woman where he is. And Kita gets an ear full of “a useless husband that should be an ex”

Kita pieces together that this is the man’s wife but obviously they don’t care for each other as they don’t even live on the same property. And in all his bluntness Kita tells her “Why don’t you find someone else then?” It’s met with her laughing, a little embarrassed by the young boy, and explaining to him no one wants a dried up housewife.

Not seeing this at all. Kita at least finds himself hard up for words. He has so much going on in his head but being around this lady chokes him up. Leading her to believe he’s just a sweet shy high school graduate who needed a job. So she has Kita tag along with her chores on the farm a lot.

And does this make Kita’s problem worse. It goes from thinking she’s a lovely lady. To the boy looking at her in ways he knows he shouldn’t. The way her t-shirt clings to her when the sun is too high and she’s sweating. The dip in her back from where her high rise jeans hug her figure so tight that Kita is left wondering if she’s wearing underwear. Day in and day out he’s consumed by these thoughts of her. Laying in bed at night feeling the need to touch himself but never would he do something so disrespectful in some place that’s technically not his room.

But Kita is so bad at hiding it. It takes no time at all for the farm wife to notice the gaze glued to her from this kid. Never is it discrete too when Kita is staring at her chest when she’s milking a cow that calved in late spring. He’d end up not doing half the things he’s supposed to because he just can’t focus around her. And honestly, she begins to love the attention.

Soon it becomes a game of pushing boundaries just to see if he’s zoning out or maybe something more is going on behind his brown eyes.

She leaves an extra button undone on her blouse. Take a bit longer with her hands as she milks the cows (Kita really likes watching her milk them as all he is consumed by the thoughts of this pretty woman doing that on his very much virgin cock) Finally it comes to a head when they’re pitching hay in the barn mid evening. Kita couldn’t pay attention and the tent in his trousers was so obvious she finally had to say something.

Queue the very fuckable but neglected farmer’s wife finding out how badly he’s been wanting to fuck her. No sugar coating it either. Kita confesses he watches her thinking of the dirtiest impure thoughts and has been since day one. The thoughts of her hands milking his cock. Or painting her supple tits with his cum. Or her lips on his nipples if she were touch him. Just all of Kita’s impure thoughts out in the openness of the barn right there.

Of course it’s been a while since anyone, especially a handsome young man like Kita, has lusted after her. The flattery works. So does the lack of actual sex. And Kita finds out how good her lips taste right then and there in the barn. The way she kisses him though and her jean covered leg goes between his legs just once and Kita can’t help cum right there in his pants simply from that.

Flattered, and incredibly turned on, the woman finds out that he’s a virgin. Never touched another person ever. And to find out he wants to fuck her regardless really sets the mood.

Queue the rest of Kita “job” being fucking this lovely farm owning milf on every single piece of the property in all the buildings and MULTIPLE times in her own bed. She’s teaching him everything and corrupting the ever loving hell outta this eager boy. Kita has no idea as he’s cum in every single hole on this woman and soiled every part of her with his cum. Really falling in love with cumming inside her (certainly might start a breeding kink in him) and of course it’s a lot of “You can cum in me as much as you want but remember you can’t with everyone.” and “I’ll let you fuck my mouth/ass but this is how you make a woman feel good in return.”

There is so much sex the rest of his summer job until the very end. And by the time nothing about him is innocent or a virgin anymore. It’s the tipping point that Kita realizes owning a farm is what he wants to do (:

#man i dont know ok #i saw one picture of him now i wanna fuck #it happensok #kita x reader #kita smut #haikyuu!!#hq!!#hq #haikyuu #hq smut #threethirst #kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader

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matchamorphosis · 4 years

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || ari punishes you for being a brat during your date out at the summer carnival

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || pure filth, smut with some fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || modern AU agent!ari levinson × [black//woc]!reader + crossover!ransom drysdale

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 4K ⟶ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 || @firefly-graphics

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 18+ nsfw daddy!kink, age gape: reader is twenty one and ari is thirty five (don’t like, don’t read), heavy language, dirty talk, punishment: overstimulation, eating out, blowjob + spanking mention, movie crossover! + you might get a cavity just from reading this

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || melting by kali uchis ♡ angel by kali uchis ♡ honey baby (SPOILED!) by kali uchis

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || this was initially for @jtargaryen18’s writing challenge #30DaysofChris but i took a long break in the middle of writing it, sorry for the long wait lovely! ♡ this took less time to edit and write than i thought and believed but i hope you guys enjoy it just as much! ♡ reminder : italic means flashback, bold italics means thoughts/exaggerated dialogue, and non-italic/bold means present!

+ p.s || do not repost, republish or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡

my storybook ღ join my taglist

BABY THIS IS A WONDERLAND

when your tongue licks the bittersweet honey glaze of my pussy lips, where my sinfully divine bubblegum dreams collapse with your good boy deeds but you just keep licking my core desperate. ‘cause baby the milk that leaks from the honey hive in between my thighs is like a strawberry cone to you- and your going to lick me up before I melt under your hot gaze.

"Ari," your meek whimper spills but he keeps licking.

as if he's trying to break the dam that'll give him the strawberry milk that will quench his undying thirst. you’re stuck in this pleasurable killing punishment, if only you knew to stop when you were told to. listen to the voice in your head to stop acting like rotten spoiled brat and you’d have the pleasure to grind your honey slicked cunt against his bearded face.

if only you listened...

"behave," Ari growled into your ear.

the single command is enough for you to roll your eyes and stick your tongue out up at him and so you do. of course Ari is used to seeing this brat but he was sure that with a glare or two you’d clean your act up but you’re still continuing your rotten attitude.

no, you don't want to fucking behave.

subtly walking away from him to the cotton candy vendor, the sound of the man pouring the sugar into the spiraling machine is music to your ears. a glare marks your sharp roseate lined eyes and a pout pulls at your glossed lips, all focused away from Ari but he still sees your rage.

it really wasn’t fair how he expected himself to go on this carnival date with you but not do the one thing that made you want to go. all that adding on that he expects you to behave and not be upset, it wasn’t for and you weren’t planning on calming down.

not even a little tiny bit, cause you want to go into the tunnel of love with him. all the small promises and little compromises made throughout the day as you and him walked and played the colorful tent games did he promise you that you and him would ride.

Ari knew how much this meant to you, you always wanted a special someone to sit besides the romantic boat ride with ever since you were a small girl.

it was his fault that he fell in love with a hopeless romantic, someone yearning to allow themselves be enveloped within the arms of their lover. feel their warmth as the red violet lights start to dim, kiss your lovers lips when you two meet the darkness. giggle when he confesses his sweet darling thoughts of you, you were a romantic for gods sake.

you wanted it so bad, yet every time you seem to mention it Ari deflects the topic with something else. another question or comment or confront your claim in the most abrupt yet sweet way possible.

“not now sweetheart, later maybe-”

“babydoll, do we really have to go in there?”

“it’s to much of a risk for daddy, honey bear!”

he would sweeten those claims up with kisses that would butter your mouth like the popcorn he hand fed you. it was tiring Ari out with your demands to ride The Tunnel of Love but now as he stand there witnessing his precious apple dumpling turn into a rather rotten and bratty apple he may fully turn down the conversation.

on top of that your pink and white gingham sundress displays a bit too much cleavage and leg for Ari’s liking. well he doesn’t like the dress, he loves it but he wouldn’t want you going out displaying it for everyone to see besides him. the nymphet styled cloth you walk so confidently may or may not have half the boys and men eyeing you everywhere you go.

this scene, the boys and grown men undressing you with their list filled hues and eye fucking you with every step your platforms take does make Ari want to snap at them. wonder if their mothers taught them better than to gawk, glare at the silly pubescent boys until they run away shitless. maybe intervene with the lustful stares of the men with a double fist threat.

it doesn’t ease the fire behind his eyes and the clenched fist he has when he’s noticing your smirk- the pounce in your stride that you seem to enjoy the attention.

the very way you bend down near the mirrors of a souvenir cart to re-apply the amber peach lipgloss to your lips is almost intentionally teasing for both Ari and anyone else watching. the way you glance at him through it, lashes batting and your glimmer hint hues screaming fuck me

he now knows this is all part of your game of acting up, you think you can get what you want from disrespecting his order and authority. it was so cute to him how you thought you could get away with your spoiled behavior.

sooner then later Ari is going to bend you over and teach you a lesson on teasing him in public.

the taste of strawberry cotton candy and buttery popcorn is still fresh and lingering in your mouth but you want to taste your juices on his candy red tongue.

"Ari," you carp, his tongue just keeps lapping up at your labia. unbothered and unfazed as hair spills over his forehead, he doesn’t care for he smiles when your plush thighs cage his face.

the continuous strokes of his talented tongue make your pussy flutter and spine shiver. wishing he’d push a fingers or two, god those thick fingers could undo any orgasm from you in matter of seconds. the thought makes a little drool seep from the corners to your mouth and you hug the large blue raspberry bunny Ari won for you closer to your chest. smelling the fruity scent as you whimpered when he bit at your cunt and kissed it better.

you’ve kept the fluffy berry scented stuffie close when Ari striked your ass cheeks earlier wit the same hands that keep your thighs gaped now. allowed you to have that dear comfort as he took on punishing you with his rough spanks.

the burning hand prints are probably visible now just as the wet tears around your eyes. the same streams that stained your peachy cheeks have dried but it wasn’t just your teasing that brought you up in your well deserved punishment.

no, you were in much deeper trouble than for that…

after your little tease show Ari figured to let you have your way, for now. it was always best for him to let you have your way since you were generally upset about not riding on the Tunnel of Love.

now, the golden rays of the sun setting radiated your glowing figure, hand with Ari’s the other holds your frosty pink cotton candy as you take the last bites of it. glancing up at Ari, you see the almost finished chocolate sprinkle swirled ice cream cone in his hand being treated with long slow licks.

attention going from the melting cone to his tongue you can’t help but want it.

want his hot tongue on you, in you.

you want it so so bad that you’re caught off guard when he smirks, not looking at you at all but feeling your stare. he feels your needy wants, knows the devious perverted thoughts going on in your pretty head and its all a dead giveaway when you hold his hand tighter before turning your head away from him.

your sudden shyness makes him let out a laugh. finishing the small cone within a few licks and bites. damn you are a contradiction of innocence and dirtiness that only helps his blood pound in devotion and cock harden in desire.

“what did we say about manners princess? it’s rude to stare at people while they’re eating,” Ari’s deep hushed words rattle your thoughts.

“I know daddy, I-” your words almost stumble when you feel the cool chocolate breaths wave upon your ear and his muscled arm wraps around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“is my princess getting needy? politely tell daddy what you want and maybe he’ll give it to you,” Ari whispers with a soft yet quick peck behind your ear, it’s almost enough for you to whine for more.

Ari knows you just can’t have that, it doesn’t even fill in a teaspoon of the battered lust that needs to be soothed. you really weren’t good at telling him what you wanted, sure physical and replaceable things weren’t an issue, clothes, purses, shoes, books. lets make it clear, if you see it, like it and want it- Ari bought it without hesitation.

however in situations like these, it wasn’t as if it was easy or hard to tell him what you want or what you want him to do to you. you just want him to just touch you, to feel his delicious large and warm hands- his gifted mouth on you already without being asked so many teasing questions.

“I want your tongue, daddy,” your words almost stumble out.

eyes to his now, they flutter innocently at him, biting your bottom lip you look down to notice the small tent at his pants and you smirk. given that rather rude action Ari’s hand that’s on your side goes down to grope the curve of your ass, giving it an equally gentle yet painful squeeze.

“you want daddy’s tongue princess? first tell daddy where you want it-” his sentence was interrupted by the loud vibration of his phone.

buzzing in his pocket you scoff at him when he takes it out to look at the pixel name displayed on the small screen. rolling your eyes when he doesn’t put it away you cross your arms, and let out a huff glaring up at him.

"daddy! mhmm!- daddy no more!" his eyes snap to yours, the sight of you makes him lick his lips.

shiny hair sprawled in all directions, face clouded with lust, the neckline to your pretty dress folded down to reveal your plump tits covered in his love bites. he’s trying his hardest not to give in to the throbbing temptation and smash his mouth against yours, take handfuls of your tits and fuck you till you can only say his name.

but he has much more control than that, he isn’t a needy baby like you. drooling at a few licks to your messy cunt and tits, god Ari knew he was lucky to have landed such a woman like you and you were his to bring as many orgasms as possible.

even if you didn’t want them, you were his little baby and his baby had rules to follow. breaking those rules resulted in punishments and as much as it hurt him to see you cry and whimper it was getting his cock hard to.

“now princess you wanted daddy’s tongue, and now you have it. that’s what you wanted so that’s what you’re going to get.” he muses as you licks your sensitive over-stimulated folds.

“but daddy you gave me four cummies already!-” you fumble into somewhat of a sob but the cry stops once Ari pinches the meat of your inner thighs making you whine at the sudden pain. “ouchy!” you snap, hating these painful thigh pinches but adoring the slow pussy licks.

“i’m teaching you a lesson princess, you’ve been such a fucking brat today so i’m going to treat you like a fucking brat.”

“but daddy!-”

“but what, princess? Daddy told you to stop but you never listen, you’re such a bad listener.” the tinge of disappointment is heartbreaking. tears swimming in your eyes knowing you have let your daddy down and you only wish at that moment -no matter how overstimulated your pussy- you’d go back in time an hour ago to prevent yourself from acting up.

“i’m sorry daddy-” the little broken sob that slips between your trembling lips makes Ari question himself if he’s punishing you too harshly but he thinks otherwise.

so he just tuts you as if he is scolding a child and your eyes swell up with more tears and you feel your bottom lip trembling in hurt.

“Daddy doesn’t want to hear an apology, daddy wants you to stay still so he’ll bring two more cummies out of you,”

hot tears fall as your throbbing pussy is fluttering with pain and pleasure, honey euphoria taking over you moan as your thighs shake and you release on his rubbing fingers. chest slightly heaving, you sniff as you feel your tears drying on your cheeks and watch Ari bring your creamy essence to his lips.

“princess look at the mess you made on daddy's hand. let daddy clean it up for you,”

after that rude phone call you were said to be meeting up with a friend of Ari's, well wouldn't want to say ‘friends’ more on the lines of acquaintances.

"I thought today was just us, he's your friend so why are dragging me into this." you mutter, yet when you feel his soft gaze on your eyes ease on your anger.

"be nice for daddy, okay princess?" he murmurs into your ear, snuggling into your neck. your chest lifts as you try to take in a deep breath and all the offensive rude snappy remarks on the tip of your tongue soften.

you hate the effect Ari has on you, your superior diva persona of sharp wit and pettiness strips away at his sweet and considering remarks. you’re his little spontaneous firecracker but when he cups your chin you turn into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. his feisty tiger cub that always calms down with his calming words and even soothing touch.

“fine,” you say and he smiles down at your stuff pout, it’s the best you’re going to give him and for that he pulls you closer to his side in gratitude.

walking side by side through the crowds, Ari adjusts the cap of the baseball hat down his forehead and you tuck in a piece of his hair behind his ear. making a rose heated blush appear on his cheeks which only brings out a wide smile and giggle from you.

“so, where is he? where are we meeting your ‘friend’?” your comment is sharp yet still soft enough to not avert the vex towards Ari.

“he said to meet us at the circus tent, before the clown stunts,”

“you thinking i’m going to meet him is a clown stunt-” you couldn’t help but let it slip out, you were still mad and you can’t help not to express it.

“princess what did we agree to-” Ari heavily sighs, a simple sign your running his patience but you roll your eyes.

“I know what we agreed to but I know nothing about your so called ‘friend’,”

how the hell did Ari expect you to be nice and peachy with a complete stranger when he warns you of them on a constant basis?

“we aren’t friends, we just have business to deal with,”

“yeah and what a professional scene to deal business then in a tent with lions, tigers and bears-” and suddenly a sharp slap hits your bottom and your to stunned to even register it.

oh my, oh my you’re in for a surprise and you sense it when the powder blue egg color of Aris mystic eyes shades darker. that again is a warning, for you to drop the attitude and suck up to this little silly social gathering but the pulling voices of your angry thoughts echoing fuck no are getting the best of you.

you always had your way, always and forever.

you two were surrounded by people and you even thought yourself no matter how pissed he was he wasn’t going to spank you. not pull you over his lap for children and parents to see but looking around you notice the sound of rides, people chattering, and laughing and playful screaming is to loud. everyone minding there own business to even notice his hand gliding up to wrap his fingers around your neck.

“don’t make me loose my patience. you are going to greet him politely, sit with him and-”

“god Ari do you want me to fuck him to?” you grumble and with that Ari grabs your jaw, directing your stare to his.

the grip on your wrist slightly tightened, his soft lips are to the shell of your ear and from afar it may seem like Ari is whispering something kind and dear from the way he’s smiling but you feel the snide in his harshly hushed words.

“is it that hard for you to be nice for my sake for ten decent minutes? I won’t fucking hesitate to pull you over my knee and spank you for the clowns and acrobats to see. I promise princess, if you even step a toe out of line you’re going to pray you haven’t. do you understand me?”

your glare is your only response until you mutter a small I understand daddy through your teeth barely loud for him to hear.

“speak up princess. I said, do you understand me?” Ari says, his words softer now and the grip on your jaw and wrist soften.

pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek he averts her face to meet him. “I promise you’re not going to regret meeting him. i’ve pulled a few strings to get him here but it’s all for you to enjoy,” he says and you quirk a brow at him, a smile finally pulling at your lips easing Ari.

“and who is that?” you say but Ari shakes his head with a small smirk, “I know you’ve been telling me how close you are to publishing your book and I thought why not I bring the finish line to you,” he says, you are still confused.

Ari was right, you are so close to making a publishing deal but you haven’t received any word in months. you yourself are getting anxious but the way you left the establishment shaking hands with the famous Harlan Thrombey himself. how he emphasized being invested in your work tore all those worries and fears away.

although, you were suppose to receive a call months ago, yet deadlines and interruptions of some sort keep on pushing your meeting with Harlan week after week. after that a contract was supposed to be sealed and editor negotiations completed and done for. not three months later you’ve received nothing and here you are wondering if Mr. Thrombey is having second thoughts on your work.

what is Ari planning for you with his friend?

⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄⟡⋄⟢⋅⟡⋅⟣⋄

sweat glistening your hairline, your soft whimpers fill the fairy light tent, only causing Ari to grip your inner thighs tighter. all this while his hot cherry tongue slides in and out your slick hole, you throw your head back. this pleasure feels like a fantasy and you’ve been reminiscing it to this point.

trying to move your glossy locks of hair away from your eyes, you hate the way he snapped at you earlier how you weren't allowed to touch him. not touch his soft toffee hair, his thickly bearded cheeks and muscled forearms- not even the comfort of his hand.

cause you’re in trouble and you aren’t allowed to touch him or yourself now or later until he says so. you’re the bad girl and the bad girl doesn’t get what she wants, no matter how much she pouts and cries.

"daddy!" and his eyes snap to yours, the pretty innocent blue now replaced by yearning.

knowing better to call his private title in public but the empty red, blue, and yellow striped carnival tent is the only event to do something like this. the soft music of the carousel in the background fuzzy, one of his hands creep up your bodice.

pulling down the tight neckline of your dress, he grips the soft mound tit in his hand and you erotically whimper as he roughly pinches the hard nipple. your pale pink and white gingham dress crowded your upper hips yet still lengthy enough that it covers Ari’s head. large warm palms caress your frosty cotton thigh highs as long slow licks smooth the folds of your fluttering pussy, aching to be satisfied by the pulse of his dick.

slow circular strokes of his thumb rub along the small slippery nub and your thighs twitch in blissful thrill over each of his shoulders. your feet in pink strap heels bounce and flinch every time Ari shoves his tongue in your hole. pouring out moans from you as you imagine his lips polished and shiny with your sweet pussy milk.

you want to see him, you want to see him eat you up you’re desperate to move the cloth over his head. see him licking and sucking the sinful treat he craves everyday. hating the sight of just his head bobbing up and down and side to side from the cover of your own dress you want to meet his eyes as he loudly moans while eating you out. slipping the small and loud growls and carnal noises release as he as his special treat.

daring to do so, you reach the hem of the dress and pull the fabric off his head, and there you see your handsome candyman. tawny brown hair tasseled and cheekbones red from the heat his eyes twinkle in mystic hunger, his lips soaked in your sensual essense. both his hands softly gripping your thighs, stroking your hips as his tongue still deep in your hole you let out a small whimper as he slips it out.

pupils wide and both the corners of his mouth leak with saliva and your cum and you feel your legs shaking a slight when he licks the corners. more so feel your pussy wetten when he glides his tongue over his top teeth glaring at you. awaiting the degrading scowl he has for you yet your surprised when you doesn’t pinch your thighs or claw at your hips even when he just smiles.

“peek-a-boo angel,” he purrs, eyes back to their cloud heaven blue and you feel your heart melting in your chest although it quickens when you brings his tongue right back to your pussy.

“so you must be {y/n l/n}, i’ve heard so much about you.” the young man sitting across from you chimes. You and Ari sit side by side on one of the many picnic tables around the humongous red and white circus tent.

“good things I hope, you must be Mr. Drysdale. how are you?” flashing your pearly white smile you rest your hand in the mans extended hand.

“what a doll, i’m doing great and how are you doing on this fine day?”

peachy fucking keen

he sounds like he’s trying his hardest to at least sound interactive and social. blue eyes move from your face to your cleavage and you want to snap at him to fucking pick.

“well today was excellent as a matter fact, a special day. all until you came along, you see Mr. Drysdale-”

“please, call me Ransom. Ari Levinson, long time no see! before we catch up why don’t you buy your lady a soda pop. i’d like to know the writers first before signing them off to my publish house,” the young man remarks, his eyes not to yours at all but to the way your dress tightly hugs your body.

Ari sees this, anger bubbling inside him he bits his tongue. meeting Ransom from his latest cases he was shocked to find out that he hadn’t been convicted for the third degree murder his buddy was investigating that had him wrapped up into it. even more shocked to find out that he had inherited his grandfathers publishing company.

this ‘meeting’ is to ensure you get your book published and live in your glory. so instead of barking at Ransom telling him to stop eye fucking you he instead offers you a kiss to the cheek and a soft stern whisper in your ear.

“behave while i’m gone,” and with that he walks away to the food vendors, knowing full well that it’s going to be you that’s going to drive Ransom crazy and not the other way around.

“I don’t understand, when I spoke to Ari-”

“well sweetheart today’s your lucky day, it’s not like everyday you meet the CEO of the company you dream your work be published in.” his voice smooth he stares down at you with hungry blue eyes.

cursing yourself for wearing such an unprofessional outfit but how were you going to find out that you were going to make a book deal on a date.

“I don’t understand, I was suppose to meet with Mr. Thrombey-”

“oh have you not received any word? Harlan, my grandfather, passed away three months ago,” he says but every word in his voice sounds fabricated, remorseless.

your surprised once you feel a hand on your bare thigh, gripping it firmly and you shift away from Ransom. his tongue slowly licks his bottom lip when his blue irises catch yours, you had to admit they were pretty like Ari’s but they held something else- something darker.

keeping a safe distance away from you and Ransom you don’t move your eyes away from him, not cowering under his gaze but holding a stronger glance to him. you knew guys like this, you grew up surrounded by them and you even dated guys like him but not in a single situation did you let them take advantage of you.

so, besides sitting at the table trying to avoid a conversation you get this “meeting” over with. Verbally deflecting the flirtatious remarks of Mr. Drysdale. dodging the charming maneuvers of him asking you for more face to face meetings and you can sense the anger radiating off him. it only makes you wonder how long it takes just for Ari to get you a damn soda pop.

“i’m not sure if you’re qualified enough for a place at my establishment. you don’t seem to meet my criteria options and your work isn’t up to our standards,” he says looking down at his phone, typing a message to someone as if you weren’t worth his time.

“I don’t seem to meet your criteria options? you mean offering to take me out when you damn well know i’m already in a relationship? what is this? I thought we were talking about my book,” that sharp remark leaves him dropping his eyes back to his phone after he receives a message.

“my question is why are you with a man like Levinson? a sweet little lady like you with a busy man like him can’t treat you well, can’t pamper you well, can’t fuck you well-”

“we’re done here,” you feel your face getting hot with rage, you were wasting your precious vacation days on this. “and what about your book Ms. {y/l/n}?”

you’re up and away front the table yet you turn your head to meet his eyes again. no way in hell were you going to publish your book for a company runned by Mr. Drysdale.

“it seems as though your establishment isn’t up to my standards Mr. Drysdale,”

"d-daddy, am I sweet?" fluttering your lashes to him, a deep groan shakes against your throbbing cunt and you feel your organism washing over.

the continuous licking from the tip of his tongue tracing your hole and his thick fingers rubbing your puffy folds are removed just for his mouth to suck the sweet essence pooling your rose bud.

his sweet and innocent angel, so naughty and dirty at these times. such a sweet fucking treat, a sickeningly saccharine poison to easily overdose. sporting soft cotton candy thighs he doesn’t mind at all being in between them, licking the sweet sugary sweetness.

y/n l/n is a wish candy girl that’ll rot Ari’s teeth to his graveyard kind of girl and he doesn’t mind it one bit.

"like candy dolly. you're sweet like fucking sugar." you moan at the comment and he won't stop licking. sugar cotton floss, sticky candy apples, rainbow swirled lollies, and buttery caramel popcorn- you’re the whole damn candy bar and his head is so deep in Candyland he can’t think straight.

all he wants is to see is your pie crumble before him as you give him the custard filling. it’s what he’s been craving and the various messages that Ransom sent him whilst in the food line asking him if he could “take you off his hands” only increases the grind of his mouth and tongue on your bountiful mound.

"daddy's on a sugar rush," you giggle completely unaware of the situation Ari has dealt with but otherwise he smiles into your pussy.

god you always had the cutest shit to say when he’s eating your pussy and he fucking loves it, eats it up.

"bad princess, you're going to rot daddy's teeth," trying his hardest to not think about Ransom at a time like this, in his position with his mouth on you.

"mmh!- that’s so sad daddy. I always liked your smile," you moan and sigh, testing his patience once more you begin to lace your fingers through his long hair.

Ari shakes his head disapproving though he seems to occupied licking your saturation from your mound to bother telling you to keep your hands to yourself. keeping your fingers in his hair, his eyes meet yours in anger and with the glimmer of menace he knows so well in your eyes he should prepare for your reckoning.

with that a pretty petty smirk curls your lips as you yank his chocolate locks downward, shoving your dripping cunt as it grinds against his mouth. Ari doesn’t back away but invites it, pulling away slightly to glide his skilled fingers over the soaked folds avoiding your desperate hole.

a whimper slips out when Ari doesn’t give you the pleasure that’s lingering and dripping from your crux but only avoides you; but then again how long can Ari avoid your need for another release. burly arms wrap around your body’s waist as you pulls you onto his lap, letting you saunter your arms around his neck you stuff your face in his chest letting out a whinish sob.

“i’m sorry for misbehaving today Ari,” a bang of regret hits Ari’s chest.

this was all his fault for demanding you meet Ransom to see some opportunities for you when he himself knew it wasn’t the best idea.

“don’t be sorry angel, I went too far and you were right. I shouldn’t have forced you to meet him. shouldn’t have thought of this in the first place,” that little whisper followed with a kiss in between your brows.

he still can’t get the sleazy voice of Ransom offering to take you “off his hands” so you’d get a position at his company. feeling his sugar high blood boiling just remembering Ransom talking about you as if you were nothing but a pawn item for bargaining, right in front of you as if you had no say whatsoever.

“you know how I hate cutting corners, I wanna be successful because I worked hard. not because my boyfriend wanted me to take it easy and let a rich boy take care of it for me,” you whisper, head snuggling in Ari’s neck which he hums.

god, you may be stubborn but you were so loyal to your aspirations and independence. strong when he met you and stronger now, he always has admired that.

“remind me next time whenever I want to introduce you to someone who runs this relationship,” and you giggle at those words.

quickly straddling his lap arms wrapped around his neck you pull him closer till your nose rubs against his and your lips briefly touch his.

“I run this shit,” you cheekily whisper subtly licking his bottom lip and Ari takes your ass in his hands, lifting you up your legs wrap around his waist. “yes, you fucking do.” Ari growls and pulls your lips to his.

he’s all yours, your caring daddy, your carnival carnivore.

truly yours.

♡♡♡ thank you for reading! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this follow me to read more of my future works! ♡♡♡

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spacehologramcollection · 4 years

Text

Kombat Krew and Summer Headcanons: Part two.

Have some fluffy headcanons, before Smutty Saturday and Smuttier Sunday. I can hear you all, ‘But Smut Goblin, you’ve already written these’ Well, I have more ideas, and my thirst is now unrivaled. So, Summer with the Kombat Kast Part two: Electric fucking Boogaloo. Oh yeah, there’s also smut, I lied, they aren’t just fluffy.

I know I said I’d have more characters. But this was ten pages. TEN FUCKING PAGES! So, like Part 2.5 is coming up! Enjoy.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Shitposts about Kano. 18+ under the cut. I fixed Sindel and her retcon. I hope. GIFs do not belong to me. Either found on the Tumblr Gif finder thing, or google.

Fujin:

· What fresh fucking hell is this? Short haired Fujin is because he’s sick of this shit. His hair is sticking to his fucking back, he can’t cope with the warmth. So, he cut it. And now he looks like sin incarnate. Fuck yes Fujin.

· He’s an actual sweetheart when you both go for walks. If it’s too warm and he sees kids trying to fly their kites, he may, just may, summon a breeze. Because he’s actually a giant softie. When you ask him if that was him, he’ll tilt his head and look shocked. Him? Use his powers like that?! He wouldn’t dream… don’t tell Raiden.

· He loves discovering new mortal customs and culture. Day drinking still confuses him. Why is everyone drinking at 2 in the afternoon? He jokes Bo Rai Cho is having an effect on everyone. He’s not opposed to have a sneaky drink with you as the suns setting though. He does like to have a good time, as we’ve all heard in his intros. You’ve never seen him drunk, you’re pretty sure he can’t get drunk. But he has joked that the Elder Gods must never know, that you’re both drinking wine at 2pm.

· He’d love visiting winebars on an evening for nice relaxed drinks. Any bar with an outside area, bonus points if it’s got a balcony and a good view… he’d suggest Sky Temple, but relaxed drinks, turn into a bender with Bo Rai Cho. With Bo often suggesting skinny dipping. Raiden has consulted the Elder Gods, ‘Relaxed drinks’ are banned.

· Long walks. This man has stamina for days. He loves getting out into the middle of bum fuck nowhere and walking. Nature seems to love him and flocks to him. Every. Fucking. Time. You. Sit. Down. You look away, and when you look back, there’s just a fucking rabbit sat near you both. Fujin is feeding it grass. He looks so happy and content.

· If there’s any music/art/food festivals on, then you’re going, he wants to know more about mortals and their customs. So, any opportunities he’s going to want to take up. Nothing better than him playfully wrapping an arm around you and chuckling when you blush. He’s not that against PDA whilst you’re amongst mortals. He’s sure his brother wouldn’t tease. But Kung Lao would. And he doesn’t fancy a lecture from his brother. It’s not a lecture, but, it’s a lecture.

· As much as he loves exploring. He’ll also love those lazy warm days. Either sat comfortably close, talking about anything and everything. Or lounging out in the garden or your balcony with him.

· He’ll always make sure you’re hydrated. Like ‘Y/N, do you need some water? You look dehydrated. Please don’t get dehydrated.’ He’s a bit of a worried mother hen sometimes.

· He’ll also love watching the sunset, whilst you’re both comfortably laid together. You’re always unsure if the cool evenings breeze is from him or not. You like to think it is.

· Lots of cute photos. You take loads. He’s so photogenic. He’s always got such a happy genuine smile on his face. He’s got super long arms too, so he can always get the best angle.

· He secretly loves you both walking together, and you holding onto/your arm linked with his. He loves the way you kind of fall forward when you laugh, placing a hand on his as you do so. He’ll always flash you a half smile.

· The first time you had sex in the shower was when you were taking a cold shower the try and cool yourself down. He naturally wanted to join you, because this fucking heat can fuck off. Long story short, a bit of teasing, led to him fucking you against the wall of your shower. The shower didn’t cool you down at all. In fact, you were warmer in the shower than out of it.

· Lazy sex on the sofa too. He loves watching you ride his cock. He loves running his hands up your side, as you slowly ride his cock and savour every moment.

Havik:

· Is the weather making everyone uncomfortable? He had no idea. He fucking did, because he’s living for the chaos. He’s also used to this weather. Chaosrealm is either baking hot or extremely cold. So, he’s literally chilled with this. Why is everyone panicking? He’s sat there in sunglasses and drinking a Pina Colada. Such a little shit.

· He’s a hot mess all the time. But summer makes him an even hotter mess. You’ve never seen someone give less of a fuck till you met him. Great thing about Havik, he doesn’t give two fucks about anything. He’s so laidback. You don’t want to go out because it’s too warm? That’s fine. You want to go out and get wine drunk? He’s got two hands to carry two bottles. Whatever you want to do.

· Relaxed drinks in your garden, he’s burning the food on the grill, your neighbours are telling him to put a shirt on, because you don’t have a fence. Everyone is having a great time.

· He lives for terrible BBQs. He loves the disappointment more than the food. Your parents aren’t who this fucking behemoth in the most chaotic Hawaiian shirt is. No one is going to tell him his shirt is gawdy, because he’s so fucking tall.

· He knows all the lyrics to ‘We didn’t start the fire’ which is a skill and slightly concerning.

· Extremely good at limbo… too good. You’re watching as people’s faces switch from whimsical whimsy to fucking shocked. You’re sure someone was sick. Lives for the chaos.

· He hates going outside for long periods of time. His face itches and it’s too warm to wear everything normally. Badly. Loves Halloween though, because people always compliment how great his ‘Costume’ and makeup is.

· You’ve had a few comments on how handsome he is and laid back he is. He doesn’t get the ‘handsome’ thing, he prefers his face, when half of it’s you know, missing.

· He loves Summer and how warm it is. When you ask why, he admits ‘It’s because Hotaru will be miserable’ And then he’ll smile. Summer is his Christmas. Because Hotaru is miserable.

· When you can’t sleep, he’s awake, you’re not sure he needs to sleep. But he’s awake. You’ll have long chats, and, you both end up sat on your Livingroom floor, playing trivial pursuit. You’re sort of surprised by how much random knowledge he knows.

· He’ll go on walks with you. This is where he met his first goose. He fucking loves them. What are these hate filled, angry creatures? Why does he want an army of them? When one hisses at him and falls in the river, he’s so happy. The circle of Chaos goes on.

· Loves the beach. Because there’s loads of water. He fucking loves it. Ready to jump in as soon as he sees you. Pulls you in and you both swim for ages. He loves watching the waves crash against the shore with you, your head on his shoulder, whilst he draws circles… or squiggles on your leg.

· Summer sex with him is so easy going. You’re sure you always end up fucking him in your car more than usual. You’re down to fuck on the way back from a day out? Fucking pull over, he’s good to go.

· Don’t let him drive. He can’t drive.

· Havik fucks hard and he once broke your headboard with his grip… and two fingers. But that’s fine, he just put them back together all good.

Tomas Vrbada Smoke:

· He’s not a fan of this shit. He’s not overly bothered about the heat, it’s his hair. It’s sticking to his back and he doesn’t like it. Has asked Bi-Han for a hug. He just wants to feel cold.

· Queue the manbun. He’s not cutting his hair. He loves it too much. So, hair is up and tied back. Which only elevates his hipster status… and makes him look that little bit hotter. Burns hotter than the weather.

· He’ll always put on sunscreen. He burns very easily. Way too easily. No tan. Just burns. He does get a slight dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He’s not overly keen on them… but you think their cute. He starts to like them a little bit more when you remark how cute they are… and when you run your finger over them.

· He’ll love doing something a little adventurous in summer. Which surprises you. He’s normally pretty introverted and wanting to relax and lounge. He’ll love doing something like hiking in the hills or taking long walks along a river. He just lives strolling, hand in hand, if it’s not too warm, and chatting genuine shit.

· Imagine: Smoke, grey short-sleeved t-shirts, some cropped jeans, a good pair of hiking boots (Probably timberlands, the hipster) and a grey flannel jacket wrapped around his waist. Fucking hell. I need a fan!

· Cute dates to cafes, where you both either talk about what you’re reading, or you both go to read. Said café dates can also be in the park with a takeaway ice coffee. Smoke is a hipster, fight me on this. You’re both looking up at the sky, laid arm on arm, head to head, whilst watching the clouds go by. You love moments like this and you both feel so content.

· If you can ride a bike and are into that shit. He wouldn’t be opposed to having a bike ride, either along a canal or river. Somewhere that’s got a nice even off-road trail, with shade, nice scenery and is easy going. He’ll always make sure to pack lots of snacks, water and also sunscreen. Lots of sunscreen. He’ll plan a huge day out for you both, with lots of stops to see sights along the way. It’s all going great until he gets a bug in his mouth. Then he remembers why he hates the outdoors.

· If gets too warm, you’re both going to the Lin Kuei temple. Smoke doesn’t care. You can live his room. He’s got a kettle and plenty of cup of noodles. Kuai thinks it’s nice that Smokes found someone. Bi-Han teases, because what kind of older brother would he be? Bi-Han totally views Smoke as a younger brother. He comes up with a cute ship name and he makes sure everyone refers to you both by it.

· Loves the beach. Loves drinking iced tea at the beach. He’s under a big umbrella though. Sat in the shade, sipping his tea, reading his book, looking absolutely fine as fuck. People fall into ditches watching him lounge around. Bi-Han wanted to come with you both. Suns out guns out. He totally throws a bucket of water on him, saying he needs to cool the fuck down. And throws the bucket at him. Only to proceed to fall flat on his face.

· Relaxed afternoon drinks at some hipster bar. He’s drinking an IPA. He doesn’t give a shit what you think… he really does. But it’s too warm for a hot chocolate.

· He’s not overly fond of sex if it’s really warm. But saying that, on those cooler evenings, he’ll love just having you ride his cock. It’s soft, gentle, with a lot of touches and caresses. He loves you and loves spending time with you. He’ll also love the sight of your body in the moonlight. That slight summer breeze cooling you both down. The sound of the city below you, drowning out the moans.

Kabal:

· Pre-Burn Kabal is so hyped for summer. The moment that barometer or the weather says it’s slightly warm. That’s it. He’s wearing cropped shorts, showing off those finely tuned calves, and wearing a vest that may as well not be a vest, because side-boob.

· He totally as a duck barometer on his desk, that turns yellow when it’s supposed to be warm. ‘Sorry Kano, can’t work, Mr Quack says it’s going to be sunny. You know what that means’ Queue everyone sighing, because they know their in for a month of awful outfits.

· You notice he slows down a lot in the summer. ‘Babe, papa is out of shape’ is the most uttered phrase for him. He’s used to the heat, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be speedy. He wants to savour every moment of his favourite season, with his favourite person.

· He’s a mix of lazy and energised. He’ll want to go for long walks in the park, the woods, the river, the beach. But he’ll also want to lounge around in his underwear, AC on, whilst you both watch shit TV and binge watch bad films.

· Drives at 2 am in the morning, because he wants a really cold drink, and he knows this place that does really good slurpees. Queue, some very bad summer music. If you have to listen to ‘Steal My Sunshine’ One more fucking time, you’re going to scream. The slurpee is pretty good.

· He’ll also tease your thighs on the way back home. Which leads to you giving him a blowjob whilst he drives. Which leads to him having to pullover and fuck you in the backseat. Lord have mercy he can’t cope.

· He’s really good at BBQ you’re so surprised. You both have two people BBQs, you’re both sipping on cocktails, having fun, listening to terrible music. Annoying your neighbours who don’t want to hear his shit music. He’ll love spinning you around and picking you up over his shoulder and carrying you back inside. Just so you can make out on the couch.

· Prank calling Kano at 2 in the morning. With very unfunny jokes. But it’s funny, because it’s Kano and it’s winding him up.

· Nothing better than walking into the living room and seeing a near fully naked Kabal on the sofa. Sprawled out, glistening skin, playing on his Playstation. Glasses on and a lazy smile. God.

· If you wear shorts, he’s going to be very distracted. Loves your ass in them. And will always give it a discreet and cheeky squeeze. He’ll always lean in to whisper and tease you, about what he’s going to do when you both get back.

· Going to the beach or swimming is always fun. He’ll totally drag you into the pool and splash you.

· He’s so glad his hair is fairly short. Because who’s got the time in this heat.

· Cute dates to diners and relaxed drinks on the kitchen floor. Because it’s cool, and you can both eat ice cream from the tub.

· Post burns everything is different.

· I still headcanon he’s not a massive fan of his body and his skin is hypersensitive to the heat.

· He’ll love you rubbing sunscreen affectionately onto his skin, or maybe rubbing a balm to try and ease it. If you’re whispering sweet nothings, or how much you love his body, whilst doing this, it’ll make him so fucking happy. He wants to feel loved.

· Sometimes, the gentle rubs, turn into teasing rubs, and then into needful grabs. Which leads to some pretty intimate and passionate sex. Lots of body worship and lots of caresses.

· He will want to stay in more in Summer. His skin will feels like it’s on fire and it won’t be comfortable. He will not dress casually in the summer when out in public. But when that confidence returns, he’ll be back to wearing next to nothing on the sofa.

Bi-Han:

· He can handle this better than Kuai. Or so he says. He hates it really. He fucking hates this warmth and this weather. He wants to be cold. You’ve caught him threatening to climb into the fridge or the chest freezer.

· Endearing whines from him. He loves the excuse however, that gets to lounge around in next to nothing. Queue you coming back from work to see him on your couch, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. Complaining that he’s melting. He knew he was hot, but he didn’t think he was this hot! You hate and love that joke.

· He’s eaten all your ice cubes, ice cream and ice lollies. He’s trying to cool down, but nothing is working. When you suggest maybe going to back to Arctika, he’s not down for that. He wants to stay here with you… that and going back, would confirm to Kuai that he was right and Bi-Han was wrong. He ain’t having that shit!

· He’s constantly taking ice cold baths and showers. But nothing is helping. But on the bright side, you’ve got an unlimited supply of ice cubes. He sees yours are melting, boom, have some more.

· He does manage to lower the temperature of your house, but he really has to focus, and he hates his concentration face. Kuai makes him look really majestic, Bi-Hans looks confused, sad and angry all rolled into one. He ain’t a fan of it.

· He does love spending time with you though. He’ll love wrapping his arms around you out in public. Barely anyone knows he’s the Grandmaster of The Lin Kuei so why the fuck does it matter?

· He’ll love going on cute bar dates, he looks pretty fucking FINE in a suit. All dressed up, looking like a whole three course meal. He’ll love sitting on a balcony, with some good food and a few glasses of wine.

· Ultimate tease. His hands are cooler than any drink, and he’s an obsession with your legs in summer. He’ll love running a hand up and down your thighs, cheekily squeezing your ass in shorts. He’s very discreet, which makes you call him a Ninja, he’ll wrinkle his nose at that. He’s no ninja, he’s just good at been discreet.

· He’s also a fan of sitting on the kitchen floor because it’s cool. You’re both listening to music in your kitchen, sat on the floor, eating ice cream and drinking frozen drinks.

· Summer sex for Bi-Han involves a lot of him surprising you with some sweet kisses. Which get heated. Very heated. He’ll end up picking you up, placing you on your kitchen counter and helping you get rid of some layers. The counters cool against your skin, and he’s still pretty cool, so it’s all round refreshing.

· He loves the beach. Not only because he loves showing off his physique, but you look cute and he likes the thought of the water been cool.

· Water is saltier than he is. But he doesn’t give a shit. He can swim pretty well, and he’s soon out pretty far. It’s so good to finally be cold.

· Low-key drags Smoke and Kuai with you both to the beach. Smoke is chilling, vibing with his book and the little sandcastle version of the temple he built. Kuai is fucking miserable.

· Bi-Han will chuck you into the sea if you ask. If you want to be Yeeted, he will yeet you as far as you want to go. He’ll also playfully push you off the pier and jump in after you.

· Small kisses in the water, his arms around your waist.

Kuai Liang (Sub Zero):

· He still hates this. Nothing has changed. Summer can go fuck itself. He handles the complaints better than Bi-Han but he doesn’t handle the heat better. The only upside, he gets to spend some quality time with you. With no Bi-Han interrupting. Because he’s the worst.

· He still doesn’t let on how bad he’s feeling it. He’s there, stoic, teeth gritted, whilst you’re having lunch. You decide to surprise him with a cold bath, the AC on the lowest setting, and ice in the bath. You leave him a note saying ‘Surprise and enjoy’ he fucking loves you. His heart actually may do a backflip.

· When you get back, he’s less teeth gritted and more relaxed. He’ll take your hands in his and bring you in for a very soft kiss. You’re in your apartment so no one can see. It’s all cool!

· He still tries to dress in his Grandmaster gear. He’s trying to remain stoic and trying his hardest to be his usual self. You remind him, that no one but you can see him in your apartment.

· He will bite the bullet eventually and will shed his upper half of clothes. He’s currently sat in the comfy pair of short joggers you bought him. He’s a Grandmaster but he’s going to melt unless he changes. This is no different than when he’s in his relaxing gear back at the temple.

· Your neighbours are in for a treat. When he wakes up, does his morning meditation in front of the window… only to realise the curtains and door are open, your neighbours are watering their flowers, and they are just stood there. Staring. Wondering how one man can be so chiselled and fine looking. Que him, leaning over to close the curtains. ‘Y/N. Did you open the curtains whilst I was meditating?’ ‘Yeah, why?’ ‘I don’t think your neighbours appreciate seeing me’ Oh, if only he fucking knew.

· His bonus for living through his own personal living hell, you’re dressed in your cute summer clothes, and you constantly want to be close to him in your apartment. He does love how close you are to him. He loves when you’re relaxing on the sofa, and your head is on his shoulder. He will watch you from the corner of his eye, a small smile tugging on his lips. Just as his arm snakes around you more.

· He doesn’t drink a lot. He isn’t against it. But then you introduce him to a Long Island Iced Tea. He can’t taste the tea but it’s pretty nice. He’ll love lounging with you on your balcony, watching as the evenings sky bleeds into the nights sky.

· He’ll tell you about the constellations as a refreshing breeze washes over you.

· He’ll love going for walks with you. He loves been out and exploring more of Earth in a more relaxed way. He’s been to many places, but they’ve always been mission related.

· He may not be able to last long with the heat, but he does love wandering around the Forests and woods. He’ll spout random facts about the wildlife and fauna you pass.

· Sex with Kuai when it’s warm is often difficult. He’s feeling flustered by the warmth and struggling. You do offer to run him a cold shower. He’ll sit there, asking if you wish to join him. You’re not going to pass that up. It’ll start innocent, with him just holding your body. Musing how he’s missed your touch.

· A few kisses later and you’ve got him all flustered again. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on, when you slowly sink to your knees and take his cock into your mouth. At first, he’s like ‘Y/N, we can’t do this in the shower’ But, even all of that stoic training can’t help him here. His moans betray him, hands hovering over your hair, before you tangle them for him. This leads to him showing you some of that strength of his and fucking you against the wall of the shower.

· After, you’re both panting messes, and you hear him chuckle. He comments on how he guesses the weather has bonuses. That’s as horny of a comment you’ll ever get from him.

Kung Lao:

· He’s actually fine in this heat, why do you ask? Kung Lao can handle heat, who said he couldn’t? Their lying. Okay, they’re not lying. He hates it. He fucking hates it. He’s confused at how Raiden can be stood there, completely unphased, and Fujin can be there with long fucking hair. They are winding him, and he knows it.

· Liu Kang is fine. But he’s fucking not. Of course, he’s fucking fine with the heat.

· He does love spending the time with you though. I mean, you look pretty cute in those shorts, and he loves how you smile and your so giddy about going out places.

· His arrogance will be the death of him. Death will be caused by melting. He won’t admit how much he’s not overly fond of the heat. But when you see him staring into the fridge, you know he’s too warm. You suggest going for a swim and going to the beach.

· Best idea in the fucking world. He can swim pretty well, so he’s dragging you into the water, before you can even pull off your clothes. He’s like ‘Lets go Y/N. Lets go.’ He’ll splash you, like the dick he is, he can give but can’t take when you splash him back.

· Will feign falling over, only to have you rush over to him. He’ll then pick you up and spin you around and launch you into the water. You both piss about far too much. Lord Fujin is smiling down, so happy and proud, Lord Raiden is face palming so hard. The Elder Gods couldn’t give a fuck, their too warm as well.

· He’ll always insist you take photos, bonus if it’s a polaroid so he can take the photos back. He will continuously show Liu Kang, Raiden and Fujin. He acts like the heat wasn’t that bad… Fujin knows the truth but he’s not going to say shit.

· He’ll love going for small evening walks with you, just as the suns starting to set, you’re both strolling beside a rive. A small breeze is blowing past you. When you’re not looking, he’s thanking Fujin for been a bro and having his back. ‘Thank you…’ ‘What was that Kung Lao?’ ‘Nothing Y/N. You look very pretty. How’s that breeze?’

· He loves the sunshine though and will want to make the most of going out in it. Que you both spending as much time as possible outside. Whether you’re just lounging, walking or exploring.

Sindel: (The Smut Goblin will do you right, since 11 just retconned you.)

· Outworld is naturally warmer than Earthrealm. She knows this and understands that it may be hard to cope. She’s there, looking ethereal, not a single hair out of place, barely breaking a sweat. Whilst you’re boiling. She thinks it’s cute.

· She’ll always shake her head when you deny how warm you are. She’ll make sure you’ve always got fresh water and are kept cool. If it’s warmer than usual, she’ll make sure you’ve got baggy clothes to keep you cool and make sure you’re okay.

· She’s not mean by any standard, but she will tease you ever so slightly about it. If you’re slightly red from the heat, she will tease you about it. ‘Y/N, blushing to see me already.’ Will tease you discreetly. And she will always remark about how she didn’t know she had this effect on you.

· She’s discreet. She can’t be embarrassing Kitana like that. She ain’t about that life. Kitana fully supports your relationship. She thinks it’s nice her mother has found someone to spend her life with. Shao Kahn who? Who’s that dick? Never heard of Shags Cars.

· She’ll personally request you join her when she goes to try and cool down at the warmest part of the day. The pool is surrounded by blooms and lush scenery, scenery you didn’t know existed in Outworld. Because, it does look barren.

· You’re not arguing that it’s a mirage, until she strips down and asks you to join her. Everything is pleasant and cool. She asks you all about Earthrealm whilst you’re chilling in the cool water.

· She wants to know more about you and yourself. And what better place than whilst taking a leisurely dip.

· She’ll love lounging around on one of the balconies in the evening. Wine in hand, whilst you’re leant against her. She’ll plant a gentle kiss on your head, before asking if you’re comfortable. Very caring, because you know, she’s actually a caring person. NetherRealm seemingly forgot this shit. Let me remind them.

· Sex with Sindel is fucking WILD. She can go from a pillow princess (Queen?) to a fucking dom in seconds. One minute she’s sat on your face, trying to stifle a moan, less anyone hear. The next, she’s got you flipped over, pinned down, whilst she attacks your cunt with her very skilled tongue.

· You forget about the heat of the day and focus on the heat that’s pooling in your stomach for a few moments. Once you’re spent and wasted, she’ll always remark ‘I told you I could make you forget the heat my dear’

Geras.

· For a man that has lived an eternal life and has lived through the heats of many summers. He’s never got to experience them because of ‘Can I see the manager’ Kronika. Fuck her.

· He can cope with the heat of the day and is pleasantly surprised when there is a refreshing breeze. He’s so happy to be able to enjoy the summer and the sunshine, without the Titan of complaints, bossing him about.

· He’s blissfully unaware of how mortals struggle with heat.

· When you go on nice walks, to show him more of Earthrealm, and so you can both take cute photos. He’s walking miles head, happy and curious about everything. ‘Isn’t this nice Y/N. What a refreshing breeze… Y/N?’ Turns around to see you in a puddle on the ground. Que him turning back and picking you back up.

· He loves experiencing different cultures and will love you exploring different parts of your city and trying new things. Kronika was a bitch and didn’t give him any downtime.

· He’s loving this new lease on life, the fact he doesn’t have to go on bullshit missions for the Elder God of bullshit and family problems.

· He’ll love cuddling up with you, whilst you both chat, and he tells you all the stories of his life. You name a time period, and he has lived through and experienced it. Bonus if you’re doing a history degree.

· ‘Actually, my boyfriend was there and that’s not what happened. Give me my 100% on my test’

· He’ll be a little confused why you always take photos of him at first. Until you explain you’re creating memories. Then he’ll be constantly posing for your photos with you. He takes the cutest selfies. He’s got such a warm smile and some gorgeous eyes. You’re the envy of all of your friends.

· When you suggest going to the beach, he’s all for it, he loves the sound of the waves and finds it soothing.

· He makes the most impressive sandcastles. It puts everyone else’s to shame on the beach. He’s not even trying which is the best part.

· Geras is a tall guy. So, when he wades out into the ocean, you’re stuck behind in a bit of a shallower end. He wants you to come with him, so you’re getting picked up, and he’s got you on his shoulders. Your toes skimming the waters edge. He loves hearing your laugh, and you swear you hear him chuckle when you fall in.

· He often remarks how he’s no longer eternally alone. And it makes your heart skip a beat.

· He loves life in the slow lane, time is no object to him, so why not take things slow?

· He’ll prefer slow and passionate sex during the warmer months. He knows you’re warm and he wants to make sure you’re okay. So slower and softer sex is on the cards. But if you want him to fuck you rough, then he is down for that, and the man has skill.

· Geras needs a hug and I think we need to give him one.

579 notes · View notes

pepsicup · 3 years

Text

Chaotic Commentary: We Have Always Lived In The Castle

Welcome to my thought process when I watch movies!

The arrival of a cousin with ulterior motives threatens the claustrophobic and isolated world of two sisters and their uncle. (Oooof, bitch. I already know Sebastian is gonna look damn fine in this movie.)

Watched: April 22nd, 2021

Opening

Alrighty, right off the bat, the opening music giving me very much throwing it back at summer solstice 1531. Might fuck around and show some ankle, who knows

Um miss girl, first off all, i know damn well you aren't wearing a stark white shirt and capris shorts after labour day. And secondly, you gotta work on your self care babygirl, you are looking rough

Okay, so noted; there is clearly something off about this girl because i know when i personally rummage through family keepsakes, i don't have a hannibal look on my face

I don't know if you guys know this but your house...it needs a little 5 minute crafts, diy, extreme makeover: home edition treatment

Ohhhh baddie alert, baddie alert, baddie alert. That chick’s silhouette already got me acting up. Yes sink low to the ground girl, drop it down for me

Short monologue before being cut in half by that creepy ass stare, gotcha. I literally needed more nightmare fuel, thanks bestie

‘A change is coming, and nobody knows it’ how much more change can you get, your house is literally in shambles girl one battle at a time

First Act

Ah, here we are, title screen. Very cottagecore.

Timeskip: What did happen last tuesday, I must know...the suspense is suffocating

I’m not one to judge, but that record doesn’t sound like a life-coaching audio.

Oh heyyy there's a kitty!

Yes hun, that is a working tap, your telekinesis is redundant. Eleven from stranger things eat your heart out.

Alexandra! Babyyy Daddario! Step on my face or domesticate me into a housewife, i beg of you. The uncle tho, he isn't it.

Chill out Mary, you’re just running errands. Why is she walking in a slow-mo naruto run like that. She is giving me a schizophrenic Napoleon Dynamite vibes.

Wait...is her name Meerkat?

Oh, its Merricat...nah i like mine better lmaooo.

Her inner monologue is making cackle because it sounds like a Gabbie Hanna original piece 💀

Okay what i got from the coffee shop scene was Stella is also a grade A baddie, I want to commit double homicide on those two douches, and i want to invite miss meerkat to my lunch table because awwww. She's just different leave her alone.

Wow, the village folk really know how to talk shit huh? Well, I can eat rats like all of them for every meal of the day, plus snackie snacks. Go fuck yourselves, thoroughly.

God that family needs to smoke some weed or something. Why do I feel like the sisters are about to kiss...and the uncle sounds like he means risky business. Very bad vibes here, back to you in the studio.

Ooooh, miss daddy really knows how to roll her tongue huh? Again, very much cottagecore ‘history says they were just really good friends’ aesthetic. And so many bops in this movie, kinda feel the need to throw it back or do the renegade.

Why do I feel like this next scene is just a posh episode of gossip gorl. Sipping tea and spewing nonsense. Rum cake? No thanks, babygirl. Oh but here comes uncle wanky, whisking away Lucille with his talk of arsenic.

Yes. Speak 8 course meal to me daddy...fuck, now I’m hungry. Okay the uncle isn’t so bad I guess, very poetic and philosophical. Yes, very nice. Sucks that he was roofied and turned to a professor X cosplay for solace, though.

Timeskip: Last Thursday huh? We are in for a rollercoaster folks.

*she glares in rhubarb pie and possibly shelved jam*

OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING, I SAW THE SIDE/BACK OF HIS HEAD AND MY HEART STOPPED. He has a very nice shaped head, yes, pleasing to the eye.

Hi sirrrr, I have a pocket full of horses, trojan and some of them used. Pls let me ride you in the little red corvette. Pick me, Charles, choose me, love me.

Real talk, I feel so bad for Mary Katherine (I literally almost typed Gallagher at the end lmaooo thanks molly shannon) she is obviously struggling with something and Constance looks like she is very traumatized.

But I still think there’s something not right about Mary. Miss girl no one walks like that (thats a lie, it would probably be me after a night with Bucky barnes) and I love me a little witchy goodness. But not enough to start locking up my bedroom like it’s Area 51 and having secret rituals at my super exclusive, diy bohemian temple in the middle of the woods.

OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE SPARE ME FROM THE FEELING I JUST FELT IN THIS ROOM ON THIS VERY DAY IN APRIL, MAMA FUCKING MIA

when he stood up—bitch I’m gone, I’m his whore now. Sorry, I am owned by this man. Bye I was literally launched off earth for a moment there, kinda chillin’ in dead space, standby.

Okay I took a break for a moment. I’m cool, I’m collected, play button is a go. NOPE, GIRL MY MOUTH IS FOREVER OPEN, AND I DUNNO IF I WAS MY BODY TELLING ME TO KNEEL IN FRONT OF HIM OR WHAT—SOMEONE HOLD ME

Current state: I am hugging my knees and wasting away under my blankets. I paused and played and paused and played because I cant go more than 2 seconds of looking at him.

Okay, I’m all good.

All I keep saying is no...no ...NO, louder and louder every time he opens his mouth, ‘got a hug for your cousin?’ um not a cousin but yes, right bitch for that job present for attendance. Here ✋🏻

Girl I’d run like the wind, too, this kitty isn’t gonna dry itself, nyuuuooom, double time! Fall in, Rogers. Gotta keep up. 🏃🏻‍♀️

Timeskip: Last Friday night, yeah we dance on table tops and we took too many shots, I think I gave Charles a blo-oh-job, whoops—

Ah, see I knew there was something fruity about Charles, hopefully he kisses a boy in this. Would love to see that.

Uh oh, the way he just pops that fruit into his mouth...I fine, I’m totally fine. Mentally I am... the way he chews if making my oral fixation quake

‘now that’s a handsome cat’ sir if you don’t—he wonders why he is such a fucking meme, this is why Sebastian.

‘Jonassss’ which one of the brothers, tho?

Ah yes, the best of friends; Meerkat, Frankie Jonas and a middle-aged Carter Baizen. Ugh mega sad that this is the closest I will get to see Charles pet a puthycat though.

Why don’t you slap my ass like a flapjack pancake, Charles. You won’t.

OMG so quirky 🤪when you steal his shirts 🥺🤪🥰

Who the is venice, Charles? Who, who, what are you, a fucking owl? WHO’S VENICE AND WHY IS SHE YOUR FAVOURITE?! sorry i had to get that out of my system, iconic cinema shall not be overlooked.

all this commentary is fresh from my chicken breast brain by the way

All i heard out of that little inspirational, facebook-esque speech at the dinner table was was shoes. Also peep Frédéric Chopin banging in the background noise, a little Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 to keep party goin’

Charles...that is your cousin.

It isn't a PHASE, Charles. Let him be emo over his dead brother and great tragedy of losing his legs then gaining the likeness of sir patrick stewart. Therefore, he will not forget.

Oh...i’ll sit down i guess.

I COULD LITERALLY—...I could literally watch him eat for the rest of my life pls sir have murthy

Grocery boy...hmmm reminds me of a yee ole jingle i heard in my youth. What can i say, I’m a connoisseur of the classics my friends.

Sidenote: I’m getting vietnam flashbacks to singing ‘carol of the bells’ at the elementary christmas concert. I am overstimulated. And not in a good way.

Charles...do not add that newspaper clipping of your cousin to your personal spank bank, pls.

Timeskip: Last weekend, alright. What did we do; brewski’s with the boys? Hockey night in canada? one legged race? I’m dying to know...

Very nice form charles, you’ve almost dug right through the wood. A real mans-man here if we are being honest. I’ve never in whole life seen a construction crew do better than Charles Blackwood.

I could watch him do this all day.

Pearl necklace huh? Me too, girl.

‘I’m beginning to think, that my spells no longer work’ 8-year-old me, sitting in a bath full of salt and a charm bracelet of rock candy dissolving in the water after my fifth attempt to transform into a mermaid

Aw, but i would sit out there and eat a sandwich with Meerkat. Hell yeah, we can go halfsies on a BLT no problem 😢

oh...

oh no...Charles.

Here is my first sexual grievance, the way he carried that sack over his shoulder, mmm yes i have been fed most wonderful nutrients. BUT NEXT?! THE TWO FINGERS LINE AND THE FUCKING MOTION HE DID AND SAYING SHE WASN’T GOING DEEP ENOUGH PLS

what is with this man and gold...alright debutante Lance Tucker simmer down.

And the ‘hot’ thing, ‘needing a bath’? miss daddy is working it in for her cousin real hard, sweet home alabama all summer long

HEY LET'S ALL GO SWIMMING IN MY POOOL, AND BY POOL I MEAN BATHTUB, AND BY SWIMMING I MEAN SEXXXX--

Oh, so there’s this ominous whistling, nice, a blade kink, cool, and Charles serving body audi audi audi audi all the damn day. Hi sirrrrr. God i just love his chest, man. Its just so buff. He looks this good for what? And in front of his cousin...ew? um child, anyways so

the way my stomach clenched in the most uncomfortable way just shows that my body doesn't care about my comfort when it comes to thirsting and simping. He didnt have to look at her like that or fucking back her out

oh to be a chair...

esteemed audience member sac is a little tired of hearing cousin charles and cousin mary call each other cousin charles and cousin mary

Charles, eat your fruit and shut the fuck up. But also, hi sirrr.

I see you, Constance, I see you...tig ol’ bitties 👀

Timeskip: It’s Monday without the benefit of a sebastian stan, full frontal nude scene...smh

baby, just give up on the step and go fondle some plants please, i’m begging, stop at once. or, i spoke too soon?

If i have to hear sebastian say constance one more time i am going suck down all the arsenic i can find...he just says it so weird lmaoooo i hate it

Climax (make it happen, Charles 🙄)

Aw i love fruity, coffee shop, car men AU’s

that shot of him looking over his shoulder single handedly sent to into a spiral...what the fuck are you doing to me, Charles.

uh oh...one of the car men is madddd

OH OKAY WELL, WELL, FUCK ME, WELL

why dont you just come up behind her and literally growl in her ear what the fuck, Charles. I swear sebastian plays his characters just to make women go feral sometimes.

Sir! Sir! This IS A WENDY’S, SIR, THAT’S YOUR COUSIN--

NOT THE MILK CARTON

PLEASE I’M LITERALLY KILLING MYSELF LAUGHING, WHY IS HE DRINKING IT LIKE THATTTTT

that little ‘aahh’ at the end when he drank it all got me, oh my fucking jesus. Hold on i need a minute, my stomach hurts from laughing my guts out.

Oooof but the eye-contact and the expressions are computing mega well to my chicken breast brain so fanfics will be written and sin will be committed so help me lord jesus on the cross almighty, amen (sorry i’m ex-catholic, its just my go-to)

pfffft that is so iconic, Mary is literally gathering sticks in the pitch black woods while Charles basically puts down his own wood for her sister to pick up on fjgrebgnuierijiojfd, i’m dying

why does he have to pull that poetic, sensitive stud act...just give us the goods charles, slap someone i’m begging you

This is like star wars all over again, they served head-on into on-coming incest traffic

*holds up finger guns* sir, ma’am i’m gonna need you to put your hands behind your heads and get down on your knees exactly 8.92 feet apart, this is a citizen’s arrest

but, i too would like to slow dance and make plans with him. Maybe we’ll go deep in the garden with two fingers on top of the rhubarb, maybe we will commit arson, who knows...

Meerkat continues to be my every mood, she really said:

Timeskip: Oh shit, its tuesday ya’ll, grab your party hats it’s about to get funky

Charles, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop yelling out her name i will suffocate you between my thighs, electrocute your arm until it falls limp and shoot you with a grenade launcher, don’t make me do it

And yes, am i currently squirming in my seat because of the way he is smoking the pipe and hollowing his cheeks, what about it?

Second Act

Yes baby girl! you trash that room like ozzy osbourne and tommy lee did to that motel on tour in 1982. Go, Meerkat, go!

Charles holding those sticks in both hands is the equivalent to a 1-year-old holding those little cocktail weenies, it has the same energy and i’m dying over it

Try to tell me it's not the same picture:

You can't.

Oh shit, its getting heated now. Mary’s in trouble.

Everything isn’t making sense at the same time its all coming together, i am confused, frightened, a little bit horny, but mostly just entirly overwhelmed. Mom...can you come pick me up, i’m scared.

Oh my god! knew it! i knew i knew the actor that plays the uncle, he's the creepy thin man from charlie's angels! Wowza, what a world.

Oh no...i’m flashing back to vietnam again, the fucking bells dude i’m tellin’ ya. There is so much going on, i feel everything but nothing at the same time, help...

NOOOO HER ARTSY BOHEMIAN WITCH COTTAGECORE JARS! THE OUTRAGE! SHE CANT CAST SPELLS ANYMORE, HER POWERS ARE LOST!

a CURSH! NOT A CURSH!

What in the criss angel mindfreak is going on in here on this day? Who are they? And why is the broad such a bitch...oh is she the mom? My bad. Pops seems nice though. Yes, indeed.

Awh, hiii frankie jonasss. 🥰

Oh here we go with the eating again. If i have to see him flex his jaw one more time i’m gonna go feral. And on the usual, loud and obnoxious noises like the ones he is making when he takes a bite, or chew or swallow food/a drink like the who fucking milk debacle. But he just makes it okay? Maybe its just my eating disorder bias coming into play but how can someone be sexy while eating, or smug? Like huh???

‘Why dont you like me?’ WHY DO YOU CARE CHARLES, GODDAMN IT

Is he playing the sad boi card reallyyy? You want someone to say thank you? Put yourself to good use then. I can think of a lot of ways you can use that mouth better than going on these strange mini-monolgues like some tortured writer with a kink for control...and breatheee

And she’s back with the Eleven telekinesis, sweet kat that is a meer you have running water! Pfft she is actually dressed like eleven too, like what. Oh wait did i just uncover the plot?

Breaking News: Eleven holds a whole town hostage.

Jesus with Charles eating, Mary getting the sudden urge commit arson, miss daddy looking so fucking fine that i would literally throw myself in front of a bus just to get her attention, and uncle X with his weird theatre act: my blood pressure must be through the roof

Wow hes got a temper, but poor connie, shes a hot mess lmaooo

Oh god...oh god okay this is happening, oh wow, you didn't even get through dinner first charles jesus. Listen, i never give choking up on the first date but if i had the chance...i don't want any sausages other than his, i said what i said

and it keeps going?? ummmmmm i ummmmmm, i don’t have words. I was not warned of this savagery and i don’t know if i’m going to be able to write for anyone other than Charles for a whillllleeee, hun, apologies

Good to know he also uses his super soldier senses in another universe to sense a fire deep in his loins like the dramatic king he is

Now he is driving away and laying on the horn, nice

Oh ho ho, yessssss my coffee shop baddie, my black coffee queeeeeennn Stelllaaaaa. She said, Superhero mode real quick.

ummmm uncle x with the sick mustache...thats certain death? I mean if you are into that sort of thing, have at it.

Okay still driving, people are crying over the bed burning into dust, the heavily disable man is still smoking the good stuff...got it.

Big red truck go Honk, Honk.

Oh here come all the old, white men. Lovely.

‘oh-hooo yeah, thats a fireeeee’ as far as old white men go, that was pretty fucking funny to me

Yeah its gonna be in the arms of the angels real soon if you girls dont get the fuck out????

‘We’re firemen’ and i’m a homo, you want a gingerbread cookie or something? put out the damn fire PLEASE 💀

Ummm you’re too late, i was already wet before you got that camera spray shot, dawg, oh but that poor camera guy lol

AND WEI’RE GOONA LETIT BÜRN BÜRN BÜRN BÜRN, everybody its a singalong

hi, yeah...fuck off, jim

NO YOU DUMB ASSHOLES YOU KNOCKED OVER STELLA MY COFFEE MAMA

charles, you greedy bastard i dont know if should be ashamed when i say that i would still let him top me quite violently even still

Wow this rave got out of hand really fast, i blame marilyn manson

another day, another professor X 😪🔫💀☠️🔥🔪 𝚛𝚒𝚙, 𝕗𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡

i swear to go if anything happens to either my coffee mama or baby miss daddy i will reign hellfire.

Oh so it takes a gunshot for Charles to do a 360 running man but not a jay gatsby meets canadian, hockey riot, emo rave. Gotcha. Hes a man with a code.

That’s what you get for hoeing after your cousin, constance. This is all your fault!

Ending

Timeskip: Ooohhh, yesturrrrdayyyy all my troubles seems so far away--

hunny that ain’t the moon, thats your super secret boho alter

Noooo the kitchennnn, that was my favourite room, other than the bathroom for obvious reasons, I hope the milk cartons are okay...👀

I guess meerkat isn't getting her num-nums, and charles is just going to have to live with charred fruit if he decides to come back

FRANKIE JONAS! THANK GOD!

Oohhere'ss the tea, it's about damn time! I called it! I knew ms variant mongoose was the one who did the fucky things! But i was shocked to find out that Mary was the favourite child over connie, hmm very much bad parenting

ooooh, knock knock, is it charlie-boy? oh, thats disappointing, its just that gossip chick and her husband, boooooo

Never again...never. We get it baby daddy.

oh? another knock? HAHAHAHAHA ITS THE FIRE GUY LMAOOO, what a king. He reminds me of stan lee!

What aare these people doing, they aren't goddess you give offerings to so that your crops will be plentiful, fuck off man. ANOTHER KNOCK..

and i opp-- herreeeees charlie!

‘friends’ sir you were halfway in her pantaloons, stop trying to act all innocent, the fuck. Wow hes really going for it huh?

did he just rip the chain off? Oh charles relax, its door, you don't need to moan like that.

Uhm, i love connie, so fuck you charles you twisted, manipulative burnt cornstalk of a human being. Oh yeah throw a hissy fit, that's real attractive, keep going, she’ll totally say yes.

Oh wait NO DON'T DO THAT, NO THAT'S A DOOR. And another door? NO GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BABY DADDY ALEXANDRA, SHES MINE.

YOU LITTLE BITCH BOY, GET OFF! WTF!

*standing ovation* give it up for meer-to-the-kat, bravo kid! OH NO HES DEAd, YOU CAN STOP NOW

hahahaha guess whos deep in the garden now, Charles.

Ooh and we are back to start, nice. Children, she's a seasoned murder, might wanna chill on the whole bit you got going on.

Good, smile andddd scene!

Final Thoughts

Okie Dokie, I actually liked this movie a lot.

The acting was absolutely phenomenal, especially on Alexandra’s Daddario and Taissa Farmiga’s part, the characters were so well played. They focused in on so different points of view in this story that it captured the chaos that they were living individually and as a group under one roof. It constantly kept you on edge with the strange nuances in their dialogue, unnerving pauses and the progression of the condition of each character.

It was great. The aesthetic was there, the small but necessary breaks with dark humour really kept the story flowing and most of all, the fervour. It was everywhere, in their emotions or outbursts like Charles at the dinner table and on the stairs, or the way the townspeople kept adding fuel to their own personal hell. And I must admit, it's hard to make characters like Jim the firefighter relevant, but every person that this story involves has a distinct purpose and significance to the plot.

The only negative thing I could think of was I just wish there was more, I wanted it to be longer so that the small gaps in the movie could have been powerful. Okay, what else. Yes, Charles Blackwood, despite all of...that, will make a great character for me to touch on and has a lot of interesting qualities that I will be sure to tap into. Oh! And the only reason why no one else is getting the stan award was that my coffee mama was the only character who wasn't off the rails or just a terrible waste of human life! We stan!

Hoped you enjoyed this and my questionable thought process, I’m gonna go now...bye lol

Overall Score: 8.5/10

🏆 Honorary Stan Award: Stella Ella Ola, Clap Clap Clap. Periodt.

#we have always lived in the castle #castle daddy #sac reviews

20 notes · View notes

trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

marked

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, violence.

word count: 10748

description: soulmate!au; just because you’re meant to be together doesn’t mean it always works out that way. what happens when you’re not completely ready to meet your soulmate?

prompt: “that’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other”

note: happy belated birthday love, i hope this year finds you well and i hope you don’t get too hungover (sorry this took so long)

for @jbbuckybarnes;; birthday challenge

You’ve had their tattoo your entire life. That’s what you called it too. Their tattoo. It didn’t feel like yours. The tiny brand of their fated love. Whoever they were, they were already a fully formed adult by the time you were born. The nurse who wiped the blood and mucus off of your little body gasping seeing the soft little bloom on your chubby arm.

You parents had been a little alarmed. The tattoos forming once the partner was eighteen years old, the age gap startling. But the fates were to be trusted. So life went on.

At first when you were a little girl, you’d loved the little string of flowers on your forearm. You’d colored it in with markers and outlined it every day, but you didn’t understand what it was then. They were called bleeding hearts. The strand of them across your entire forearm.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to get it until you were an adult.” Her name was Amy. You didn’t get along with Amy. “Does that mean that you’re going to be with an old person?” A cackle from her group of friends. You sunk lower into your desk, covering your arm with your hand and pulling it in tight to your body.

It became something they’d tease you about for years.

The bleeding hearts that your Mother had planted, you came to resent them. The ones painted onto your childhood bedroom’s walls you’d begged them to be covered up. You started using makeup to cover up the black outline of the offending flowers, trying to gain some kind of normalcy.

It’s funny how a couple of cruel kids can totally change your outlook on something that should be so simple, so easy.

But it made you think, what if he was an old man? By the time you were eighteen he would be almost forty. That is, if he was exactly eighteen when you were born. There were possibilities outside of the norm, like usually people would be wondering what their partner was doing right now. What did they want to do with their lives? This person, whoever they were, man or woman, must have been alarmed that their flower never showed up. Their right arm staunchly blank until you yourself turned eighteen.

You wondered that night, as your family celebrated your birthday, as you blew out your candles, if they were just as panicked as you were.

The doctors stalled. Their movements halted, and the asset didn’t know why. What were they doing? New procedure? They murmured to each other. Passing by closely, a nurse resumed strapping him down, his bones still chilled from cryostasis. “Soulmate.” He heard.

It scratched at him from the back of his mind, the word. He’d heard it before. He knew what it meant of course, soulmates. He’d separated one from another many times. Instructed to dispatch one and let the other live, it didn’t matter which one.

He did his job, quickly and efficiently. He had to.

A mouth guard placed between his teeth and his heart began to race in a Pavlovian response. Fingers clenching and unclenching with anticipation. His legs and arms being restrained before the metal plates would close over his face and the pain would begin.

“I have a new mission for you,” Alexander Pierce. The man who was in charge. His boss. His master. “It’s ongoing. Concurrent with any other missions I ask of you, do you understand?” He felt himself nod, mind still scrambled, dazed. “You see this?” His wrist was harshly turned over, the black lines swirling around it he’d never seen before. “If you ever see this on someone else, this exact tattoo, you bring them here. Do you understand?” The asset’s eyes glazed over, unfocused. Pierce smacked him upside his head, gripping his face tightly and pulling his gaze into his. “Do you understand soldier?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The sun rose and set with no event. You hadn’t found him. Years passed and your life went on. The apprehension and the fear of finding him out there somewhere would never leave. Your friends found their soulmates, they got married, some even had kids now. And you were still alone.

“You don’t want to meet him?” Your best friend, Nia asked. She wrapped a perfectly curled strand of hair around her finger, tightly pinning it with a clip and spraying it with hair spray. Her tattoo was of a set of constellations, it was on her collarbone. Her husband’s matching one was found in your first year of college. The two found each other in a chem lab and babbled to one another over renewable energy and found they both wanted to work for the same ecological lab that was currently designing a plastic made from trees, something they worked together to produce.

You watched her in the mirror curl your hair for another college friend’s wedding, the bride and groom having met each other in a perfect meet-cute, their dogs both racing towards each other in the middle of central park. Screaming and tripping and tumbling into one another and realizing they had the very same perfect little heart on their ring fingers.

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet him,” You explain, watching Nia’s perfectly manicured fingers twirl another perfect curl away from the iron, “I’m just apprehensive.” And that was the truth.

You wanted what all your friends had, really. It’s just what happened was you didn’t see an issue in having an older soulmate until your classmates pointed out it was weird to have an older soulmate and now that it was pointed out to you that it was weird to have an older soulmate now you think it’s weird to have an older soulmate.

But that’s hard to say to people.

“Everyone is nervous to meet their soulmate,” Nia soothed, “But that person is the other side of your coin, they’re someone who the fates have created specifically for you.” And that’s what is so scary. Someone is out there waiting for you and it gives you a shit ton of anxiety.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this Buck?” Steve stood in the doorway behind him, geared up, watching Bucky tighten the laces on his boots.

“Gotta get back into it sometime don’t I?” Bucky looked up at his long-time friend. Steve’s jaw was clenched, clearly on the fence about letting him back in the field.

“If you feel it at all going south, just let me know. We can get you out of there, and fast.” Bucky stood, clipping his holster on his back he said,

“I’ll be fine, let’s just go.”

The wedding was beautiful. In Central Park where they’d met. The early summer sun was warm, but not overbearingly so. It was a perfect day for a wedding and you were already a little drunk. They did this thing with champagne and chambord that was really quenching your thirst and for whatever reason your glass seemed to never be empty. It was easy to lose yourself in the happiness of the day, dancing, drinking, and eating your weight in hors d'oeuvres.

“Here, c’mon, let’s get a picture.” There was a large floral background weaved with beautiful blooms and greens. The group that were your best friends in college, the ones you smoked way too much weed with and drank yourself blind on twisted teas with, and the groom, whose bathtub you’d woken up in more than once, a group picture at his wedding that you were sure would start endless conversations about late night Taco Bell runs and do you remember this embarrassing thing you did this one time?

But you couldn’t quite remember what happened after that. It all happened so fast. Spillover from some Avengers fight nearby. There was an explosion, smoke, then triage.

You couldn’t breathe. The coughing was hard on your throat, gasping for breath. A clear plastic mask was fitted over your face, pure oxygen began pumping into the mask, you could feel yourself shuffled around, doors to an ambulance closing. Your blood was thin from the alcohol. You heard something about a transfusion and then it was dark.

Bucky’s heart was racing as he came out through the fog. It was just like when they would pull him out of cryo. Muddled and cold.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice called. “Can you hear me?” He couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t move his legs. “Bucky?” It was a tiled ceiling. White. It hurt his eyes at first glance. He was at the compound.

He didn’t know how it went south so fast. The mission was going to be intense, he knew, but he didn’t realize the series of tunnels that twisted through the city would lead them to central park. Right into a trap. The explosion he remembers, resurfacing he remembers, what he doesn’t remember was what happened when he was trying to grab civilians out of the way. It all became a blur then.

“What happened back there?” Steve’s brow pulled in concern, he was changed, freshly washed and sitting in the chair next to the bed in the med room.

“I don’t know.” Arms flexing against the restraints, “Let me outta here.” A buzz and a chink sound and the metal restraints unlocked and retreated back into the frame of the bed. Bucky sat up and swung his legs over the side, eyes locking onto the bleeding hearts on his arm and halting, before hastily tugging his sleeve down to cover it.

“I think you need to talk to Shuri.” Steve stepped back and let Bucky stand, “There’s still something going on in there.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Have you ever had a trach? A large plastic tube down your throat, it helps you breathe but it’s uncomfortable, and startling when you wake up and you could feel it hard against your tongue and throat. Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes from the harsh lights. A steady beep in the background as you reached consciousness and realized your surroundings.

“Hey sweetheart.” Your Mom, brushing hair out of your face and soothing your rising heart rate, “You’re okay, you’re okay. Let me get the nurse.”

Everyone for the most part was fine, the blast came from the ground, feet away from the reception. There were guests in critical condition in the ICU but no one had died. Bride and Groom were in the same condition as you were, bruised and with a broken bone or two but mostly fine.

A cast sat, freshly dried on your right arm, from wrist to elbow. Your soul mark covered by plaster. Your throat hurt after the trach was removed and you were left to recover in your childhood bedroom.

“It’s unbelievable.” Your Dad sat in his recliner, feet up, drinking what must have been his third cup of coffee that day. “Ross is a joke.” The news had been all about the Avengers and what happened in central park. Wedding guests who hadn’t been injured were interviewed, joggers, a family visiting from some other state with two small children. There was a replay of events, in between the rubble and smoke were the Avengers fighting a group with steel masks on, one with white scratching in the shape of a skull and ‘x’ scraped on the chest plate. They called him Crossbones. He was their leader. Supposedly.

“If he were to just let the Avengers do their job, these criminals wouldn’t be getting so close to the city.” A gruff response to the newscaster talking about what Secretary Ross had issued in a statement earlier.

“We are doing everything we can to find the perpetrators responsible for the Central Park bombing,” A simple, practiced response, “We will be working tirelessly until they are caught and brought to justice.” Your father scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“They’ll sit on their thumbs until the incident is forgotten and then maybe by then whatever group this is will have another bombing ready to go.” A knock on the door. Your Mother leaving the other side of the couch where she was listening, but not really while scrolling through her facebook page on her phone.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The pleasant chirp of her voice. You couldn’t hear what was on the other end but moments later she reappeared in the living room, two men in suits in tow. “Y/N, honey, these men work with the government, they just have a couple questions for you about the incident.”

The two men looked straight out of men in black, almost comically so. They said that they worked with the Avengers and it made your parents skeptical of them. Why would the Avengers send someone out to talk to you in the first place? You already had given your report to the police in the hospital. It didn’t make any sense.

But you answered their questions and about an hour later they were on their way out the door and you hoped they wouldn’t be back. Something just seemed off about them.

Life went on, as it does.

You were back at work, girls nights on Thursdays having margarita pitchers and tacos at Nia’s penthouse apartment, her and her husband had the good fortune of working for a leading ecological engineering company where they both worked side by side in a lab attempting to mass produce reusable and biodegradable alternatives to the current norm. Chinese takeout containers in your fridge and the same bag of salad you throw out and replace each week. Normal.

Except for one thing that made you feel a little crazy. You felt like you were being watched.

Something was wrong, Bucky knew that, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was itching at the back of his mind. Something he had forgotten. Something he couldn’t piece together. It was killing him.

He remembered everything from before. Every hit, every instruction, every time he was put in that chair and his brain was scrambled. Everything except one thing in particular.

Those bleeding hearts on his arm.

He knew that he didn’t have them during the war. It was a point of contention for him, never getting his soul mark, he was endlessly sensitive about it. Insecure. He wondered if maybe the fates hadn’t chosen one for him. Maybe he was a mistake, a flaw in the soulmate system. He didn’t have one. Which is why in that little apartment in Bucharest that he found himself staring at the thin and dark black lines on his right arm.

Was this always meant to happen? He wrought his brain in those early days, when did this happen. When did his soulmate become an adult? How long ago was it? How old are they now?

The apartment smelled like shit. Plumbing was out somewhere, the neighbors next door constantly screamed at each other, but it kept him hidden. It gave him time to think before he would let Steve find him.

But those flowers.

He couldn’t remember. It was gone.

“It would have interfered with their plans,” Shuri explained, “If you had a soulmate that person might have been overwhelming enough to you to deter your mission.” The lab had been updated since he’d last been here. New gadgets and equipment scattered about in an organized but cluttered way.

Shuri was always working on something new and she frequently called him down to work on his arm. Something to give it more feeling, now he couldn’t just feel pressure and temperature, he had actual nerve endings. “They’ll immediately close at the hub if something were to happen, though I don’t imagine you being able to destroy this arm easily.” The dark vibranium and gold.

Bucky nods in agreement, “That makes sense.” She gives him an odd look.

“We could go deeper,” She continues, “They’ve probably buried it deep into your psyche.” It wasn’t a painful process, but it was uncomfortable. Bucky trusted Shuri and he wanted to know. He had to know.

This person, whoever they were, was made for him. He knew that he wasn’t ready for them, for that relationship, but he could at least figure out when the flowers bloomed on his arm and put a timeline together. That’s what he needed.

It was like falling asleep in the bath.

Warm and comfortable, a little foggy. Sleep sets on and you find yourself sinking, slipping further into the heat. Then the inhale of water, burning against your lungs and you’re leaning over the side, fully awake and coughing liquid.

Then again,

And again.

Until it’s clear.

He needed to stay far away from you, whoever you were.

If there was one thing you loved about taking the NYC subway it was people-watching. Not able to happen when it was rush hour and you’d be shoved between an overweight man with a staring problem and an older woman who refused to sit because it was sexist, but on your way home after a late shift. When you had your seat and there were only ten other people in the car with you.

This observance showed you an old man headed home with a cloth tote of groceries. You assumed he was a professor because who else wears tweed on top of a vest and tie. The leather attache case also seemed very professor-like.

There was a group of kids, probably fresh out of high school, laughing loudly and joking around at the front of the car. One of them recording the other three on their phone, a short clipped tune playing on the phone. Probably something for TikTok.

There was a couple and both had a bike with them. The girl was in loose cotton overalls and had lavender hair. The guy’s hair was long, reaching just below his shoulders, heavily tattooed, and thin. He had tapered cuffed jeans and a floral button down on. They would kiss every couple minutes in between talking softly.

The weirdest group were the three men at the end of the subway car. They gave you a weird vibe, but being around seven other people made you feel a little more safe.

They weren’t talking to each other, looking at their phones, but something made you feel like they were watching you when you weren’t looking. You just hoped they weren’t getting off at your stop.

“This paranoia,” your therapist explained, “Is most likely rooted in the incident. You were comfortable and your guard was down.” And then the attack. “It’s perfectly normal to be experiencing some PTSD after being through a traumatic event.”

But it felt so superficial. Other people have had worse situations. No one was hurt that badly. Yes, your cast itches like hell, but you didn’t have to live through the blip. You were one of the ones who blipped, so it was like it never even happened.

You had two parents who really loved you and supported your decisions. They didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to and they always were there if you needed help.

You had a good group of friends who were reliable and got together once a week like adults do. You had a nice studio apartment not too far away from the good part of town and a job that you excelled at.

There were people who had a bad day, every day. And you had a truly bad day once and now you were this paranoid mess that always felt like the other shoe was about to drop.

“Your worst day is your worst day,” is what she said, “Don’t compare yourself to others, their trauma does not discount your trauma.”

But it still didn’t feel right.

You were regretting bringing your tumbler out to work. Always at the end of the night, full of water or tea, and not wanting to carry it anymore you dumped it out on the street. Another block and you’ll be home. Only one of the men got off at your stop. Tumbler stored in your backpack you white knuckle your keys in your fist. He was headed in the same direction.

It became kind of like tunnel vision. The only thing you could hear is his footsteps. Hard, clacking against the pavement and also the side of your skull. Your heart was racing and you could feel a cold sweat break out on your forehead and the nape of your neck. Your hands are shaking.

The steps to your building have never felt more comforting, but the final slam of the passcode protected door was definitely a little more comforting. The shadow of the man continued to walk by. No glance in your direction.

And you felt foolish.

You were just paranoid, you were sure of it.

“So I was thinking,” Nia took a sip of her margarita, the table full with nachos, guac and chips, and various small street-style tacos. It was a local spot not too far from your apartment, a basement restaurant that was the friend group favorite since freshman year of college when you’d sneak in with fake IDs. “Maybe we upload your soulmark to one of those search sites.”

You roll your eyes, licking the salt of the rim of the glass before taking a long pull of your drink. “I don’t think that’s for me,” You shrug, leaning back in your chair, “I just want to let it happen, it’ll happen eventually.” It’s not that you had anything against those sites. They really helped people and it’s completely possible that it’s how the fates planned for them to meet, but seeing as you were fine as you were at the moment, you didn’t really want anything to help you speed up the process.

Nia sighs, but relents, “So are you going to come to Gin’s gallery opening?”

“What do you have on Rumlow?” Bucky just freshly back from Wakanda greeted Steve.

“How was it?” Bucky shook his head, changing the subject, “Do we have anything on him? His location? Anything?” Steve looked at his friend, understanding, but not wanting to drop the subject.

“We’ve got a couple leads to flush out, but honestly Buck, are you okay?” There was a dark look in his eyes, the look he had often had when he was fresh from the ice and going through Shuri’s process for the first time. The memories he’d face everyday.

“I’ll be fine.” And that was that. Not further questions. He didn’t want to be asked and Steve knew he would come around eventually.

He told himself he was fine, because he was, mostly. This fence he straddled of wanting his soulmate and the before final resignation that he didn’t have one, he was finally on a third side. He couldn’t find them.

Not if he didn’t want to hurt them.

The fog cleared.

He remembered bursting from the ground, flung recklessly by the bomb, landing on his feet. Crouched. Knees shocked in protest, from catching his body weight. He remembers instinctively, standing, making one pass and realizing there was a large group of people in the smoke. He got to work, pulling people out, getting them out of the way before going back in.

Then there it was. As clear as day, he could see it. The bleeding hearts. And then he didn’t have control over his body anymore.

He snapped your arm.

He was ripped away by someone on Rumlow’s team. But he snapped your arm. His eyes focused on your unconscious body as he felt himself fighting others. He didn’t mean to break your arm.

He didn’t mean to.

But he did. And it sat in his gut. Toxic and acidic, rolling and cresting up his throat until he was spitting up bile. Laying over his toilet, gagging and unable to vomit.

He had to stay away. There was no other option.

“They wanted you to bring her back to them?” Shuri asked.

“But they don’t exist anymore.” Bucky offered. Shuri nods, scrolling through the datapad.

“I can take the mission objective from you,” She explains, “But you’re going to have to deal with these negative feelings with your therapist.” The fear. The anxiety. The longing.

“It’s a string.” He remembers his grade school teacher explaining. “A string that’s loose at first, but the tension pulls you closer and closer together until you meet.” A string that bonds, wraps itself around you and fuses you together.

Shuri continues, “You’ll see her again.” It’s a certainty. “Hopefully by then we will have this taken care of.” The trains moving the vibranium, Bucky watched them, disassociating. It was so relaxing seeing them pass on a schedule, quickly and efficiently. Always on time. “You deserve to be happy, James.” That brought his eyes to hers, still unfocused and wanting to leave. “You deserve to be with her.” But he wasn’t so sure.

“Let’s go.” Steve’s voice was soothing, familiar when he feels like he’s drowning. It always brings him out. It pulls him back to the surface.

He’s in the jet. The jet just landed. Another base. Another search for information. Far away from New York. Far away from you.

“All these bases look the same.” Sam sounds annoyed, the concrete structure buried halfway into the ground. Old Hydra bases that Rumlow knew. The ones that Bucky also knew. The ones that Rumlow knows that Bucky knows. Breadcrumbs found in the forest leading them into the evil old woman’s oven.

It was abandoned and recently so if the empty rotting food containers and spoiled milk in the fridge was anything to go by. Robbed of the guns and ammo, the last few bombs left over from the old regime kept under lock and key behind steel doors.

“Where do you think they’re going next?” It was no secret that Rumlow hates Steve, Bucky, and Sam. Sam is the reason his face is burnt to shit. Bucky was the golden boy of Hydra and Steve… Steve was one of the big three. Steve’s face was plastered on billboards and they sold action figures of his likeness. Rumlow was the jealous type. Always.

If Rumlow had been chosen to be a Winter Soldier he would have taken it with pride. He wouldn’t have suffered or had to have been scrambled like Bucky. And as far as Bucky was concerned Rumlow could have taken it. But it wasn’t that easy. And Rumlow had been 60 years too late.

“Onto the next one?”

You could swear that was the same guy from the other night. Maybe. Possibly. Were you crazy? Your leg shaking with anxiety, bouncing to try to release any kind of energy building. The paranoia. The fear. He rode this train the other night. The guy who gets off on your same stop. But maybe that’s just his stop. Maybe he lives on your block. Maybe you really are crazy.

You were trying to look preoccupied with your phone, but from the corner of your eye you could see him. Black t-shirt and jeans. Hands held placid in his lap, staring out the window. Not much to look at when you’re underground, but if you looked up you can see your own reflection in that window.

Trust your gut.

That’s what all of those true crime shows and podcasts have told you. Trust your gut. And something was wrong with this guy.

Your cast itched like hell.

In your phone you created a note. What color were his eyes? How tall was he? What was his build? Any distinguishing features? Scars? Tattoos? Did he have a visible soulmark?

Your stop came. And as expected he also got off.

The pounding of your heart matched the dual footsteps. A thump in your ears as you listened to the blood rush through them. Above ground you quickly dialed someone you hoped would answer.

It rang once, twice, three times.

Four and five.

He seemed close. Like he knew you were onto him. Like he knew that you knew his intentions were sinister.

Six and Seven.

Keys fisted in your opposite hand you prayed under your breath that Nia would wake up. Fucking Christ Nia answer.

Eight and Nine.

A chill down your spine, a harsh grip against your cast, arm yanked out of socket. The man pulled relentlessly, other hand coming to grip your neck. Your fisted keys meeting his cheek and eye socket. A scream. Phone dropped. A sore, broken and still healing arm, bruised and blue, now in the open air. A fist meeting your face and your back hitting the brick wall of the building behind you.

Directed to voicemail.

“Is it bad?” Natasha sniffed the cup in front of him before taking a sip, “Tastes fine to me.” The coffee he didn’t realize he’d been glaring at. Too caught up in thinking about the flowers on his arm. The ones revealed by his rolled up sleeve.

“The coffee’s fine.” Bucky sighs, yanking down his sleeve, looking up at Natasha’s prying eyes. A beat of silence. “It’s fine.”

“No it’s not.” She protests, grabbing his arm and yanking the sleeve back up, “What’s going on?” Bucky shakes his head, picking up his mug and creating a distance, tugging the sleeve back down over the offending ink. “You haven’t been yourself since Central Park.”

“I haven’t been myself since I enlisted in the military.” Not untrue.

“You know what I mean,” Nat leaned against the counter, peering at him, a calculating look in her eyes. “Did you see them?” The way his back tensed she knew she was right, brow pulling together tight. “Bucky-”

“Drop it.” He could hear disappointment in her voice,

“You not talking to them isn’t going to make it hurt any less.” He knows. He knows. But it would hurt you less. So that’s what he’s going to do.

“You have to learn to trust yourself,” His therapist said, “You have to trust that you’re a good person and that you weren’t in control, you wouldn’t have done these things normally, would you?” Well no, but he still did those things. The guilt will never go away. He just has to learn how to come to terms with it.

It’s a process.

But he needed to keep you from him.

It’s not that he believed he would break your arm again or worse, but maybe. It’s a possibility and it gave him enough anxiety that he isn't sleeping well anymore. Those blissful eight hours dwindled to six hours full of tossing and turning. Being too hot and then too cold. Nothing was helping, jogs, hot baths, cold showers, time spent with a punching bag, reading, meditation. He wondered why Pierce never removed the skin on his arm.

If he didn’t want him to have anything to do with his soulmate that is.

“They could have used them to control you.” Shuri had speculated, “Make you more compliant.” Makes sense.

But he could have just brought you back and then what? They use you to torture him. Give you to him as a reward? Let you play house for doing a good job?

He shudders with the thought.

His room was a nice reprieve from the questioning. From Nat, Steve, and even Sam had started to ask about his more than chilled demeanor recently. But he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to focus on. He didn’t know what he wanted.

But it seemed like someone was going to choose for him.

You hated hospitals. The smell, the noise, the way the sheets felt against your skin. The only good thing about it was the socks, for whatever reason they are the thinnest yet warmest socks ever created. Wild.

“We think you should move home,” Your Mother was pacing, “We never liked you moving into the city in the first place.” You knew this.

When you were freshly graduated from high school and told your parents that you wanted to move to New York it was definitely a hard subject for a while, but you’d been living in the city for a while now and truth be told this was only the third time something bad has happened to you since moving here from North Jersey.

The first one was years ago when you were still in college and to be fair, it was a bad part of town, it was very late at night, and you and your friends were as naive as you were young. The guy didn’t make off with too much money anyway since all of you were broke, but regardless, still a shitty situation.

The last two were just this past week, the wedding, and now the guy who took your wallet and ripped the cast with unbelievable force from your arm. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Your arm had been pulled out of socket as well, so now you were in a fresh cast and a sling.

“The city is getting worse,” Your Father agrees, “I don’t know if I can honestly take another call telling me you’re in the hospital.” You could agree with them.

When you were younger and the Avengers first became a thing it was a steady increase in crime. Then Daredevil and Spider-Man didn’t help. Every criminal in New York wanted to test their chops against the big guys. King Pin became a thing and a bunch of superpowered criminals became rampant, kept only in check by the constant monitoring of heroes on the streets.

But it wasn’t always like that, 99% of the time it was just another normal day. The problem is your parents loved watching the news, and everything on the news was bad. They didn’t see the good things about the city, they didn’t see the good people in the city. Like the older man in your building who you could call at any time with a plumbing issue and he’d be right over to fix it, the housing office will get back to you anywhere between 7-30 days. There’s another woman with a large family who, even when they’re not there, cooks enough to feed an army and is more than happy to deliver leftovers to your door.

You’ve never felt more like yourself before moving to the city, there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be moving out of New York any time soon.

“It’s just bad luck,” You sigh, closing your eyes against the harsh fluorescent light, “I’ll be fine really, I told you that you didn’t even have to come up here.”

A knock at the door, your nurse. She walked in and placed the little paper cup with two pills on the tray next to the bed.

“These are for pain, you have some other visitors,” Other visitors? “Are you okay to be questioned?” You’d already given your statement to the police.

“Questioned by who?” The nurse looks over to your parents apologetically.

“It would probably be best if they questioned her alone.” Begrudgingly your parents left the room, two Avengers taking their place.

“So one of Rumlow’s goonies attacked this girl?” Sam looked down at the file in his hands. The car scenery changes from the woods and forest of upstate into the skyscrapers and metal of the city. Bucky’s stomach was churning, but he faced the window and didn’t speak.

“She was also one of the vics at Central Park.” Steve directed the car down the exit ramp, into the heart of the city. Bucky felt like he was going to vomit.

It’s her.

“So dude gets a good look at her, thinks she’s pretty, follows her for days afterward?” Sam speculates. Bucky’s neck feels hot.

This whole car feels hot. He cracks his window.

“I’m gonna wait here.” Steve and Sam look at him in the rearview, Sam even turning in his seat as Steve navigated a spot in the parking garage. “What?”

“Everytime there’s something Hydra we can’t pull your nose out of it,” Sam began, “But all the sudden, ‘I’ll wait in the car?’”

“Are you good, Buck?” Steve’s voice with more concern, killing the engine.

“No.” He grumbles, “I’m not.” He couldn’t go in there. He just couldn’t.

“If it’s okay,” Steve began, “We would just like to ask you a few questions about the man who attacked you.” It must have been a big deal, the guy who followed you. Why would two Avengers be in your hospital room if it wasn’t.

“Of course.” The chill of the hospital room was slowly warming, a nervousness was growing. Who was this guy? And why did he attack you?

“When did you first notice he was following you?” The Falcon, he stood further back, almost against the wall. His arms crossed and legs in a wide stance. Captain America was in a much more comforting position, sitting in the chair next to your bed, leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on his knees.

“Uhm, well… I was in the hospital for a day or two after the attack.” You shift in bed, suddenly wildly uncomfortable, “I was on the subway, headed home, and he was with two other men.”

“Did they also follow you off the train?” You shake your head,

“No the first night I saw them, they seemed to know each other, but they stayed on their phones most of the time. The man who attacked me was the only one who left at my stop.” The two men had been on the subway sporadically, not always with him. But more often than not.

Whoever they were, they must have thought you were dumb enough not to notice. But you were also dumb enough to think your paranoia wasn’t real. Maybe you should be going to therapy once a week instead of twice a month. Maybe then you would have learned the difference between markers of past trauma and an actual gut feeling of danger.

“What did he look like?”

Bucky’s leg anxiously bounced in the backseat. His fingernails were no longer interesting and his phone, no matter how often he checked his apps, gave him no solace.

“Maybe just a peek.” He reasoned, leg halting its movements and he looked out the window of the car to the door, entry to the hospital. You were so close, his heart was pounding. He steps from the car, but pauses at the glass sliding doors long enough for them to automatically close again before finally venturing inside.

Bucky hated hospitals. The smell reminded him of the lab. How sterile it was. How cold. It made him wildly uncomfortable.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. The arm. The one he knew that your tattoo resided because that’s where his was, covered in a cast and a sling. There was bruising down the same side, starting under your right eye and trailing down and disappearing into your hospital gown, before reappearing on the small sliver of skin between your sleeve and the top of the sling.

This was his fault and he knew it.

But he’ll handle it.

He’ll make sure that Rumlow and his thugs were safely behind bars on the Raft. Either that, or buried in a shallow grave somewhere in Siberia.

“She might have seen something.” Steve slammed the car door and Bucky pretended to be preoccupied with his phone.

“We’ll have to tail her for a while,” The engine starting, Sam continues, “He’ll come back.” Bucky’s jaw clenched.

He wouldn’t give him the chance.

The paranoia. The fear. It was palpable. You constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d bought another deadbolt for your door. Checking the windows twice before bed. You bought blackout curtains. As soon as the sun set. Windows checked, curtains pulled. Deadbolts are always locked.

You didn’t leave unless you had to. The two Avengers didn’t comfort you, why was this guy after you?

“We’ll do everything we can to find him,” The Captain, just like the words of Ross, aimed to soothe but it really showed you that they had no idea either.

“Maybe you should take a break,” That’s what your therapist said, “Go stay with your parents for a little bit.” But you couldn’t. Because it felt like he was winning. And you were far too stubborn for that.

You started carrying a knife.

It bounced against your hip as you walked, to and from work. The heavy metal you’d run your fingers across if you felt too anxious to continue. The routine helped. It helped the stress, the depression, the anxiety. You found yourself missing the comfort of the tattoo.

It gave that to you.

You never noticed it before now. When by force you can’t actually see it, now you wanted to see it more than anything, but your arm was encased in an inch of plaster and was still terribly sore. It was a comfort to know that there was someone out there that would have been able to help you through this. But you didn’t know who they were, or where they were. And it didn’t matter anyway.

What good would you be if you couldn’t help yourself?

“Have you felt an increase in thoughts of this nature?” Your therapist was a nice woman who wore her hair messily piled on top of her head. Gray streaks throughout and proud of them, always in all black and always had a fresh iced coffee whenever you met with her. You’d been seeing her for years.

Insecurity about one's soulmate often led a person to seek help, the strange self-loathing and anxiety that grew as a teenager was what gave you a final push in college when you turned to abusing adderall in order to tackle your busy schedule and just keep you from thinking all together.

“Just since the assault.” And that was true. You’d been so good for such a long time.

“Progress isn’t linear.” She always tells you. And you’ll try not to criticize yourself even further for falling behind. Or what you think is falling behind.

You try to hold those ideas close. Because your soulmate isn’t who is going to help you get past this. You are.

It didn’t take long. Not for the Winter Soldier. And definitely not for a man who was personally wronged by a sloppy thug who left tracks like mud on white linoleum.

It was his soulmate they were after. The tug on his heart strings as he remembered the way you face looked, eye socket swollen and black because of this asshole’s fist. The anger that bubbled and rolled, acidic and hot in his gut.

It took him less than 36 hours to find the guy.

“What does Rumlow know?” Fuck all if Brock thinks Bucky Barnes was going to call him Crossbones. The man’s eyes were rolling, head lolling, drool coming from the corner of his mouth, strapped to a medical table that Bucky could still feel against his back. He sighed in frustration. Maybe he hit the guy a little too hard. That’s fine. They had time.

This place gave him the creeps. The facility that he’d searched with Steve and Sam just a day or two ago. It was eerie seeing it empty. The way he remembered it, back in the 90s when he was here, right before Howard and Maria, it was booming with personnel. Men and women devoted to ‘the cause.’ Hydra’s better tomorrow.

The better tomorrow that he helped shape.

Natasha set the bomb off. He was cleaning up the rubble.

“What does Rumlow know?” The man’s eyes met his, fearful, a hard swallow. Tongue seeking out the tooth that Bucky already ripped out. The cyanide. Another hard swallow, his fate resigned. Bucky leaned forward, the metal chair rusted and screaming in protest. “What?” Bucky couldn’t help but bite, “You had no problem beating a woman on the street.” And now the coward wanted to be afraid. “Start talking.” The tools Bucky kept on him lay out on the medical cart. Pliers and a couple different knives. A pick he used to unlock doors. Mostly for show.

Mostly.

Fingernails were the worst. That’s what Bucky started with, but the guy was more of a coward than he thought. He got two fingers in before squealing,

“He just wanted a picture of the tattoo.” Fat blubbering tears. Snot across his nose. “He wanted to see her soulmark.”

“Well?” Bucky pressed on the raw flesh, hard. “Did he see it?” If Rumlow saw the tattoo, if he had a picture, and he knew where you lived, he had to move fast. The man squirmed, crying, “Did he?” Bucky yelled.

“Yes.”

You wondered how these kids got so talented. Truly. A ten-year-old who tells Gordon Ramsay that he’s making a Bearnaise sauce. Like what even is a Bearnaise sauce?

From the comfort of your home, a blissful day off, you’d gotten a lot done. Probably one of the most productive days you had in a long time and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that cleaning your entire apartment ceiling to floor and listening to an audio book completely cleared your mind. It gave the sinking feeling in your gut that you couldn’t shake a twelve hour break as well.

This ramen that took three minutes to make from a plastic bag looked paltry in comparison to ten-year-old Grace’s filet mignon that she was presenting to the judges, artfully drizzled with her Bearnaise sauce, but it was the best you could do planning to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

The broth was hot, spilling on your pants as a series of hard knocks met the wood of your front door. Anxiety spiking. Stepping from the couch, you backed away from the door. Setting the bowl on your counter,you backed yourself down the hallway, towards your bedroom where you knew your phone was charging on your night stand.

The person stopped knocking, voice coming muffled through the door. “Y/N, this is James Barnes.” The Avenger? Your steps halting, you stood in the doorway of your room, straight ahead was your front door. “I have reason to believe you’re in danger.” There was an internal struggle. Was this guy telling the truth? Do you go look out the peephole? You weren’t even sure you knew what this guy looked like to know if it was him or not. What if this was a trick? What if the man who assaulted you was on the other side of that door?

Heart racing you took a step forward, heading to the door to look through the peephole when you were yanked back hard enough to hurt your neck. A scream leaping from your throat as a hand covered your mouth, a strong arm pinning your arms down and keeping you from lashing out.

“I’ve got you,” A whisper, “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” You could feel your body trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “That’s not James Barnes.” There was a slight breeze from where your bedroom window was open. “I’m gonna let you go, but you’ve got to listen and trust me to get you out of here. Can you do that?” His body was hot against your back, the hand over your mouth cold and metallic. James Barnes had a metal arm, didn’t he? You could feel yourself nod, the man releasing you slowly and letting you take a step away before turning back to face him.

His hair was short, ruffled, with a thick scruff on his face. And the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

“Let’s go.” The banging on the door resumed, but this time, the hinges were bending, metal warping with each hit. The man you were supposed to trust jumped onto the windowsill and held out his hand to you, “We don’t have a lot of time.” Your eyes flit between the front door, now splintering, and the open metal palm of the man who broke into your apartment. Adrenaline rising you made a split second decision, the door falling off its hinges you let the man pull you out of your apartment and down the fire escape.

It was close, almost too close.

Apartment window locks, the old ones anyway, were an easy lift and pop out of place. The banging on your front door gave him cause for alarm, but you’d already been making your way back to him. Steve had a lot of questions, but was enroute nonetheless. All he had to do was get you as far away from Rumlow as possible.

“They’re on their way to take care of the guys breaking down your door,” He explained, trying not to think about how soft your hand was in his. “Steve, Sam, and a couple other agents.”

Your eyes were shifty, he knew you didn’t trust him, at least not all the way.

“Are you okay?” The swelling was gone from your eye but it was still a violent shade of blue and for a second Bucky thinks he went easy on the thug before turning him over.

You’re three blocks away, the late night traffic and noise was a little disorienting. A car was in front of you backed into an alley, blacked out windows, the Avengers insignia in gray paint on the side. Maybe this guy was the real deal.

“I’m fine.” Truth was you were terrified, your feet were cold and you were surprised you didn’t step in glass with how fast he’d dragged you three blocks without shoes on. He gave you an odd look before opening the passenger door and gesturing for you to get inside. There was hesitation. His eyes locked with yours, seeming to debate something before taking a step closer to you.

You stepped back.

“I need you to come with me.” His voice was soothing, reassuring, but you still couldn’t quite be bought.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of situation you got me out of back there, but this is all a little too strange for me,” There were police sirens, flashing lights sped down the street behind you, towards your apartment. You look back at the man in front of you, arms wrapped around yourself and toes now going numb. “I just don’t know exactly who I can trust right now.”

The metal digits moved to his sleeve, tugging the fabric upward, his pale skin a stark contrast against he black ink of bleeding hearts.

His bleeding hearts.

Your bleeding hearts.

“Trust me,” he says, voice desperate, “Please.” And in an instant, you did.

It made sense.

It made complete sense.

He was over eighteen when you were born, because he was born a century ago.

There was silence in the car as you left the city. Both unable to speak. Where did you go from here? You weren’t ready for this. You don’t know if you could do this. Your hands were shaking, your shoulder was aching and you suddenly felt wildly uncomfortable.

There’s an expectation with soulmates. Is it what he expected of you? Like was this you jumping into the deep end of dating and meeting families and getting married and spending every waking minute sappy and in love?

You weren’t ready.

You couldn’t do this.

You were safe. That’s all that matters. Bucky’s hand hurt from gripping the wheel so tight. His heart was racing now that you were so close. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do here. Does he start a conversation? Does he tell you about what just happened? No. He doesn’t want to scare you more than you probably already are. Rumlow is a conversation for later. When there can be a rational conversation outside adrenaline and fear.

But where do you go from here? Bucky didn’t know. Should he be asking you on a date? Are you going to ask him on a date? His anxiety spiked thinking about it. He just started doing well enough in therapy to go back on field missions, he didn’t know if he was ready to take on a committed relationship. The rolling feeling in his gut was back.

“Here,” The compound was sleek and minimalist, “If you want to rest until the rest of the team gets back, it might be a while after interrogation and processing.” A room for you to sleep in, the sun already sunk below the horizon well before you were pulled hastily from your apartment, the fatigue finally settling in.

“Uhm, thank you,” You didn’t know what to say, but it seems like he didn’t know either.

“I’ll uh…” He took a step back, “I’ll come get you in the morning.” Okay, okay. “If you want to take a shower, it’s right through there. And there’s spare clothes in the drawers.” Avengers sweats and hoodies. Nondescript undergarments.

The bottom of the shower, arm hanging out the side. You didn’t know how long you sat there, the water never went cold. But by the time you were done and you slipped under the covers the rest of the world just seemed to disappear.

“She’s your soulmate?” Steve looked at his friend incredulously. “Bucky why didn’t you say anything before?” He was stubborn, and he didn’t know what to do at the time.

“I don’t know.” Steve was annoyed. Hands on his hips, wide captain stance, authoritative voice annoyed. Disappointed dad annoyed.

“We would have had a strict detail on her,” He paced, “We could have brought her here for christ’s sake.” But Bucky didn’t want that. He wasn’t ready for this.

“She didn’t seem really interested in it Steve,” he shrugs, “And neither am I.” Sam scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“You don’t want to be with her?” A strange look, “She’s literally made for you, and you for her, and you don’t want to be with her?” Sam’s eyebrows pulled tight in confusion.

“That’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other.” Steve adds. Both men didn’t understand. When they found their soulmates everything seemed to click into place. They weren’t as damaged, they weren’t as scarred. They wouldn’t understand.

“I’m not ready.” Bucky’s chest felt tight. “I’m just not ready. Not yet.”

You never had to see him. This Rumlow person. Crossbones. The next morning, when you woke up, James Barnes was waiting for you at the door.

“Are you hungry?” He seemed nervous, but so were you. He leads you out into the main common room. A plate of food covered in a metal lid, eggs, bacon, toast. A plate set aside for you from their early breakfast, he explained that most of them wake up for early morning training. Paperwork for the incident yesterday. It was quiet. Awkwardly so. But you didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like neither did he.

He busied himself making a cup of coffee and you watched him move. The ease in which he moved about this kitchen in where you imagined he made his meals, where he bonded with those other Avengers. Celebrities. It seemed surreal almost. Domestic. It’s why in all of those magazines they take candids of celebrities going to the grocery store, coming from the gym, faces clean of makeup.

They buy food. They work out. They have wrinkles and acne. Just like us.

They make coffee. They have awkward conversations. They don’t know what to do. Just like us.

It’s why your Mom loved watching reality tv shows. Not because she liked the people on them, but because sometimes it was interesting to see how the 1% lived. What they worried about. What their worldview was. How black and white they saw things.

You briefly wonder what an Avengers reality show would be like.

This was your soulmate.

The person created for you. And he drinks his coffee black. He had dark circles under his eyes. His arm was black, gold detailing, shaped just like his flesh arm. You were trying to remember the guy from the history books, what he looked like, but fifth grade was so long ago and you were more worried about growing out the bangs you’d cut at home in your bathroom.

It was hard to believe.

But it was real.

And right on his arm as he turned to join you at the kitchen bartop. You felt your back straighten, your fork continuing its path, pushing eggs from one side to the other. What do you do now? Say something? Anything? You couldn’t tell if he didn’t want this as much as you or if that’s just how he was. Silent, standoffish, the gears in his head turning and turning with thought. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the movement of your fork. Seemingly snapping out of it when you lay your fork to the side, his eyes met yours, a forced smile.

This isn’t what you expected, but the bubbling in your guy was going to spill from your lips before you could possibly help it,

“We don’t have to do this.” Whatever this was.

You’ve seen soulmates meet and you’re sure he’s seen soulmates meet in his lifetime. It wasn’t uncommon. Passing on the street, they see the soulmark, tears, hugging, maybe even a kiss if the pair was passionate enough. At your place of work it happened once with a new hire. It happens, constantly, around you. But this wasn’t like that at all.

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” Your heart clenches, a feeling of rejection, smothered down, swallowed with a sip of orange juice.

“Wow.” His mouth opens and closes,

“I didn’t mean it like that,” shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair, “I’m just not ready for this.” An understanding,

“Me either.” You both mirrored each other, relaxing against the chair back. You stare at one another for a minute, the silence comfortable for the first time. There was a simmer of rejection in the acid of your stomach, like maybe if he’d just been into it. If he wanted to be together now and do those things together now, you’d push aside your fears and leap into it.

But this was being an adult? Making the choice that you need to make and not the choice that you want.

There was that feeling there, you wanted to ask him questions. You wanted to know everything, this curiosity nagging at your brain. But this was good enough for now.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” He asked. You let out a heavy sigh, realizing you wouldn’t be able to go back to your apartment for a bit. The door was bashed in “...and the fight was in your living room.” So the entire front of the apartment was mostly destroyed. “You won’t be able to go back there for a while.” You mourn the $300 you’d just spend finishing the living and dining area. “I mean, I’m not going to kick you out.” He continued, “But I’m not sure you really want to stay here.”

“I don’t.” He watches you rub your eyes and lean over, elbows on the table. “I can go stay with my parents for a little while.”

He didn’t think about how you would have living parents. His were long gone, buried in a cemetery behind the church they’d gone to their entire lives. It gave him pause,

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“It is.”

There was silence for a moment more, Bucky debating something before beginning, “I uh… just got cleared for field work, I still have some stuff I need to work through before I can be in this relationship.” Shifting awkwardly, “Fully.”

He watched your eyes widen a fraction, before releasing a sigh, “I understand that,” You lean towards him, “It’s weird cause my whole life I thought you were gonna be some guy old enough to be my father.”

“Technically I’m old enough to be your great-grandfather.” A laugh, the tension vaporized from the air.

“I wish I paid more attention in social studies,” You shake your head, “After central park,” A swallow, “I started to have nightmares and I felt so paranoid, and then that guy attacked me on the street, and now…”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” His eyes soft, fists clenched under the bar top, “That’s my fault.”

“I know they were after you,” you could see it across his forehead, the way his shoulders were tense, the guilt, “but it’s not your fault they attacked me, and central park was just a coincidence.”

“I know.” He knows. “But I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.” You paused, not knowing to say, but it makes sense. His line of work was dangerous, and it means that you might be put into danger every once in a while.

“We will just have to find new ways to cope then.” You could see the appeal, the way his eyes were looking down at the bartop, then snapped up to yours. It felt like the breath was knocked from your lungs. Is this what it feels like?

If he had asked you in that moment to stay, you would have, without hesitation.

“If you need anything,” You couldn’t see his eyes properly in the dark of the car parked outside of your parent’s house, “Just call, and if I don’t answer send me a text.”

“Okay,” you look down at your hands in your lap, then over at the front door, the porch light on and you could see the TV through the window, your parents probably watching Brooklyn-99 reruns and trying to stay awake until you arrive.

“Hey,” His hand slipped into yours, pulling your eyes back to his, “You can stay at the compound if it would make you feel more safe.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” He’d taken you back to your apartment, behind the caution tape and helped you pack a suitcase before driving an hour outside of the city, well into New Jersey. Your belly fluttered as he pulled the suitcase from the trunk, carrying it to the front door where the two of you now stood under the porch light.

“Just check for me,” He said, “You’ve got my number and Steve’s.” You did. “You’ve got the number for the compound direct office.” You did. “Okay, okay.” A pause, “Let me just give you Nat and Sam’s numbers too, and Shuri’s.” You huff a sigh as the phone is taken from your hand, numbers quickly punched in.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He looked at you from beneath his lashes, thumbs quickly entering the last few digits.

“If anything suspicious happens, and I mean a neighbor takes their dog on a different route, someone passes the house one time too many…”

“I’m gonna be okay Bucky.” Your heart warmed with the concern, but you were also comforted by the fact that you’d agreed to take this slow.

“This is more for me than you, more for my peace of mind.” You could understand. He let out a deep breath, eyes meeting yours while he handed the phone back. There was a beat of silence, a creeping tension creeping up your spine, something pooled in your lower belly. Not awkward, not awkward at all. Something else. You took a step closer to him,

“Can I just do one thing before you go?” Bucky’s tongue peaked out, wetting his lower lip, rosy and pink. “I’m just-”

“Yeah,” A whisper. His fingers were soft on your arm, warm. And you pressed your lips to his. Hard to explain, how right it felt. Like you had a puzzle you’d been working on all your life and you were close to finishing, putting the whole thing together and he came up and handed you a piece you didn’t know you were missing. But it wasn’t complete yet, not yet.

Lips parting as you kissed him again, that pink tongue brushing against your lower lip. A breath away, “I should go.” Another kiss, soft and languid.

“Yeah.” It was hard to catch your breath, setting back down on your heels, stepping back. The air suddenly chilled, your body missing his warmth.

“If you need anything…” You smiled as he took step off the porch, mouth grinning, stupid and sweet.

“I’ll call.”

taglist // @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky @gifsbysimplysonia @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #bucky barnes x reader #soulmate au #sebastian stan #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #the winter soldier

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fromthefishbowl · 3 years

Text

10 italian songs that are terribly horny

Kind of a sequel of this post I wrote about the three Italian songs every Italian knows without fail, here comes another in the same vein and, as you might guess from the title of the post, they all are horny.

Because there’s absolutely no need to title your fic about Nicky losing his virginity after a Hozier song, when the Italian music scene of the 1970s has already blessed us with Cristiano Malgioglio!

Beware that this list features: threesomes, implied choking, implied masturbation, lengthy descriptions of dicks, and a whole lot of “dying”.

So, if you’re new to the Italian music scene, I bet you now have two questions: who is Malgioglio, and why is that “dying” in between quotes?

Cristiano Malgioglio is an Italian songwriter who has been working in the music industry since the early Seventies. Now known mostly for his flamboyant style and white strand of hair in his otherwise completely black head, he was a close friend of Fabrizio de Andrè, who was actually the one who introduced him to the music world. He has written a lot of songs that are LGBT+ themed and has always been very open about his sexuality, to the point that he has never even felt the need of coming-out. Out of the ten songs here presented, he has written three of them, and one of them is about one of his boyfriends.

As the censorship didn’t allow for song lyrics to be too explicit, songwriters and singers had found a way around it: rather than saying “coming” or “orgasming”, they would go with “dying”, which was a lot more elegant and could be inserted in literally every song without the censors being able to complain. And, trust me, there’s a lot of dying.

Here is the list, from the least horny to the most horny.

Chi Non Lavora (1970), by Adriano Celentano

Link to lyrics and translation here.

Commonly called Autunno Caldo (Hot Autumn), the workers strike that begun in 1969 and dragged itself into the August 1970 greatly influenced this piece (but for all the wrong reasons). Workers were demanding safer working conditions, which had been completely ignored up until that point. As the days went on and the more people joined the protests, the police got more and more violent, to the point that they had begun shooting people on sight. This caused a huge uproar from the protestors, and when the voice that people had been shot and harmed by the law enforcement, even more workers and even students joined the fight. Through a year of strikes, they forced the Italian government to create a new set of laws that would protect both workers and students.

The song mocks this movement: the singer complains about the fact that, since he is on a strike two days out of three, he cannot give his wife enough money and therefore she’s going on a strike too and won’t have sex with him. Basically this song is nothing but the woes of a privileged, extremely wealthy man who thinks that people protesting for the rights of a safe work environment is inopportune and stupid.

The only reason why I included this song is because “Chi non lavora non fa l’amore” (Those who don’t work don’t make love) is still very much used to this day. If you want a piece of media that actually explores the protests and the work environment of the time, I suggest watching La Classe Operaia va in Paradiso (The Working Class goes to Heaven), a movie from 1971.

10 Ragazze per Me (1969), by Lucio Battisti

Link to lyrics and translation here.

Lucio Battisti is a national treasure and if I’ll ever do more of these, he’s surely going to end up in more of them. Whereas De Andrè would write more traditional music and focus on the lyrics, Battisti’s music was a lot more danceable and his lyrics a lot lighter, usually focusing on loneliness and heartbreaks rather than social issues.

In this song, the protagonist is bragging about how he wants ten girls for himself, all for different reasons (one because she knows how to dance, the other because she’s a virgin, that other one because she has been with everybody but him). It is soon revealed, however, that the only reason why he’s doing it is because he’s still thinking about a very specific girl who broke his heart.

Remembering the note above, peep that “And red lips to die upon”.

Gelato al Cioccolato (1979), by Pupo

Link to lyrics and translation here.

First song written by Cristiano Malgioglio and also the one about his ex! And yes, it was sung by another man, but... oh, well. The lyrics are the same.

I feel like the only thing I need to say, about this song, is to quote it directly: “Chocolate ice cream, sweet and a little salty”. And that’s it, because the subtext is right there and it’s impossible to miss what it implies.

What I think should be added is the fact that the singer had absolutely no idea of what the song was about. Like none. It was only in 2007 that Malgioglio told him that he had been inspired to write it after spending a torrid summer in Tunisia, where he had gotten a boyfriend with whom he’d often get ice cream.

Carlo Martello Ritorna dalla Battaglia di Poitiers (1967), by Fabrizio de Andrè

Link to lyrics and translation here.

Translating this song absolutely murdered me: Paolo Villaggio, one of De Andrè’s best friends and an extremely important figure in Italian entertainment history, wrote it to play over Middle Ages sounding music, so the words chosen and the way sentences are structured are reminiscing of that time, and it was incredibly hard to find English words that matched.

This said, it’s possibly one of De Andrè’s most light-hearted songs (probably because he and Villaggio wrote it while their wives were giving birth to their sons), even if it does mention social issues.

King Charles Martel comes home from Poitiers but has lost the key to his wife’s chastity cage, so he doesn’t even go home before looking for another girl that can quench his thirst. He sees a beautiful maiden taking a bath and, seduced, convinces her to have sex with him. It is only when he has finished that she reveals that she’s actually a prostitute and now he has to pay her, but he runs away before doing so (but still after having complained about the rising prices).

The lyrics of this song were censored and fought against by the censorship so much that, even to this day, records with the uncensored version are extremely difficult to find.

Una Carezza in un Pugno (1968), by Adriano Celentano

Lyrics and translation here.

Yes, another Celentano song. I don’t like him either, it’s just that we cannot get rid of him for some reason.

Anyways, here we begin to get into hotter waters, as this song is about a man asking his girlfriend to think of him while she masturbates. Of course, since he cannot be left out of the question, he will think of her while he jerks off too.

Basically, unlike what a first read might make you think, the “fist” he makes while thinking of her is not because he wants to beat her up.

Il Triangolo (1978), by Renato Zero

Lyrics and translation here.

Renato Zero is another extremely flamboyant personality of the Italian music scene, and “Il Triangolo” is one of the songs of his that are best known.

As the title may suggest, this song is about a threesome. The protagonist goes on a date with their boyfriend and finds out that he has brought a second man, with the intention of convincing said protagonist to have a threesome. Although at first they need a little convincing, the protagonist then agrees to it and finds out they enjoy it a lot, to the point of coming to the conclusion that “Geometry is not a crime”!

Kobra (1980), by Donatella Rettore

Lyrics and translation here.

This song is about dicks, there’s no way around it and there’s nothing else to say. The singer sees a certain man and thinks about his dick, getting wet and fantasizing about the many things she could do with said dick. That’s it.

Pensiero Stupendo (1978), by Patty Pravo

Lyrics and translations here.

Second threesome song!

Unlike “Il Triangolo”, this song is a lot more subtle. It’s clear what the singer is talking about, but the lyrics are not as on the nose and leave more to the audience to feel it, rather than hearing it through words.

The song begins with the three people part of the threesome that are already doing it, and are still doing it by the time the song ends. It’s not about the act in and on itself, but more about the sensations it brings.

Ancora ancora ancora (1978), by Mina

Lyrics and translation here.

Second song written by Malgioglio!

Mina is probably one of the best known Italian singers, as her voice is said to be one of the best in recorded history and has an impressive rage of three octaves, so it really says something, the fact that this piece is so difficult that even her voice broke while holding a note (in an incredible way that only gives it character, but still).

The lyrics play with the fact that in Italian the word “ancora” can be translated and understood as “still”, “again”, and “more”. I couldn’t really give it justice in the translation, but it’s as if she was saying “Your hands still”, “Your hands again”, and “More of your hands” at the same time, and this kind of logic is repeated for every “ancora” she sings.

Even if the lyrics are suggestive, what was censored in this case was the video (the one linked with the song), as the close shots of the singer’s face, and especially of her mouth, were considered to be too sensual to be freely aired.

L’importante è Finire (1975), by Mina

Lyrics and translation here.

Third and last piece written by Malgioglio!

The story behind this song is a little nebulous, but I have read that apparently Malgioglio wrote it for Dori Ghezzi, De Andrè’s wife, but that that project never came to life and, in the meantime, he had managed to meet Mina, and had tried to get her to sing it. But... not sure if this story is directly related to the song in question or not.

Anyways, even for this piece it’s impossible to escape it’s meaning, to the point that, even if it didn’t contain any forbidden words, it was censored anyways for weeks, forbidding radios to air it and Mina to sing it on TV. However, people were so eager to listen to it that it still managed to climb the charts and was, eventually, allowed on air.

#italian sources #italian songs #sources for tog writers

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Weeding It Out

[Groundskeeper!Chris Evans x Reader]

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: just a roll in the hay

Your patience wore thin as you sat in your backyard. The goal before summer set was to get your vegetables planted and sprouting by fall but nothing could be done with the yard overrun by a thicket of poison ivy. Your mother had already gotten her steroid shot after showing you where the best area is to start growing, unbeknownst to her that she waded through a gnarly amount of poison ivy. You saw the blisters form on her arms and neck, you weren’t risking it.

You could use a nap though, feeling your head jerk backwards under the weight of sleep as the afternoon warmth lulls you. But the gardener was supposed to be here an hour ago to spray the necessary elements that kill the weed. If you weren’t so desperate to get it over with you would’ve cancelled long ago but luckily you cleared your afternoon for this.

Your phone dings with a message:

Your groundskeeper, Chris, will be arriving shortly. Please remember to have someone 18 years of age or older present on the property while the maintenance is performed.

“Finally.” You get up and make your way to your front door, noticing a truck parked outside.

You squint through the living room and notice the company name on the side. What he was doing, you couldn’t tell, but you are more than ready to get this show on the road.

You walk towards the truck and knock hard on the passenger window. The burly looking white dude peers over at you and rolls down the window.

“Ma’am?” he asks.

“Yeah, are you Chris? Supposed to have been here an hour ago?”

His face freezes in slow motion, looking at a notebook in his passenger seat and back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. The last job-”

“Ok, it’s fine! Long as you come on, I don’t have all day.” You stand outside his truck waiting on him.

Chris squints, anxiously biting his lip. “Ma’am, I gotta do some paperwork first, then I’ll be right with you.”

You bend into the window. “You had over an hour of time to do paperwork. And as a PAYING customer, I expect timely service or I can just find a manager who can serve me better.”

Chris rolls his window up and gets out of the car. This comment may have struck a nerve in him, but you don’t care. He struck your nerve first, why be polite when the rudeness arrived on time by being late.

He goes to the bed of his truck digging out a tool box and some hose contraption.

“You have big arms for a gardener,” you say matter-of-factly to him, lingering your gaze along sculpted mounds that make up his biceps. Of course gardeners lug bags of soil and work with tools and heavy machinery sometimes, but dude was cut.

He closes the back of his truck, stopping short in front of you. “What is that supposed to even mean? You think I just pick flowers all day?”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Isn’t that a compliment in the end? You’re giving this attitude that I cannot be receptive to, despite how pretty you are.”

He scoffs, looking off toward your house. His jawline is strong underneath the chestnut collared beard, it’s so obvious he is fine with or without it. Quite the unicorn. Even his odd length locks give off a vibe that tempted you to pull it back and give those baby blues more spotlight.

“Is the problem this way?” he asks, pointing to the gate leading to the backyard. You nod and follow behind his perky behind.

Entering the backyard, Chris lets out a whistle.

“And remind me how much work I’m doing in this jungle today?” He walks slowly around the overgrown parts, shouldering his way past some vines.

You stammer past your embarrassment. “I have added plants for aesthetic, thank you! All I need is the poison ivy knocked out in that corner. I can’t have that shit turning me into a mess.”

Chris looks back at you sarcastically. “Right, that'll do it. And these are all just weeds-”

“No opinions! Get to work!” You command, sitting back on your wicker seat to watch him work. Chris sets down his box and pulls out gloves, a solution bottle, some handheld clippers, and a mask. Putting it on, he looks toward the corner you pointed out and meanders over there carefully. You can tell he lifts something other than flowers with a wide back like his and shoulders giving you more views than the nature surrounding him.

The ivy falls to the ground as he snips away at it. You sigh happily feeling your ancestors pride at the white man tilling your grounds.

As he pulls out his bottle of solution, hooking it up to a hose he says, “You may want to step inside. This isn’t safe to inhale and any wind could blow it on you.”

You shrug, getting up cheerily. “Fine with me. I needed a drink anyway! Like I said, just don’t get into my other plants please.”

In your fridge you pull out a pitcher of lemonade you made fresh from powder. You pour a glass for yourself and walk back to the sliding glass door to check out his handiwork. Chris certainly came off as a professional, spraying only the necessary amount on certain parts of the plant. His brow furrowed as he kept track of each misting of his equipment, working deeper into the brush.

You hadn’t seen a man of his pedigree in a while. Fit, fine, and fixes shit? That checks your most important boxes of what stirs your pot in a partner. You take a slow sip of the semi sweet drink and let the chill liquid do its work on cooling your thirst as Chris walks back out from the poison ivy area to take his shirt off.

You almost spat all over your glass as you stood further to one side so you weren’t fully visible. As he peels his shirt off, you got the behind the scenes look of what he had to work with. His pants ride low on his hips, exposing the dips in his hips that naturally lead your eyes to what his zipper hides. The feathering of hair that outlines his pecs and down the middle of his stomach forced you to bite your fingernails to keep from reaching through the glass. He folds his shirt hastily in a ball form and tosses it on his toolbox, resting his hands on his hips until he looks over at the other side of your yard. He struts over to some of your vines, showing off his back end some more, giving them a once over before getting down on his knees taking off his gloves and pulling at the roots.

Your instincts jump into action as your set aside your drink and rush over to him.

“Hey! I said no!” When you reach him he is still pulling at the ground. You feel like it’s a trap to tap him on the shoulder since his skin is exposed and you weren’t shy about how you thought he looked earlier, but to hell with it.

Tap Tap. “Chris! You’re ruining my flower bed.”

Chris stops with a huff before looking at your and pulling you by the hand down next to him.

“You haven’t done anything to this ground, have you?” He asks, digging his hands deep into the soil.

You smack off the excess dirt he got on you. “I spread some seeds once a while back,”

He chuckles, stopping to look at you like a lecturing parent. “If that’s how the world worked, it would look a lot like your backyard.”

“My yard is fine! And what do you mean, it’s growing,” you say with a pout.

“No, it’s suffocating. That’s why you need to weed all this, it will overpower what you want to grow and kill it. Look…” he firmly grasps your hand and sticks it in the soil, making you snicker.

“See how dry the top layer is? And I even see some seeds that barely sprouted and aren’t worth growing. But dig a little deeper and you see those roots that are thick and long? Those are weeds. They survive on almost nothing because they parasite off of anything.”

You feel the cool soft soil he dug up, squishing it in your fingers. “That really is nice soil.”

Chris scratches his neck. “Yeah, it’s just bad when you don’t treat it right. I can come back and show you if you want? Make up for the trouble of being late.”

“Thanks, I would like that.”

You both sit in silence a minute, digging around the dirt for weeds and things, running across a snail shell.

“Ooh! Look!” He crawl on your knees toward him holding the delicate artifact. “I loved finding these when I was a kid.” You took his hand and dropped the shell in his palm. “But Lord forbid if I ran across a snail in one, I flipped my wig!”

Chris holds it between his thumb and index finger, looking at you inquisitively. “They don’t bite, you know.”

“I know, they were just slimy and gross. Keep that one, I’ll find another I’m sure.” You get back to tearing into the ground.

“Why did you laugh earlier when I pulled you down? I thought you would snap my head off for putting you in the dirt,” he asks.

“Well I was startled at best, but it reminded me of how my Grandmother taught me about yard work and her flowerbed and shit. I wouldn’t get near it if she wasn’t dragging me to it.”

“And how would she feel about your yard now?” Chris asks with a slight smirk.

“WOW! Yeah she is rolling over in her grave, thanks Chris!”’ You say in a serious tone but smile the whole way through it, bringing out his laugh. “And put your shirt back on, you ain’t that hot out here. I mean, it’s not that hot out here.”

Chris shakes his head. “I didn’t take it off for you...poison ivy can affect you if you touch anything that touched it, hence my shirt.”

You give a guttural laugh. “Uh huh, likely story.”

Chris smacks the dirt off his hands, resolving himself. “Then go get the damn shirt if you’re so confident. See what pops up in the next morning or two.”

You cross your arms indignantly. “I ain’t doing shit for you. You work for me! Think you so cute, probably pull shit like this on old white women but I ain’t-”

Chris pulls you closer to him by your wrists, saying in a tone coming from the depths, “You’re a little stuck up for my taste.”

This sudden change in his demeanor triggered your fight response. You wrangle your wrists free and start to get up but trip on a hole in the dirt, falling partially on Chris as he tries to catch you. You knock some wind out of him as he lets out an oof.

“Ow, shit. Are you ok?” You ask with a wince.

Chris holds you in his arms staring up at you with a wide eyed wonder. You feel his heartbeat under your hands thumping hard.

You look down at his hairy chest and paw at its texture curiously.

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

You plant your lips on his right pec, feeling him inhale against your mouth. You let out a deep satisfied moan for having achieved one desire.

Chris’ hands feel down your back and across your shorts, pulling your upward.

“Take them off,” he commands, helping you with the button and zipper.

You stand over him, pulling down your shorts and panties. “I have wanted to put your face in the dirt since you came here.”

Chris looks up at you with one hand behind his head, smiling. “Oh yeah?”

“But this seems like a better idea, just don’t get cocky about it.” You hover yourself over him before settling knees, sitting your pussy right on his mouth, beard tickling the inner softness of your thighs. You rode your lips over his, using his hair as your reins. His hands grip your cheeks sturdily as he works his tongue over your labia liberally, then finding your center to tongue fuck your walls.

You sit up, resting yours hands on his chest behind you. “If you don’t suck my clit, I swear to God.”

His eyes smile at your before your lips surround your clit and put in the work you required all this time. So much for not getting cocky. You buck against his mouth, fighting your body’s desire to flee from the over stimulation but Chris’ forearms lock your thighs down to keep you in place. Your climax ran over him several times as you shrieked to the sun without a care of who heard.

Before you knew it, Chris rudely flips you off of him, turning you over in the dirt.

“Just so you know the feeling is mutual.” His hand lifts you ass up as you sputter weed clippings from your mouth.

“I knew you weren’t shit,” you say, looking back at his to see him having pulled down his pants, stroking his fully ready member and headed straight for you-

Your phone rings, waking you up from a deep nap.

“Shit! What the fuck!” You curse in confusion as you drunkenly reach for your phone that fell off into the grass.

“Hello!” you say loudly.

“Yeah, sorry for the late arrival, but I am at your front door. This is Chris with the grounds keeping company.”

You almost drop the phone and run to the door. How was that dream so vivid to not be real?

You peek through the front door but the guy is facing away, so you open it reluctantly.

“Sorry, I dozed off there,” you say meekly.

The deja vu you feel when he turns around almost knocks you backwards. The same hair, beard, wide shoulders. But this time he was a lot more smiley on introduction.

“Hi I’m Chris. You needed help with your back garden?” he asks.

You lick your lips, put on a smile and ask, “Yes. But how about a drink first?”

Masterlist

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@chaneajoyyy

#chris evans x reader #shakafic

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